Baby was released from the hospital yesterday with host of medications and supplies (diagnosed with RSV, bronchiolitis, and pneumonia). We have breathing treatments every 4 hours (day and night), chest pt (basically I beat on her chest and back), steroids, and antibiotics. She is doing better, but she is still having a really hard time breathing. I wish I had stolen the oxygen monitor from the hospital, so I would know how she is every second of the day.
When I picked Bubba up from school yesterday (yes...hours after Baby was discharged), though, he was running a fever of 102.4, coughing his head off, and complaining of a headache. I went home, kissed Evander goodbye (because he is traveling this week, of course), picked up Baby, and headed for the pediatrician's office.
I am not going to lie... I cried all the way to the pediatrician's office. The thought of having two terribly sick children was more than I could handle at the moment. Baby and I had been at the hospital for 48 consecutive hours, and I had gotten NO sleep. I was so afraid that her oxygen was going to dip (even though she was getting oxygen) that I couldn't sleep. I kept my eyes glued to the monitor.
My suspicions were confirmed. The pediatrician said that Bubba has an ear infection (what's new) and RSV. I said several curse words, then apologized for my inappropriate comments. The doctor then went on to say that Bubba is evidently immune to antibiotics, because he was taking antibiotics for a previous infection when this occurred. Because of this, an injection was required and a mandatory 20 minute wait would follow (to make sure he had no allergic reaction). He freaked out about the shot, but then went about his business.
Twenty minutes later, the pediatrician and nurse came in the find Baby and I lying across the exam table, nearly asleep, and Bubba licking the mirror. Welcome to my house! We were good to go. So...now I have two children on breathing treatments every four hours, steroids, and antibiotics. FYI... potent steroids and toddlers do not mix well!!
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Worlds Apart
She is lying just inches from me, but we feel worlds apart. Her body is elevated on a white cloud of pillows, but she looks horribly uncomfortable. She is trapped in a spider web of tubes, one protruding from her nose to sustain her life, another running from her tiny chubby arm to the IV pump hovering over my head, and the last one sticking out of her sock to record her heart rate and oxygen level. As I look at her, I can see her belly rising and falling, trying desperately to breathe. I try to sync my breath with hers but realize I'm about to hyperventilate. It is just too fast. A bead of sweat runs down her forehead and rests on her pale round cheek. When I start to adjust her blankets, I quickly realize she isn't hot. She is sweating because her fragile body is desperately working to breathe. I brush her wet blond curls from her eyes, and she stirs. I hold her close, but know this is out of my hands. As I lay beside her, I think of the last time we shared a hospital bed. Our baby surprise had finally arrived and she was beautiful. I never pictured, on that wonderful day, that we would be back under different circumstances. She is not the one who is supposed to be wearing the hospital gown. This is not how a mother ever wants to see her child.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Guatemalan, Adopted, Autistic
When you are the mother of a typical child, there aren't too many questions that bother you. Strangers are constantly asking where Baby gets her curly hair or why she is so large. While some of the comments and questions may be bold, it never bothers me. With Bubba, however, it is a different story. I suppose I feel that I am his protector and need to shield him from the ignorance of the world. People are always making racially charged comments in the presence of my Hispanic son, and it bothers me. Family members discuss "Mexicans" as if they were put on the Earth to sweep up after others and friends speak of African Americans as if they are disgusted by them. When alone with Bubba, Evander or I have been asked "What is he mixed with?" and "Is your wife Mexican?"
These comments constantly leave me wondering when to explain adoption and when to shut up. Many of you know that it is hard for me to simply shut up, so I usually respond with a relatively heated and extremely rude comment that leaves the ignorant person to swim in their ridiculousness (example: My husband isn't Mexican, but my mother is African American). I realize that, as Bubba gets older, I must stop this. He is much too smart and now understands what I am saying. I do not want him to be ashamed to be adopted or Hispanic, but I also don't want him to feel that he must explain himself everywhere he goes. Which brings me to the next issue.
