My daughter was tentatively okay about going to see the psychiatrist today. She had been told by her brother how he had a comfortable seat (which is a padded leather office chair she didn't care about sitting in). He told her he could prescribe something that would make her feel better and that Dr. Snow had helped him. My son, on his own, was a good spokesperson for Dr. Snow.
When we arrived though, things went up and down. She was fine going in until she bumped into something and then she refused to go in the door. She didn't want to go back to his office until she played hide and go seek with me and found a good hiding spot in the empty waiting room under pillows on his couch.
When we went back I did a lot of the talking to give him some background and answer questions. My daughter didn't want to play with any toys and told Dr. Snow she didn't like him but warmed up to him after he talked to her a bit.
She reiterated, multiple times, about not ever being happy. She asked about a medication that might make her feel better, sounding somewhat hopeful even. He gave her the confidence there was help he could give.
We talked about treating anxiety instead of depression and he agreed that reducing her anxiety might help her process and cope. It was a good appointment. We've got something to try. We'll see how it goes and return in a month. On the way home, we stopped at the pharmacy to drop off the prescription.
As we got ready for bed she asked if the prescription was ready. I didn't realize she was that interested. That hopeful. The opposite of resistant, like she is with everything else. My husband was at the hospital visiting Nana, who is staying overnight after surgery to replace some worn-out components of the knee replacement hardware she had many years ago. We called, said 'hello' to Nana and I asked him to pick up the prescription on the way home.
My daughter went to bed but wanted to be woken up as soon as he got home so she could take the "happy" pill. I'm very glad I made the call because I have a daughter with hope now. I think she's been without hope in some ways and about some things for a long while now.
The Big Boy Update: My son has an idea for a car. It's going to be a color-powered light speed car. His reasoning is that light is made up of color so that a color-powered car would be able to go the speed of light.
The Tiny Girl Chronicles: I made my daughter cry today. It was a bit unexpected. We had just gotten back from seeing the doctor and then buying way too much Halloween candy and I wanted to lie down for a few minutes. Some days are good and some days are bad with my pain and I just needed a few. She came in and said there was the most amazing thing that I had to come to the deck right away to see hear the birds. I told her I didn't feel well and that I was going to have to miss this one. I heard her crying and didn't understand until later. She had opened the deck door to hear a large migratory flock of birds that had lighted on a tree in the back yard. It was very loud and something she'd never experienced before. She knew it was unusual and wanted me to see it and was upset I didn't want to. They took a video of it and showed me later. If she had been able to explain I think I would have gotten up. I thought it was just a bird making noise.
Thursday, October 10, 2019
Wednesday, October 9, 2019
Missing Laundry Room
I was married before my current husband. Most people who read this blog probably knew this, but I thought I'd mention a bit about my ex-husband before getting into this post.
His name is Eric, and he is a very decent man. We weren't meant to be, as the saying goes and decided to go our separate ways after being married for several years. He has a wife and two children now, just as I do. We keep in contact and from time to time, see each other at social functions or catch up by getting together for lunch.
Sometimes we text or call each other if we have questions the other one might be able to help with. For instance, Eric called me and we talked at length about LEGOs a while back because Julianna, his daughter, was single-minded in her interest with LEGOs at the time and he knew we had organized our loose LEGOs in such a way to make them conducive for open-ended creative play while at the same time being easy to clean up and maintain.
I contact Eric for tech support on occasion. My long-standing email address is with his domain. Typically though, I have a question about something more challenging to resolve than would be manageable via a Google search. He has always been one of the most knowledgeable IT people I've known.
This post is about a problem he had that he texted me about thorough. And a funny one at that. He messaged, saying, "Hey, random question. Where was the washer and dryer in new Yadkin? I seriously can not remember."
I got the message. I got ready to reply and realized I didn't know. He and I had lived in that particular house for a number of years. I did laundry regularly. How is it I couldn't picture in my mind where the laundry was? It wasn't a large house. How could there be a serious gap in my locational memory like that?
He and I texted back and forth, saying things like, "it wasn't in the room where the litter boxes were, the room was too small," and "it wasn't off the master, the only doors in that room were to the closet and the bathroom." We narrowed down the final (and correct) location by mapping out the house and eliminating all the places it couldn't have been. We came to the answer about the same time, texting similar messages of, "it had to be on the left side of the hallway heading towards the master."
And then we remembered. We both could picture the poorly-designed folding doors that opened into a narrow space just deep enough for the washer and dryer. I could imagine the white metal shelf above where I kept the detergent, fabric softener, and dryer sheets. I wouldn't say it flooded back, because it didn't. It slowly coalesced from dark memories some twenty years prior.
We both laughed about it and echoed sentiments of worrisome memory issues to each other. But mystery solved. Question answered. It wasn't until the next day that I realized I didn't even ask him why he had been wondering about the laundry room from our past.
The Big Boy Update: My son sometimes can't handle change well. Today Madison and I rearranged some things in the children's bedroom based on a request of hers to have the kitchen items out so she and my daughter could play with them. I moved a lamp, shifted a chair down, and we had room to put the small wooden refrigerator and stove/cabinet set along the wall where the window was. My son came down after bedtime tonight in a barely contained fit of anger. He stated, "I hate change. The first thing was when Reese went blind, and that was horrible. And now this."
The Tiny Girl Chronicles: Last Friday night during Movie Night, I was having an allergic reaction to something. I needed to run to the pharmacy and get some Benadryl. I told my daughter I needed to go down to the basement and ask for a car to move so I could get out. She ran in front of me down the stairs and announced loudly to the room, "my mom's having an allergic reaction and needs to go to the pharmacy, and somebody's dirty car is in the way." Everyone laughed as I told them, "silver car, not dirty car."
His name is Eric, and he is a very decent man. We weren't meant to be, as the saying goes and decided to go our separate ways after being married for several years. He has a wife and two children now, just as I do. We keep in contact and from time to time, see each other at social functions or catch up by getting together for lunch.
Sometimes we text or call each other if we have questions the other one might be able to help with. For instance, Eric called me and we talked at length about LEGOs a while back because Julianna, his daughter, was single-minded in her interest with LEGOs at the time and he knew we had organized our loose LEGOs in such a way to make them conducive for open-ended creative play while at the same time being easy to clean up and maintain.
I contact Eric for tech support on occasion. My long-standing email address is with his domain. Typically though, I have a question about something more challenging to resolve than would be manageable via a Google search. He has always been one of the most knowledgeable IT people I've known.
This post is about a problem he had that he texted me about thorough. And a funny one at that. He messaged, saying, "Hey, random question. Where was the washer and dryer in new Yadkin? I seriously can not remember."