While in Alabama, I had several people comment on Bubba's "shyness". I simply smiled and ignored them, thinking to myself "I wish it were that simple". Then I began to think...should I be explaining Bubba's autism spectrum disorder? Should I correct those who assume Bubba is simply shy by describing the real issue? I also do not want him to be ashamed of his autism, but I don't want him to feel that he must explain this either. I spoke to my friend Joy about this and she said she always explained, and it has worked for them.
I just don't know, though. Is it my duty to educate the world on prejudice, adoption, AND autism? At times, I feel like it is. This is what we signed up for when we chose to adopt internationally, and it is our job to make the world a better place for our son. While typical mothers may ponder how their child's red hair sprouted, I am left to wonder how to inform others. I do not want Bubba to feel that he is being explained away, but I do want him to be proud of who he is and where he came from. Guatemalan, Autistic, Adopted...and Proud!
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Doing Something Right
I have been told that I make a difference in my children. I discipline them differently, relate to them differently, and am simply unfair at times. To this I have one thing to say... Of course I treat my children differently. They are different people, with different attitudes, different personalities, and different ways of relating to the world. They have different interests, different emotions, and different abilities. With Baby, a simple stern look will bring her to tears. Bubba, however, is unable to read facial expressions correctly, so he laughs. Baby is not quite two and has a great understanding of actions and consequences. Bubba is three and has no concept of actions = consequences. My point...what works with one, doesn't always work with the other.
Evander and I have been doing something right though. On Friday, I went with Bubba and Baby to their school Valentine's parties and got to see them interact with their little friends, as well as one another. Both classes went to the playground, which they evidently do often together, and my children seemed to forget I was there. They were playing together like I had never seen before. Bubba was helping Baby up the steps, and she held his hand as they went down the slide together. She called for him when she wanted to be pushed in her little car, and he came running
It was so nice to see the two of them playing together. They love each other very much and are one another's best friend. While they may fight at home, they look out for each other when they are together. They depend on one another. We may run a tight ship, it seems to be working out pretty well.
It was so nice to see the two of them playing together. They love each other very much and are one another's best friend. While they may fight at home, they look out for each other when they are together. They depend on one another. We may run a tight ship, it seems to be working out pretty well.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Yet Another Opinion
When Bubba went for his 3-year well visit with our pediatrician, she recommended that we see a new psychiatrist. She began by explaining that this doctor is closer, and then got to the point. She wanted to see if this doctor might switch Bubba's medication. Our pediatrician felt that, since Bubba has improved so much, he might be able to switch to an ADD med instead of his current meds.
As I have mentioned in the past, Bubba is currently taking Seroquel, an anti-psychotic medication typically used for patients with schizophrenia or bipolar disorder. We do not like the thought of him being on the medication, but it has helped him to make great strides. Also, when we tried to completely remove him from the medication a few months ago, he completely came unglued. He lacked complete impulse control, began having potty accidents, stopped sleeping, and had aggressive outbursts. Because of this, we understand that he still needs something, but I was also curious if we could try something a little less intense.
Well...we (Bubba, Baby, and I) showed up at the psychiatrist's office in our typical tornado fashion. We whirled in through the tiny glass door and immediately took over the crowded, dorm room sized waiting area. I had my overly full teacher-like white 3-ring binder in hand, which carries all of Bubba's evaluations, observations, test scores, meeting times, and public school items (yes...I keep extra special records on all public school happenings), two Lambies (one baby and one lamb), two sippy cups, and one overstuffed purse. Contrary to the waiting patients' thoughts, I wasn't even the patient!