I got the message. I got ready to reply and realized I didn't know. He and I had lived in that particular house for a number of years. I did laundry regularly. How is it I couldn't picture in my mind where the laundry was? It wasn't a large house. How could there be a serious gap in my locational memory like that?
He and I texted back and forth, saying things like, "it wasn't in the room where the litter boxes were, the room was too small," and "it wasn't off the master, the only doors in that room were to the closet and the bathroom." We narrowed down the final (and correct) location by mapping out the house and eliminating all the places it couldn't have been. We came to the answer about the same time, texting similar messages of, "it had to be on the left side of the hallway heading towards the master."
And then we remembered. We both could picture the poorly-designed folding doors that opened into a narrow space just deep enough for the washer and dryer. I could imagine the white metal shelf above where I kept the detergent, fabric softener, and dryer sheets. I wouldn't say it flooded back, because it didn't. It slowly coalesced from dark memories some twenty years prior.
We both laughed about it and echoed sentiments of worrisome memory issues to each other. But mystery solved. Question answered. It wasn't until the next day that I realized I didn't even ask him why he had been wondering about the laundry room from our past.
The Big Boy Update: My son sometimes can't handle change well. Today Madison and I rearranged some things in the children's bedroom based on a request of hers to have the kitchen items out so she and my daughter could play with them. I moved a lamp, shifted a chair down, and we had room to put the small wooden refrigerator and stove/cabinet set along the wall where the window was. My son came down after bedtime tonight in a barely contained fit of anger. He stated, "I hate change. The first thing was when Reese went blind, and that was horrible. And now this."
The Tiny Girl Chronicles: Last Friday night during Movie Night, I was having an allergic reaction to something. I needed to run to the pharmacy and get some Benadryl. I told my daughter I needed to go down to the basement and ask for a car to move so I could get out. She ran in front of me down the stairs and announced loudly to the room, "my mom's having an allergic reaction and needs to go to the pharmacy, and somebody's dirty car is in the way." Everyone laughed as I told them, "silver car, not dirty car."
Tuesday, October 8, 2019
My Daughter Was a Bear
My daughter had a special invitation today to go to the Museum of Natural Sciences to meet a friend of Aunt Margaret's who works there. He was going to give her a tour of a tactile room in which she could touch all kinds of things. My daughter had been to the museum before, many times, in fact, to have Orientation and Mobility lessons with her prior O&M teacher, Mrs. Jane.
The museum wasn't that fun for her because most things were behind glass, ropes, or hanging from the ceiling. There wasn't a lot to touch. This room, however, was entirely different. It was a special room with all sorts of things you could touch or see close up. John, Margaret's friend, met us and escorted us in, telling my daughter he had a wolf pelt she could feel if she wanted.
My daughter was initially timid, but John had a calm, encouraging demeanor as he opened sliding drawers to bring out things she could touch. I'm going to forget everything she "saw" because there was just too much.
She felt the fur of a beaver. She got to see what the feet and claws were like and the teeth that never stopped growing as well as the tail. She compared it to a mink fur and some other small animals. They talked about the outer coat and undercoat and how the undercoat was softer, and could she feel the difference?
He had some skulls to let her feel. How big was a cat's head (and by correlation, brain) compared to a bobcat's skull? What about the mandibles of different animals? What did a horse's skull feel like, and how were the teeth different given that they grazed on grass instead of eating other animals? She touched them each all over.
He asked her if she was ready then to touch that wolf's pelt? Yes, she was ready. I wasn't ready for what he pulled out because while I know a wolf is sizeable, an entire pelt with claws and footpads is impressive. She wrapped herself up in it and felt it all over. The tail of the wolf was huge and fluffy and long. She felt the ears and head and checked it out all over. He wasn't done with impressive animals, though. Next, he opened a long drawer and pulled out an entire black bear pelt. It was large, but it was from a small bear, he told us.
She was so interested in the bear's fur. It was very, very thick. Each hair was thick and long, and there was a denseness to it. She felt the paws and counted the claws and felt how large the claws were in comparison to the other animals. She wanted to be underneath it, be the bear. We told her about how a mother bear would not hesitate to protect her babies if she thought they were being threatened by humans. He also told her bears were vegetarians and weren't violent creatures—he had seen some not that long ago on a trip to the mountains.
We went to the next row, and she held birds wings. Large birds like hawks and owls. She felt how the feathers were organized to make a full wing that was spread out to fly. She felt the edges of the owl's wing feathers, which were serrated such that they could fly silently to sneak up on their prey.
He had her shake a rattlesnake tail and then showed her many different kinds of turtle and tortoise shells, including a large sea turtle one we put on top of her so she could pretend to be a sea turtle. She held lots of large shells and listened for the ocean in them all. John had to leave for work at that point, but we stayed and took her to feel the deer head and neck, mounted in such a way as to show what a taxidermist does to preserve an animal hide. The deer was larger than she had expected.
The last thing we did was go over to an area that had plastic versions of human bones, all jumbled on a table with an assembled skeleton beside it for reference. I told my daughter to hold up a bone, guess what part of the body it went with and then see if Aunt Margaret knew the answer, reminding her how Aunt Margaret was a doctor and that she could give Aunt Margaret a test.
Margaret told her about each bone she picked up. She was interested in the patella bone as she could feel her own kneecap to find that bone on her. She was a little skeptical that the skull was actually the skull until we had her compare it in shape and size with her own head.
Before leaving, we went back to the pelts area and got some pictures and videos with her and the pelts. She held a fox pelt and recorded a message to her brother (who's middle name is Fox) and told him if he came to the museum, he could see the fox too.
Then we went to one of my daughter's favorite parts of the museum to finish our day's adventure. This was one of the places she'd been to with Mrs. Jane before and always had a good time there—the cafeteria.
Here are a few pictures of her today at the museum:
The Big Boy Chronicles: My daughter has spelling words every week at school. She's been doing this for two years now. She's very good at spelling. We know this from all the typing she does on her braillewriter. Her brother, in Montessori fashion, has no homework. What he brings home by way of completed work doesn't show how it's completed at school. I got something home yesterday that he wrote while on a field trip, not in the classroom. I could barely read it for all the misspellings. It was on all kinds of words, including easy ones he should have known how to spell long ago. He spelled both my and my husband's names wrong not long ago, which I thought was him being frustrated with us making him write his own bio for the school family album. Now I'm not so sure. I think he might really not know how to spell our names. We're going to start some spelling games here at home to help and I'm going to ask his teacher about it when we have his parent-teacher conference coming up.
The Tiny Girl Update: An update on daughter's appointment with a doctor from Infectious Diseaseases was promised, I believe, and I forgot to do so last night. Infectious diseases sounds dire, but when something is a mystery, sometimes this group of doctors can be of help when other doctors are at a loss. We didn't learn much new from the appointment as my daughter had, we thought, gotten another UTI on Friday and I'd started treating her for it with higher doses of her prophalactic antibiotic (which had reduced her symptoms in twenty-four hours).
We're on the lookout for any additional infections and will have them cultured next time to see if it's still e-coli or something different. We're going to have a few additional tests done to see if there is something anatomically going on that's causing my daughter to not be able to completely empty her bladder or possibly folds trapping bacteria. For now, we finish the current course of medication and then go back on one maintenance antibiotic per day. The good news is, this isn't compeltely unheard of—recurrent bladder infections—and the low dose of this particular antibiotic only resides in her bladder when taken at night and doesn't factor in really with antibiotic resistance in her body.
The museum wasn't that fun for her because most things were behind glass, ropes, or hanging from the ceiling. There wasn't a lot to touch. This room, however, was entirely different. It was a special room with all sorts of things you could touch or see close up. John, Margaret's friend, met us and escorted us in, telling my daughter he had a wolf pelt she could feel if she wanted.
My daughter was initially timid, but John had a calm, encouraging demeanor as he opened sliding drawers to bring out things she could touch. I'm going to forget everything she "saw" because there was just too much.
She felt the fur of a beaver. She got to see what the feet and claws were like and the teeth that never stopped growing as well as the tail. She compared it to a mink fur and some other small animals. They talked about the outer coat and undercoat and how the undercoat was softer, and could she feel the difference?
He had some skulls to let her feel. How big was a cat's head (and by correlation, brain) compared to a bobcat's skull? What about the mandibles of different animals? What did a horse's skull feel like, and how were the teeth different given that they grazed on grass instead of eating other animals? She touched them each all over.
He asked her if she was ready then to touch that wolf's pelt? Yes, she was ready. I wasn't ready for what he pulled out because while I know a wolf is sizeable, an entire pelt with claws and footpads is impressive. She wrapped herself up in it and felt it all over. The tail of the wolf was huge and fluffy and long. She felt the ears and head and checked it out all over. He wasn't done with impressive animals, though. Next, he opened a long drawer and pulled out an entire black bear pelt. It was large, but it was from a small bear, he told us.
She was so interested in the bear's fur. It was very, very thick. Each hair was thick and long, and there was a denseness to it. She felt the paws and counted the claws and felt how large the claws were in comparison to the other animals. She wanted to be underneath it, be the bear. We told her about how a mother bear would not hesitate to protect her babies if she thought they were being threatened by humans. He also told her bears were vegetarians and weren't violent creatures—he had seen some not that long ago on a trip to the mountains.
We went to the next row, and she held birds wings. Large birds like hawks and owls. She felt how the feathers were organized to make a full wing that was spread out to fly. She felt the edges of the owl's wing feathers, which were serrated such that they could fly silently to sneak up on their prey.
He had her shake a rattlesnake tail and then showed her many different kinds of turtle and tortoise shells, including a large sea turtle one we put on top of her so she could pretend to be a sea turtle. She held lots of large shells and listened for the ocean in them all. John had to leave for work at that point, but we stayed and took her to feel the deer head and neck, mounted in such a way as to show what a taxidermist does to preserve an animal hide. The deer was larger than she had expected.
The last thing we did was go over to an area that had plastic versions of human bones, all jumbled on a table with an assembled skeleton beside it for reference. I told my daughter to hold up a bone, guess what part of the body it went with and then see if Aunt Margaret knew the answer, reminding her how Aunt Margaret was a doctor and that she could give Aunt Margaret a test.
Margaret told her about each bone she picked up. She was interested in the patella bone as she could feel her own kneecap to find that bone on her. She was a little skeptical that the skull was actually the skull until we had her compare it in shape and size with her own head.
Before leaving, we went back to the pelts area and got some pictures and videos with her and the pelts. She held a fox pelt and recorded a message to her brother (who's middle name is Fox) and told him if he came to the museum, he could see the fox too.
Then we went to one of my daughter's favorite parts of the museum to finish our day's adventure. This was one of the places she'd been to with Mrs. Jane before and always had a good time there—the cafeteria.
Here are a few pictures of her today at the museum:
The Big Boy Chronicles: My daughter has spelling words every week at school. She's been doing this for two years now. She's very good at spelling. We know this from all the typing she does on her braillewriter. Her brother, in Montessori fashion, has no homework. What he brings home by way of completed work doesn't show how it's completed at school. I got something home yesterday that he wrote while on a field trip, not in the classroom. I could barely read it for all the misspellings. It was on all kinds of words, including easy ones he should have known how to spell long ago. He spelled both my and my husband's names wrong not long ago, which I thought was him being frustrated with us making him write his own bio for the school family album. Now I'm not so sure. I think he might really not know how to spell our names. We're going to start some spelling games here at home to help and I'm going to ask his teacher about it when we have his parent-teacher conference coming up.
The Tiny Girl Update: An update on daughter's appointment with a doctor from Infectious Diseaseases was promised, I believe, and I forgot to do so last night. Infectious diseases sounds dire, but when something is a mystery, sometimes this group of doctors can be of help when other doctors are at a loss. We didn't learn much new from the appointment as my daughter had, we thought, gotten another UTI on Friday and I'd started treating her for it with higher doses of her prophalactic antibiotic (which had reduced her symptoms in twenty-four hours).
We're on the lookout for any additional infections and will have them cultured next time to see if it's still e-coli or something different. We're going to have a few additional tests done to see if there is something anatomically going on that's causing my daughter to not be able to completely empty her bladder or possibly folds trapping bacteria. For now, we finish the current course of medication and then go back on one maintenance antibiotic per day. The good news is, this isn't compeltely unheard of—recurrent bladder infections—and the low dose of this particular antibiotic only resides in her bladder when taken at night and doesn't factor in really with antibiotic resistance in her body.
Monday, October 7, 2019
Brenda Rodgers
I had a regularly scheduled checkup with my PCP today. I arrived, checked in at the desk and found out my provider had left some three months ago and hadn't I gotten a call about it to cancel and reschedule me? I hadn't gotten a call, of that I was sure. Later, another person said maybe they had physically mailed patients about the departure. And then there was another person who thought it was email they had sent to the patients.
It didn't matter much at that point as I was standing there in the office and was hopeful I could be seen. There happened to be an opening a half-hour later with a doctor I'd never seen before. They got me back in much less than a half-hour and I had a very nice time meeting her and discussing the relevant points of my medical history. I was out about the time I would have gotten out with my original appointment and I had a new doctor I quite liked.
I needed to schedule another follow-up in six months and had been sent back up to the front to the check-in area to reschedule there. As I came out I saw a man quickly ushering a woman with a blind cane into the office. He positioned her at the front of the line (as there was no one else there) and then tried to leave. She asked him some questions about what she needed to do and where she was in the office and he said something like, "you just stand there and they'll call you up."