Bubba immediately began jumping off chairs, writing on the wall (doctor's offices really shouldn't chain a pen to anything because I can't remove it), and meowing like a cat. Next came the continuous spinning, bear crawls, yells, and echolalia (repetitive speech). To top it off, Baby body slammed herself on top of Bubba, who was, at the time, pretending to be a cat on the floor. Right about the time Bubba began counting the blind sections over and over, I noticed a teenager in the corner of the room gripping his chair so tightly I thought he was trying not to take off. Then, I heard his mother. She was trying to help him calm down...evidently this teenage boy was prone to panic attacks (the reason for his visit) and my children were giving him one!
After speaking with the doctor, we had all the answers we needed. He diagnosed him with Asperger's Syndrome (also known as high-functioning autism; on the high end of the autism spectrum; cannot be diagnosed until after 3 years of age), which we already knew was coming. Then, however, came the kicker. There was to be no change of medication. In fact, he increased Bubba's dose of Seroquel. He said that Bubba is, at his age, not capable of dealing with all of the emotion and anxiety that comes along with this syndrome. He said there is no way for anyone to understand the level of anxiety that Bubba feels in social situations and to take him off this medication would be devastating for him. He said that ADD medications simply cannot treat all that needs to be treated in this situation.
I left perfectly happy with the outcome. I want Bubba to be happy and healthy. I know that he carries a lot of anxiety around with him on a daily basis, and I would never want to make that worse just because I don't like the medication. The doctor seems to think that we will be able to change medications when Bubba is older and can better cope with his emotions, but right now, that isn't an option. We will see...
As I have mentioned in the past, Bubba is currently taking Seroquel, an anti-psychotic medication typically used for patients with schizophrenia or bipolar disorder. We do not like the thought of him being on the medication, but it has helped him to make great strides. Also, when we tried to completely remove him from the medication a few months ago, he completely came unglued. He lacked complete impulse control, began having potty accidents, stopped sleeping, and had aggressive outbursts. Because of this, we understand that he still needs something, but I was also curious if we could try something a little less intense.
Well...we (Bubba, Baby, and I) showed up at the psychiatrist's office in our typical tornado fashion. We whirled in through the tiny glass door and immediately took over the crowded, dorm room sized waiting area. I had my overly full teacher-like white 3-ring binder in hand, which carries all of Bubba's evaluations, observations, test scores, meeting times, and public school items (yes...I keep extra special records on all public school happenings), two Lambies (one baby and one lamb), two sippy cups, and one overstuffed purse. Contrary to the waiting patients' thoughts, I wasn't even the patient!
Bubba immediately began jumping off chairs, writing on the wall (doctor's offices really shouldn't chain a pen to anything because I can't remove it), and meowing like a cat. Next came the continuous spinning, bear crawls, yells, and echolalia (repetitive speech). To top it off, Baby body slammed herself on top of Bubba, who was, at the time, pretending to be a cat on the floor. Right about the time Bubba began counting the blind sections over and over, I noticed a teenager in the corner of the room gripping his chair so tightly I thought he was trying not to take off. Then, I heard his mother. She was trying to help him calm down...evidently this teenage boy was prone to panic attacks (the reason for his visit) and my children were giving him one!
After speaking with the doctor, we had all the answers we needed. He diagnosed him with Asperger's Syndrome (also known as high-functioning autism; on the high end of the autism spectrum; cannot be diagnosed until after 3 years of age), which we already knew was coming. Then, however, came the kicker. There was to be no change of medication. In fact, he increased Bubba's dose of Seroquel. He said that Bubba is, at his age, not capable of dealing with all of the emotion and anxiety that comes along with this syndrome. He said there is no way for anyone to understand the level of anxiety that Bubba feels in social situations and to take him off this medication would be devastating for him. He said that ADD medications simply cannot treat all that needs to be treated in this situation.
I left perfectly happy with the outcome. I want Bubba to be happy and healthy. I know that he carries a lot of anxiety around with him on a daily basis, and I would never want to make that worse just because I don't like the medication. The doctor seems to think that we will be able to change medications when Bubba is older and can better cope with his emotions, but right now, that isn't an option. We will see...