She was clearly confused. Or wait, I shouldn't say that. To me, I understood her confusion. To the man, he had no idea, because he didn't have experience with blind people. He didn't realize she was just thrust into a space of unknown size with unknown furnishings, obstacles or layout. She didn't know which way to face or what was going to happen other than, "they'll call you up."
I walked up to her and said, "Hello, my daughter is blind. Can I help?" She gently grabbed my hand that I had placed on her arm and asked me if I would make sure she didn't lose her place in line. I explained she was first and I'd help her get to the counter when they called her. She and I chatted for about another minute before one of the staff called, "next" and then we walked to the counter together before I backed away for her privacy.
She said in a kindly yet worried way, "don't leave." I said I wasn't in any hurry and I'd wait until she was checked in. I was called next and made my appointment while she gave credit card and identification as well as answered questions to the person beside me.
When we were done we took seats beside each other and talked about my daughter and discovered both she and my daughter had lost their vision starting with an infection. Ultimately she had to have both eyes removed. In one, she had a prosthesis, the other socket remained empty. She was wearing regular sunglasses so it wasn't apparent.
I talked to her about how my daughter didn't like to use her cane. She told me to tell her she should use her cane! It was at that point we realized we hadn't introduced ourselves. She said to tell my daughter Brenda Rodgers said to use her cane, that it was a good thing.
Brenda has a guide dog and we discussed how it was looking more and more like my daughter would want to have one when she's old enough. He love of animals and desire to own a pet store when she grows up makes me believe she will love to have a companion with her that also functions as a way to keep her safe. We have about ten years to go before we'll know for sure.
About that cane: if Brenda hadn't had the cane, I wouldn't have realized she was blind and wouldn't have offered to help her. The cane is definitely important. Brenda's name was called just then and as she stood up the nurse asked if we were together. We said no although I said I was available if she needed help. I wasn't needed at all though because the nurse knew just what to do, asking Brenda how she preferred to be guided back.
In the car later in the day, I told my daughter about Brenda and her eyes and how she had lost them to infection. My daughter has never heard of someone losing their eyes entirely before. She asked some questions. And, of course, I passed on Brenda's message that she should use her cane.
The Big Boy Tiny Girl Picky Conversation:
My daughter is having difficulty with EVERYTHING. I tell you, it's only getting worse. More on that in a future post. Tonight she was bemoaning the dessert choices (there were many options from the freezer, her favorite dessert location). My son said, "for Christmas I want Reese not to be picky." My daughter retorted, "you can't choose my attitude!"
It didn't matter much at that point as I was standing there in the office and was hopeful I could be seen. There happened to be an opening a half-hour later with a doctor I'd never seen before. They got me back in much less than a half-hour and I had a very nice time meeting her and discussing the relevant points of my medical history. I was out about the time I would have gotten out with my original appointment and I had a new doctor I quite liked.
I needed to schedule another follow-up in six months and had been sent back up to the front to the check-in area to reschedule there. As I came out I saw a man quickly ushering a woman with a blind cane into the office. He positioned her at the front of the line (as there was no one else there) and then tried to leave. She asked him some questions about what she needed to do and where she was in the office and he said something like, "you just stand there and they'll call you up."
She was clearly confused. Or wait, I shouldn't say that. To me, I understood her confusion. To the man, he had no idea, because he didn't have experience with blind people. He didn't realize she was just thrust into a space of unknown size with unknown furnishings, obstacles or layout. She didn't know which way to face or what was going to happen other than, "they'll call you up."
I walked up to her and said, "Hello, my daughter is blind. Can I help?" She gently grabbed my hand that I had placed on her arm and asked me if I would make sure she didn't lose her place in line. I explained she was first and I'd help her get to the counter when they called her. She and I chatted for about another minute before one of the staff called, "next" and then we walked to the counter together before I backed away for her privacy.
She said in a kindly yet worried way, "don't leave." I said I wasn't in any hurry and I'd wait until she was checked in. I was called next and made my appointment while she gave credit card and identification as well as answered questions to the person beside me.
When we were done we took seats beside each other and talked about my daughter and discovered both she and my daughter had lost their vision starting with an infection. Ultimately she had to have both eyes removed. In one, she had a prosthesis, the other socket remained empty. She was wearing regular sunglasses so it wasn't apparent.
I talked to her about how my daughter didn't like to use her cane. She told me to tell her she should use her cane! It was at that point we realized we hadn't introduced ourselves. She said to tell my daughter Brenda Rodgers said to use her cane, that it was a good thing.
Brenda has a guide dog and we discussed how it was looking more and more like my daughter would want to have one when she's old enough. He love of animals and desire to own a pet store when she grows up makes me believe she will love to have a companion with her that also functions as a way to keep her safe. We have about ten years to go before we'll know for sure.
About that cane: if Brenda hadn't had the cane, I wouldn't have realized she was blind and wouldn't have offered to help her. The cane is definitely important. Brenda's name was called just then and as she stood up the nurse asked if we were together. We said no although I said I was available if she needed help. I wasn't needed at all though because the nurse knew just what to do, asking Brenda how she preferred to be guided back.
In the car later in the day, I told my daughter about Brenda and her eyes and how she had lost them to infection. My daughter has never heard of someone losing their eyes entirely before. She asked some questions. And, of course, I passed on Brenda's message that she should use her cane.
The Big Boy Tiny Girl Picky Conversation:
My daughter is having difficulty with EVERYTHING. I tell you, it's only getting worse. More on that in a future post. Tonight she was bemoaning the dessert choices (there were many options from the freezer, her favorite dessert location). My son said, "for Christmas I want Reese not to be picky." My daughter retorted, "you can't choose my attitude!"
Sunday, October 6, 2019
Grandma’s on Facebook!
I do "tech support" from time to time to various people. I have a Computer Science degree and worked in the software development industry prior to having children which means that while there are many, many things I don't know, I do know enough to help at times.
Not all tech support is fun. For someone who works in the field, it's a lot of "not fun" because you have customers calling who are upset things aren't working. You have to fix their problem while being subjected to what are largely not happy people. The support I do is to family members and friends and is all elective. It's nicer that way because I've chosen to help and even want to help. There is no obligation.
It's nice to be able to help someone and they are always appreciative. That doesn't always make the support fun, but it's not a drudgery either. This weekend, however, I got to do some fun tech support.
My mother had noticed when my aunt visited last that she was playing solitaire with a deck of cards and had thought it might be fun for Aunt Martha to have a computer or tablet she could play solitaire and other games on. My mother asked my husband and me about it and through a series of conversations back and forth with us considering and then throwing out ideas, we came to the decision to go with an iPad.
This decision was largely due in part because we had an old iPad we weren't using anymore. When Aunt Martha came to town we told her of our plan and she was excited. But were we sure? Didn't we need the iPad? We assured her it wasn't a new model and that our technology-heavy family wasn't going to go without an iPad as a result.
Then the fun began. Aunt Martha has an iPhone, so an iPad was convenient. When we got it configured her pictures (she loves taking pictures on her phone) all appeared on her iPad and could be viewed in much larger form. We configured Skype and Facetime and got her email going.
I installed weather and map apps and showed her how text messages showed up on her iPad as well as her phone. We looked at how Gmail worked and she sent and received emails to my mother and me. She had never had email set up on her phone before. And this was all fun. It was fun to me and fun to her because it was new things to do.
And of course, there were the games. We found games that didn't need to be connected to the internet because she doesn't have WiFi at home. Would she be interested in WiFi at some point if she really enjoys the iPad? Possibly, she said, but for now this was enough new to learn. I was impressed with Aunt Martha. She was so receptive to the new things and she was quick to pick up on them.
And everything was free. I explained how companies made money from advertisement revenue similar to how magazines and television shows do. Companies also, I told her, make money in some cases by giving you a "try and buy" version of a game that's less functionality than the full game and yet can still be lots of fun. We talked about Micro-Transactions and how the vast majority of money that game developers make is from in-game purchases. And that that huge portion of the money comes from about three percent of the game players. And that means the rest of us can enjoy the game for free.
I had one more thing to do though before she left. I wasn't sure what she'd think about it though. I asked her if she wanted to be on Facebook? She is my father's sister and I'm friends with her children and some of their children. Facebook was not only free, but you also didn't have to ever post on it. You could sign up and just see what friends and family were posting.
She said sure and while she took some luggage to the car I got her signed up. When she got back she scrolled through the list of people Facebook wanted to know if she wanted to be friends with based on her contacts (and other Facebook data mining algorithms). She sent a friends request to lots of people.
By the time we completed inviting people she was already getting notifications people were accepting the invites and posting something. It was exciting times. We looked at her feed and one of her grandchildren had sent a big message saying, "Grandma's on Facebook!"
I told Aunt Martha I was going to be checking in with her over the next week or so, making sure everything is going well and answering any questions she might have. Some tech support is fun. This was the best kind, in my opinion.
The Big Boy Update: My son is going to see his psychiatrist tomorrow for the required six-month check. My son said everything is going well with the Adderall when I asked him tonight. He even said, "It's helping me with my Mystery History research project."
The Tiny Girl Chronicles: My daughter is going to see an infectious disease specialist tomorrow for her recurring bladder infections. She has one again I think now or did a few days ago before I put her back on the antibiotic. I really hope we can get some answers.
Not all tech support is fun. For someone who works in the field, it's a lot of "not fun" because you have customers calling who are upset things aren't working. You have to fix their problem while being subjected to what are largely not happy people. The support I do is to family members and friends and is all elective. It's nicer that way because I've chosen to help and even want to help. There is no obligation.
It's nice to be able to help someone and they are always appreciative. That doesn't always make the support fun, but it's not a drudgery either. This weekend, however, I got to do some fun tech support.
My mother had noticed when my aunt visited last that she was playing solitaire with a deck of cards and had thought it might be fun for Aunt Martha to have a computer or tablet she could play solitaire and other games on. My mother asked my husband and me about it and through a series of conversations back and forth with us considering and then throwing out ideas, we came to the decision to go with an iPad.
This decision was largely due in part because we had an old iPad we weren't using anymore. When Aunt Martha came to town we told her of our plan and she was excited. But were we sure? Didn't we need the iPad? We assured her it wasn't a new model and that our technology-heavy family wasn't going to go without an iPad as a result.
Then the fun began. Aunt Martha has an iPhone, so an iPad was convenient. When we got it configured her pictures (she loves taking pictures on her phone) all appeared on her iPad and could be viewed in much larger form. We configured Skype and Facetime and got her email going.
I installed weather and map apps and showed her how text messages showed up on her iPad as well as her phone. We looked at how Gmail worked and she sent and received emails to my mother and me. She had never had email set up on her phone before. And this was all fun. It was fun to me and fun to her because it was new things to do.
And of course, there were the games. We found games that didn't need to be connected to the internet because she doesn't have WiFi at home. Would she be interested in WiFi at some point if she really enjoys the iPad? Possibly, she said, but for now this was enough new to learn. I was impressed with Aunt Martha. She was so receptive to the new things and she was quick to pick up on them.
And everything was free. I explained how companies made money from advertisement revenue similar to how magazines and television shows do. Companies also, I told her, make money in some cases by giving you a "try and buy" version of a game that's less functionality than the full game and yet can still be lots of fun. We talked about Micro-Transactions and how the vast majority of money that game developers make is from in-game purchases. And that that huge portion of the money comes from about three percent of the game players. And that means the rest of us can enjoy the game for free.
I had one more thing to do though before she left. I wasn't sure what she'd think about it though. I asked her if she wanted to be on Facebook? She is my father's sister and I'm friends with her children and some of their children. Facebook was not only free, but you also didn't have to ever post on it. You could sign up and just see what friends and family were posting.
She said sure and while she took some luggage to the car I got her signed up. When she got back she scrolled through the list of people Facebook wanted to know if she wanted to be friends with based on her contacts (and other Facebook data mining algorithms). She sent a friends request to lots of people.
By the time we completed inviting people she was already getting notifications people were accepting the invites and posting something. It was exciting times. We looked at her feed and one of her grandchildren had sent a big message saying, "Grandma's on Facebook!"
I told Aunt Martha I was going to be checking in with her over the next week or so, making sure everything is going well and answering any questions she might have. Some tech support is fun. This was the best kind, in my opinion.
The Big Boy Update: My son is going to see his psychiatrist tomorrow for the required six-month check. My son said everything is going well with the Adderall when I asked him tonight. He even said, "It's helping me with my Mystery History research project."
The Tiny Girl Chronicles: My daughter is going to see an infectious disease specialist tomorrow for her recurring bladder infections. She has one again I think now or did a few days ago before I put her back on the antibiotic. I really hope we can get some answers.
Saturday, October 5, 2019
Anxiety
I had a discussion with Dhruti today about my daughter. After posting yesterday I sent her a message with a quick summary, saying I had an appointment with the psychiatrist next week and I knew she had been wanting to talk to me about how things were going. I wanted to talk to her about my thoughts as well.
Dhruti and I talked today and she told me about some of the things she's been seeing with my daughter and what they meant and her thoughts about things overall. First, my daughter has been wanting to play "hide and seek" games in the playroom. This is rather silly in that there is nowhere to hide in the small room and Dhruti can see her no matter where she is. My daughter knows this intrinsically, but there is an underlying message. She wants to be "found". She feels lost.