Monday, February 9, 2009
The Not-So-Good Nite Lite
A few months ago, I happened upon a tiny paragraph hidden in the corner of Parents magazine. It was a excerpt about a product called the "Good Nite Lite". It works through a timer, which is set by the parent. The parent sets the timer to the child's bedtime and a moon illuminates. When the appropriate wake up time is reached (which is also set by the parent), a sun appears. The key is to gradually increase the wake up time by 15 minutes, so your child learns to stay in bed. It also gave an example of a child who always awoke at 5:00 am but changed her ways after using the night light. Fabulous I thought! Who wakes up no later than 5:00 am every single morning? Yep...Bubba! What better candidate for the Good Nite Lite than us?
After our two night lights arrived (one for each child of course), I unpacked them and set the timers for 5:15 am. Here are the results:
Morning 1: 4:45 am wake up
Morning 2: 4:40 am wake up
Morning 3: 4:30 am wake up
Morning 4: 4:00 am wake up
As you can see, something was going terribly wrong. Bubba was supposed to be getting up later, not earlier. After thinking this through I asked Evander, "Do you think he is anxious about the sun appearing?" My thought was dismissed, but I decided to try one of my famous science experiments. Bubba had conveniently removed the sun/moon light from the plug, so I just left it unplugged. He asked about it and I said, "I don't have time to reset it tonight, so no sun in the morning."
The next morning, he slept until 5:00 am. I just knew that a visual cue, like a sun, would help him to see that it was time to get up (of stay in bed). I forgot, though, how sensitive he is. That one little change to his sleeping environment rocked his whole world. Now, we are back to the CARS night light that Momma Bird gave us and the closet light on. What a difference a light can make!
After our two night lights arrived (one for each child of course), I unpacked them and set the timers for 5:15 am. Here are the results:
Morning 1: 4:45 am wake up
Morning 2: 4:40 am wake up
Morning 3: 4:30 am wake up
Morning 4: 4:00 am wake up
As you can see, something was going terribly wrong. Bubba was supposed to be getting up later, not earlier. After thinking this through I asked Evander, "Do you think he is anxious about the sun appearing?" My thought was dismissed, but I decided to try one of my famous science experiments. Bubba had conveniently removed the sun/moon light from the plug, so I just left it unplugged. He asked about it and I said, "I don't have time to reset it tonight, so no sun in the morning."
The next morning, he slept until 5:00 am. I just knew that a visual cue, like a sun, would help him to see that it was time to get up (of stay in bed). I forgot, though, how sensitive he is. That one little change to his sleeping environment rocked his whole world. Now, we are back to the CARS night light that Momma Bird gave us and the closet light on. What a difference a light can make!
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
I cried...AGAIN
Each time Bubba or Baby begin something new, I am nervous. It is the kind of nervous you feel just before you step on the biggest roller coaster of all time... butterflies are fluttering in the pit of your stomach, adrenaline is beginning to rush, and a tiny part of you is just a little scared. This is not the same feeling I had today, however, when Bubba began PPCD.
Last night I tossed and turned. I kept waking up thinking of how Bubba might handle each new situation. By the time I got up this morning I was virtually in tears. For some reason, I was afraid for him. I was genuinely worried about him. Part of me was trying to talk myself out of taking him, but the other half was forcing me to go. I think my fear subconsciously started when I visited his classroom a few weeks earlier.
The room looked as if there had been a nuclear color and toy attack contained within the four classroom walls. My senses were overwhelmed with bright reds, blues, and yellows, and everywhere I looked I saw toys seeping out of every crevice. There were more pocket charts than I could count and more bulletin boards than I cared to look at. There was no restroom in the classroom and it was the most cluttered place I have ever seen. This was a far cry from his perfect little Daffodils room, so the anxiety slowly began.