She told me about social issues my daughter is having at school. Aditi, her close friend who is also a VI student, is frustrating my daughter. Aditi doesn't want to do everything my daughter suggests. She sees this as Aditi not wanting to be her friend. Brooklynn, however, is willing to do anything my daughter wants to do, so my daughter feels closer to her right now. Most of her other friends don't want to be controlled in the way my daughter has a need to control them, which is causing social tension.
At one point in the session, Dhruti made the mistake of using the word "see" when describing something. My daughter snapped at her saying, "seeing is not my thing and you should know that." That's not something my daughter would say to Dhruti, or anyone, typically.
Dhruti sees my daughter being defiant about everything and how, no matter what choices are offered and how good or fun something might sound, my daughter is resistant. She said to her, "it must be very scary to do something when you don't know what that something will be like." My daughter admitted it was.
She said my daughter knows she's being mean, rude, hurtful in her words, but she doesn't know how else to be. She's dealing with a lot of fear right now. I told Dhruti I planned to have my daughter see the psychiatrist she had recommended for my son a year ago because she seems to be sad or unhappy or angry and willing to fight everything out, perhaps because of this fear of the unknown, or maybe because she's trying to accept the blindness but fighting that internally. For whatever reason, I thought it was time to take that step.
Dhruti said she didn't disagree. She said she was reticent to see her put on an antidepressant at her age and that Dr. Snow may feel the same. I said I wasn't set on medication, but I wasn't against it either. What I wanted to do was get her in, have her evaluated and get his opinion. That, and once we had her as an established patient, we could go to him in the future if there was a need.
Then Dhruti said something that was like the proverbial light bulb going off. She said she thought she might do better by being treated for anxiety and not depression. Anxiety. Of course. She has so much anxiety about everything it's causing her to resist, try to control her surroundings, including people and the negativity associated with all of those things combined, is causing her to be depressed. Or perhaps not depressed, but down, sad, upset, negative, frustrated, etc.
Anxiety makes so much more sense. A low dose of anxiety medication may give her some mental peace she needs right now so she can cope with things while she processes and accepts the blindness. Why didn't I see it? It makes so much more sense. The upside is anxiety medication is a much better option for a child her age. It doesn't have to be weaned off of in the future and can be taken as needed. And it doesn't affect her developing brain in the same way.
It was such a huge relief when I heard Dhruti explain it that way. She is going to contact Dr. Snow on Monday morning to discuss my daughter with him. And everything will be subject to his evaluation and recommendation. He may have other ideas entirely. I'm glad to be having her seen by him though. If we can give her some peace, it will be a good thing. She is having difficulties at home, at school and socially. I'd love to help her calm her mind, let her just be a child instead of living in a perpetual state of flight or fight, mostly fight, from fear and anxiety.
The Big Boy Update: My son is currently at the symphony with his father. Tonight's performance is of video game music. I'm wondering what songs they'll play. I'm guessing the Super Mario theme song will be one and probably the main Tetris theme. I wonder if my son will know a lot of the songs. I have a feeling my husband will know all of the songs.
The Tiny Girl Chronicles: My daughter came home after ten o'clock last night with Morgan. They had been working for two days on Halloween cookies. There were two large containers of them. They had made sugar cookies and then iced them with all sorts of colors, designs and sprinkles. There were probably three batches they had made so many and each of the cookies was uniquely decorated. This morning we shared some with Madison for her family next door and Ellie, to take back to her three siblings and parents. We still have loads left, even after eating them throughout the day when we should have been eating more healthful food.
Dhruti and I talked today and she told me about some of the things she's been seeing with my daughter and what they meant and her thoughts about things overall. First, my daughter has been wanting to play "hide and seek" games in the playroom. This is rather silly in that there is nowhere to hide in the small room and Dhruti can see her no matter where she is. My daughter knows this intrinsically, but there is an underlying message. She wants to be "found". She feels lost.
She told me about social issues my daughter is having at school. Aditi, her close friend who is also a VI student, is frustrating my daughter. Aditi doesn't want to do everything my daughter suggests. She sees this as Aditi not wanting to be her friend. Brooklynn, however, is willing to do anything my daughter wants to do, so my daughter feels closer to her right now. Most of her other friends don't want to be controlled in the way my daughter has a need to control them, which is causing social tension.
At one point in the session, Dhruti made the mistake of using the word "see" when describing something. My daughter snapped at her saying, "seeing is not my thing and you should know that." That's not something my daughter would say to Dhruti, or anyone, typically.
Dhruti sees my daughter being defiant about everything and how, no matter what choices are offered and how good or fun something might sound, my daughter is resistant. She said to her, "it must be very scary to do something when you don't know what that something will be like." My daughter admitted it was.
She said my daughter knows she's being mean, rude, hurtful in her words, but she doesn't know how else to be. She's dealing with a lot of fear right now. I told Dhruti I planned to have my daughter see the psychiatrist she had recommended for my son a year ago because she seems to be sad or unhappy or angry and willing to fight everything out, perhaps because of this fear of the unknown, or maybe because she's trying to accept the blindness but fighting that internally. For whatever reason, I thought it was time to take that step.
Dhruti said she didn't disagree. She said she was reticent to see her put on an antidepressant at her age and that Dr. Snow may feel the same. I said I wasn't set on medication, but I wasn't against it either. What I wanted to do was get her in, have her evaluated and get his opinion. That, and once we had her as an established patient, we could go to him in the future if there was a need.
Then Dhruti said something that was like the proverbial light bulb going off. She said she thought she might do better by being treated for anxiety and not depression. Anxiety. Of course. She has so much anxiety about everything it's causing her to resist, try to control her surroundings, including people and the negativity associated with all of those things combined, is causing her to be depressed. Or perhaps not depressed, but down, sad, upset, negative, frustrated, etc.
Anxiety makes so much more sense. A low dose of anxiety medication may give her some mental peace she needs right now so she can cope with things while she processes and accepts the blindness. Why didn't I see it? It makes so much more sense. The upside is anxiety medication is a much better option for a child her age. It doesn't have to be weaned off of in the future and can be taken as needed. And it doesn't affect her developing brain in the same way.
It was such a huge relief when I heard Dhruti explain it that way. She is going to contact Dr. Snow on Monday morning to discuss my daughter with him. And everything will be subject to his evaluation and recommendation. He may have other ideas entirely. I'm glad to be having her seen by him though. If we can give her some peace, it will be a good thing. She is having difficulties at home, at school and socially. I'd love to help her calm her mind, let her just be a child instead of living in a perpetual state of flight or fight, mostly fight, from fear and anxiety.
The Big Boy Update: My son is currently at the symphony with his father. Tonight's performance is of video game music. I'm wondering what songs they'll play. I'm guessing the Super Mario theme song will be one and probably the main Tetris theme. I wonder if my son will know a lot of the songs. I have a feeling my husband will know all of the songs.
The Tiny Girl Chronicles: My daughter came home after ten o'clock last night with Morgan. They had been working for two days on Halloween cookies. There were two large containers of them. They had made sugar cookies and then iced them with all sorts of colors, designs and sprinkles. There were probably three batches they had made so many and each of the cookies was uniquely decorated. This morning we shared some with Madison for her family next door and Ellie, to take back to her three siblings and parents. We still have loads left, even after eating them throughout the day when we should have been eating more healthful food.
Friday, October 4, 2019
Depressed
There is a lot going on with my daughter. I've written about it here a good bit and we're working through it at home and with the professionals my daughter sees. I know she's processing the blindness, and I know it's hard. It's trauma and not mild trauma at that. It's trauma that's happened again and again as she's had insult after insult to her eyes and vision.
The surgeries, doctor appointments, drops, medications, restrictions in activity, limited activity because she can't see, having to realize again and again she can't do things other people can do and the vision loss as a whole has a huge impact on her mental state and her life.
We try to help my daughter feel as capable as possible whenever we can. It's not always something we can do though, because she is definitely limited by her blindness. I don't know how she feels about being capable, happy or normalized because we have to deduce things from what she says (or mostly doesn't say) in how she acts or reacts and what we're hearing from her therapists and teachers.
Emotionally, I think this is the worst she's ever been. Not everyone can see it because, as my mother told me this morning, she seems so happy. Yes, she can seem happy at times but those times are short in duration and typically when she's having her every whim catered to by an adult playing with her where she directs the play and gets to do what she wants.
Food—it's all awful, she doesn't want to eat anything. Entertainment—almost everything we suggest is rejected as a matter of course, saying it's boring or she just doesn't want to do it. Daily responsibilities—getting dressed, having her hair done, getting in the car to go wherever, doing something the family is doing when it isn't exactly what she had pictured in her mind as the thing she wanted to do—it's all negative. All bad. She rarely seems happy about anything.
The words coming out of her mouth are angry, accusatory, negative and hurtful at times. For apparently no reason at all in most cases. She is a very angry child. At what would appear to be most things in her life. She is more aggressive with the dog, trying to control her. She tries to control friends, getting angry if they don't do what she thinks they should be doing. She wants to control every aspect of her life, even when it doesn't make sense. It's like she's desperate to have something go her way because nothing has for a long time. Or nothing major at any rate.
Everything is a fight with her, and that only increases the amount of negative she's experienced in her life, and that's not good. This morning I had a candid conversation with her. It was only candid because I got very upset at her repeated bombardment of hurtful and angry comments towards me as I was carefully doing her hair.
This morning when I was preparing to do her hair, I had gotten some "Floof" out for her because she had said she wanted to play with it. It's like kinetic sand only lighter and airier. But then I didn't hand her the crab cookie cutter the second she wanted it. I didn't stop and drop the partially completed braid, to go get scissors to open the second bag of Floof the second she wanted it, even though I said I'd be done in two minutes and would help her. I was hurting her. I always hurt her (I was being exceptionally careful and gentle with her hair). I was the worst, the meanest, why did I make her do her hair (she had said she was interested in the fishtail braids only minutes before.)
And that was just for the hair braiding for the day. The morning routine and breakfast was abysmal. After resisting and rejecting everything, making ultimatums and stating she hated everything she was ultimately ordered to the car so we could leave. She could stay in the car and miss breakfast at Biscuitville if she didn't change her attitude and I was sorry there was nothing there she liked (she had no idea if she would like any of it and yet she was certain, because she didn't like anything I told her about—a common theme.)
That's how our days go with her a lot lately. But back to the candid conversation we had. I broke down and cried, explaining I was trying the best I could as her mother to do everything I could. That parents only want the best for their children. That we try so very hard to make our children's lives the best the can be. I was embellishing the crying a bit because I was trying to connect with my daughter on an emotional level. Sometimes this works. I have a lot of things I've tried with her and sometimes she needs a reality check that she's not the only one with feelings.
What surprised me was when I was talking about parents wanting their children to be happy, she said, "I'm never happy." She didn't want to talk about it but I made her. She tried to change the subject, pretending to be interested in something or other that made no sense but was a distraction from the main topic. I acknowledged the additional thread in the conversation but didn't let her off the hook, continuing to come back to her unhappiness.
She'll be eight-years-old in a month, but she's still very much a child. She doesn't have the capacity to verbalize what's happening to her the way an adult can. I got, I think, that aside from brief periods where something fun is happening, she's really never happy. It all clicked in my head. All the behaviors speak to not only unhappiness but depression. Real depression, not the, "I'm depressed I missed the sale at Macy's this weekend" because that's not depression, that being sad. I think she may be clinically depressed.
Dhruti had told me she wanted to talk, needed to talk to me soon. I'm going to talk to her, but I think it's time we take my daughter to a psychiatrist. I think we need to consider options outside of therapy. I talked to my husband briefly about it today (he's out of town) and left Dhruti a message. But I'm firm in this at this point and it's going to take some serious dissuading with good reason to convince me to cancel the appointment.
My daughter doesn't talk about how she really feels often. Today was, I think, a few words with a huge amount of weight behind them. The tone of voice she said, "I'm never happy" in. The resignation in her voice. The despair. The hopelessness. I asked her to elaborate, which she obviously didn't want to do, but I pressed her hard, telling her I would get her some help if she was really never happy. I even told her who I was going to have her see (she's been in the office that day we all had Influenza A). She said she didn't like him (no surprise there).
And yet she didn't say no. She wants help. She's had so much "help" in the way of doctors, surgeries, medical practitioners and all that's come of it from her perspective is she's gone more and more blind. I can't imagine she has much hope. I told her I was going to do everything I could so she didn't have to feel unhappy all the time.
This is breaking my heart. It's worse in a way than the blindness. Strangely, she's never really been that upset it seems at the loss of vision. She just keeps adapting. This is different. This hurts worse than becoming blind. And it's coming out in all directions from her—the pain.
There is the part of me that says she's just a child wanting to get her way. That she's spoiled and we've raised a brat. But I know in my heart that even with all the failings we've had as parents, this isn't just being a headstrong child. This is real. I'll keep you posted on what we end up doing—going to the psychiatrist or not—and what comes of it.
The Big Boy Update: My son was looking forward to having some screen time when he got home today. When I left to pick him up I had to run three errands, one of which was walking a neighbor's dog and then bringing the dog back to our house. I brought his Switch in the car and surprised him when we drove off-campus. He said thank you and that I was the best mom ever in the universe or something like that and then happily sat in the car with the dog while I ran into the drug store, dog store and walked the neighbor's dog before loading him up in the back of the car to head home. He's still on his Switch now, which is good, because I haven't had a chance to do anything with him. It's working on eight o'clock. I suppose I should feed him at some point. He hasn't noticed it's way past dinner time yet he's been so engrossed.