Bubba likes order and routine. He doesn't tell authority figures he needs to use the restroom; he just goes. The color is too overstimulating for him, and he will be easily distracted. He isn't good with waiting his turn or eating snack quickly. He is Hispanic and might get confused with the ESL students. These were the thoughts racing through my head this morning, and, when I couldn't take it anymore, I sat down and wrote his teacher an email:
" Hi! As you know, Bubba will be joining you today, and I just wanted to share a few things about him (things you will most likely find out anyway).
1. He is completely potty trained but will be wearing a pull up today. It takes him weeks to actually ask to use the potty, and, until then, he would rather have an accident than ask.
2. In new situations, he has to be reminded to use his words. He can communicate very effectively but needs cuing.
3. He is the slowest eater on the planet.
4. He is very dramatic. He has a VERY high pain tolerance, but if he notices a reaction, he will milk it for all it's worth.
5. Lambie is his security blanket. He takes him everywhere. If he needs to be tucked away, I would suggest telling him you don't want the other kids to get him or have him place it inside his shirt (sounds weird but it works)
6. He is very into "modes of transportation" (cars, trucks, etc).
7. He is very easily distracted.
As you can tell, I'm a little nervous about today. The teacher side of me understands, but the mom side of me doesn't want him to go! I know you will take good care of him. If you need anything please email or call at xxx-xxx-xxxx. Also, Joy (name changed for privacy but named Joy because her radiant smile and buoyant laughter always bring me joy) teaches 3rd grade and is a good family friend (if you need anything)."
On the ride to school I began to tell Bubba how wonderfully fun his new school would be and how many new friends he would meet (not the smartest route to go but I was trying). Once we arrived I checked in the office to see where to go...the lunchroom. Surely these babies were not going to have to line up and wait for their teacher to come and get them (the teacher in me already knew the answer). I took Bubba to sit in the back of his class line and wait for his teacher to arrive. He immediately formed his little fists that were so familiar as an infant, a sure sign he was in distress. I tried to make friends with the little girl in front of him, but neither party was to interested so I gave up. Baby also tried making friends, but to no avail. Just when I began to freak out about the "big" kids being in the lunchroom with my 3-year-old, his teachers arrived.
I tried making eye contact, but they ignored me. I obviously stick out above rest of the crowd seated on the lunchroom floor, so that was a point deduction for them. They were not starting on a positive note with me this morning. When it looked as if I was going to have to make the first move, I stood, kissed Bubba on the forehead and told him goodbye. I stopped to let the teachers know that he was, indeed, part of their snake-like line (as if they didn't know) and turned to steal one last glimpse of him. Just as I did, he began to scream, and I panicked. I quickly began to calculate the distance from him to the door. Did I have the time and strength to jerk up Bubba and Baby and bolt out the door? Could I make it to the car, strap both children in, and screech out of the parking lot before someone caught me?
Instead, I took a deep breath, grabbed Baby's hand and walked as fast as my legs could carry me. I felt the tears welling up in my eyes, but I had to make it to the car. Baby gave some resistance, but there was no time. If I hesitated any longer I was going to break down in the front of the elementary school, so I scooped her up and ran to the car. When I was certain we were both safe inside, I let it go. What had I just done? I just left my child in a situation that even I did not feel comfortable in. I tried to convince myself that it was for his own good.
I spoke with Evander on the phone shortly after dropping him off, and he made me feel a little better (how he understood what I said through the sobs, I don't know). Then, my good friend Joy sent me two emails after checking in on him. She provided me detailed accounts of Bubba (Lambie tucked safely inside his shirt) interacting with the other children. She may never know how important those emails were for me, but I may not have made it through the 3 hours without them.
I picked him up 3 hours later, only to find that he was unharmed, clean, and in a relatively good mood. I know PPCD is good for him, but I also know that he is only 3. He is a 3-year-old in an elementary school. Through all that we have been through, I have never felt so awful in my life as I did today, walking away from him as he screamed for me.