The Tiny Girl Chronicles: My daughter's told me when she got in the car from school before track out, "do you know what thalantropy is? It's when you give money to people." They've been talking about philanthropy apparently in her class.
The surgeries, doctor appointments, drops, medications, restrictions in activity, limited activity because she can't see, having to realize again and again she can't do things other people can do and the vision loss as a whole has a huge impact on her mental state and her life.
We try to help my daughter feel as capable as possible whenever we can. It's not always something we can do though, because she is definitely limited by her blindness. I don't know how she feels about being capable, happy or normalized because we have to deduce things from what she says (or mostly doesn't say) in how she acts or reacts and what we're hearing from her therapists and teachers.
Emotionally, I think this is the worst she's ever been. Not everyone can see it because, as my mother told me this morning, she seems so happy. Yes, she can seem happy at times but those times are short in duration and typically when she's having her every whim catered to by an adult playing with her where she directs the play and gets to do what she wants.
Food—it's all awful, she doesn't want to eat anything. Entertainment—almost everything we suggest is rejected as a matter of course, saying it's boring or she just doesn't want to do it. Daily responsibilities—getting dressed, having her hair done, getting in the car to go wherever, doing something the family is doing when it isn't exactly what she had pictured in her mind as the thing she wanted to do—it's all negative. All bad. She rarely seems happy about anything.
The words coming out of her mouth are angry, accusatory, negative and hurtful at times. For apparently no reason at all in most cases. She is a very angry child. At what would appear to be most things in her life. She is more aggressive with the dog, trying to control her. She tries to control friends, getting angry if they don't do what she thinks they should be doing. She wants to control every aspect of her life, even when it doesn't make sense. It's like she's desperate to have something go her way because nothing has for a long time. Or nothing major at any rate.
Everything is a fight with her, and that only increases the amount of negative she's experienced in her life, and that's not good. This morning I had a candid conversation with her. It was only candid because I got very upset at her repeated bombardment of hurtful and angry comments towards me as I was carefully doing her hair.
This morning when I was preparing to do her hair, I had gotten some "Floof" out for her because she had said she wanted to play with it. It's like kinetic sand only lighter and airier. But then I didn't hand her the crab cookie cutter the second she wanted it. I didn't stop and drop the partially completed braid, to go get scissors to open the second bag of Floof the second she wanted it, even though I said I'd be done in two minutes and would help her. I was hurting her. I always hurt her (I was being exceptionally careful and gentle with her hair). I was the worst, the meanest, why did I make her do her hair (she had said she was interested in the fishtail braids only minutes before.)
And that was just for the hair braiding for the day. The morning routine and breakfast was abysmal. After resisting and rejecting everything, making ultimatums and stating she hated everything she was ultimately ordered to the car so we could leave. She could stay in the car and miss breakfast at Biscuitville if she didn't change her attitude and I was sorry there was nothing there she liked (she had no idea if she would like any of it and yet she was certain, because she didn't like anything I told her about—a common theme.)
That's how our days go with her a lot lately. But back to the candid conversation we had. I broke down and cried, explaining I was trying the best I could as her mother to do everything I could. That parents only want the best for their children. That we try so very hard to make our children's lives the best the can be. I was embellishing the crying a bit because I was trying to connect with my daughter on an emotional level. Sometimes this works. I have a lot of things I've tried with her and sometimes she needs a reality check that she's not the only one with feelings.
What surprised me was when I was talking about parents wanting their children to be happy, she said, "I'm never happy." She didn't want to talk about it but I made her. She tried to change the subject, pretending to be interested in something or other that made no sense but was a distraction from the main topic. I acknowledged the additional thread in the conversation but didn't let her off the hook, continuing to come back to her unhappiness.
She'll be eight-years-old in a month, but she's still very much a child. She doesn't have the capacity to verbalize what's happening to her the way an adult can. I got, I think, that aside from brief periods where something fun is happening, she's really never happy. It all clicked in my head. All the behaviors speak to not only unhappiness but depression. Real depression, not the, "I'm depressed I missed the sale at Macy's this weekend" because that's not depression, that being sad. I think she may be clinically depressed.
Dhruti had told me she wanted to talk, needed to talk to me soon. I'm going to talk to her, but I think it's time we take my daughter to a psychiatrist. I think we need to consider options outside of therapy. I talked to my husband briefly about it today (he's out of town) and left Dhruti a message. But I'm firm in this at this point and it's going to take some serious dissuading with good reason to convince me to cancel the appointment.
My daughter doesn't talk about how she really feels often. Today was, I think, a few words with a huge amount of weight behind them. The tone of voice she said, "I'm never happy" in. The resignation in her voice. The despair. The hopelessness. I asked her to elaborate, which she obviously didn't want to do, but I pressed her hard, telling her I would get her some help if she was really never happy. I even told her who I was going to have her see (she's been in the office that day we all had Influenza A). She said she didn't like him (no surprise there).
And yet she didn't say no. She wants help. She's had so much "help" in the way of doctors, surgeries, medical practitioners and all that's come of it from her perspective is she's gone more and more blind. I can't imagine she has much hope. I told her I was going to do everything I could so she didn't have to feel unhappy all the time.
This is breaking my heart. It's worse in a way than the blindness. Strangely, she's never really been that upset it seems at the loss of vision. She just keeps adapting. This is different. This hurts worse than becoming blind. And it's coming out in all directions from her—the pain.
There is the part of me that says she's just a child wanting to get her way. That she's spoiled and we've raised a brat. But I know in my heart that even with all the failings we've had as parents, this isn't just being a headstrong child. This is real. I'll keep you posted on what we end up doing—going to the psychiatrist or not—and what comes of it.
The Big Boy Update: My son was looking forward to having some screen time when he got home today. When I left to pick him up I had to run three errands, one of which was walking a neighbor's dog and then bringing the dog back to our house. I brought his Switch in the car and surprised him when we drove off-campus. He said thank you and that I was the best mom ever in the universe or something like that and then happily sat in the car with the dog while I ran into the drug store, dog store and walked the neighbor's dog before loading him up in the back of the car to head home. He's still on his Switch now, which is good, because I haven't had a chance to do anything with him. It's working on eight o'clock. I suppose I should feed him at some point. He hasn't noticed it's way past dinner time yet he's been so engrossed.
The Tiny Girl Chronicles: My daughter's told me when she got in the car from school before track out, "do you know what thalantropy is? It's when you give money to people." They've been talking about philanthropy apparently in her class.
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