Last night I tossed and turned. I kept waking up thinking of how Bubba might handle each new situation. By the time I got up this morning I was virtually in tears. For some reason, I was afraid for him. I was genuinely worried about him. Part of me was trying to talk myself out of taking him, but the other half was forcing me to go. I think my fear subconsciously started when I visited his classroom a few weeks earlier.
The room looked as if there had been a nuclear color and toy attack contained within the four classroom walls. My senses were overwhelmed with bright reds, blues, and yellows, and everywhere I looked I saw toys seeping out of every crevice. There were more pocket charts than I could count and more bulletin boards than I cared to look at. There was no restroom in the classroom and it was the most cluttered place I have ever seen. This was a far cry from his perfect little Daffodils room, so the anxiety slowly began.
Bubba likes order and routine. He doesn't tell authority figures he needs to use the restroom; he just goes. The color is too overstimulating for him, and he will be easily distracted. He isn't good with waiting his turn or eating snack quickly. He is Hispanic and might get confused with the ESL students. These were the thoughts racing through my head this morning, and, when I couldn't take it anymore, I sat down and wrote his teacher an email:
" Hi! As you know, Bubba will be joining you today, and I just wanted to share a few things about him (things you will most likely find out anyway).
1. He is completely potty trained but will be wearing a pull up today. It takes him weeks to actually ask to use the potty, and, until then, he would rather have an accident than ask.
2. In new situations, he has to be reminded to use his words. He can communicate very effectively but needs cuing.
3. He is the slowest eater on the planet.
4. He is very dramatic. He has a VERY high pain tolerance, but if he notices a reaction, he will milk it for all it's worth.
5. Lambie is his security blanket. He takes him everywhere. If he needs to be tucked away, I would suggest telling him you don't want the other kids to get him or have him place it inside his shirt (sounds weird but it works)
6. He is very into "modes of transportation" (cars, trucks, etc).
7. He is very easily distracted.
As you can tell, I'm a little nervous about today. The teacher side of me understands, but the mom side of me doesn't want him to go! I know you will take good care of him. If you need anything please email or call at xxx-xxx-xxxx. Also, Joy (name changed for privacy but named Joy because her radiant smile and buoyant laughter always bring me joy) teaches 3rd grade and is a good family friend (if you need anything)."
On the ride to school I began to tell Bubba how wonderfully fun his new school would be and how many new friends he would meet (not the smartest route to go but I was trying). Once we arrived I checked in the office to see where to go...the lunchroom. Surely these babies were not going to have to line up and wait for their teacher to come and get them (the teacher in me already knew the answer). I took Bubba to sit in the back of his class line and wait for his teacher to arrive. He immediately formed his little fists that were so familiar as an infant, a sure sign he was in distress. I tried to make friends with the little girl in front of him, but neither party was to interested so I gave up. Baby also tried making friends, but to no avail. Just when I began to freak out about the "big" kids being in the lunchroom with my 3-year-old, his teachers arrived.
I tried making eye contact, but they ignored me. I obviously stick out above rest of the crowd seated on the lunchroom floor, so that was a point deduction for them. They were not starting on a positive note with me this morning. When it looked as if I was going to have to make the first move, I stood, kissed Bubba on the forehead and told him goodbye. I stopped to let the teachers know that he was, indeed, part of their snake-like line (as if they didn't know) and turned to steal one last glimpse of him. Just as I did, he began to scream, and I panicked. I quickly began to calculate the distance from him to the door. Did I have the time and strength to jerk up Bubba and Baby and bolt out the door? Could I make it to the car, strap both children in, and screech out of the parking lot before someone caught me?
Instead, I took a deep breath, grabbed Baby's hand and walked as fast as my legs could carry me. I felt the tears welling up in my eyes, but I had to make it to the car. Baby gave some resistance, but there was no time. If I hesitated any longer I was going to break down in the front of the elementary school, so I scooped her up and ran to the car. When I was certain we were both safe inside, I let it go. What had I just done? I just left my child in a situation that even I did not feel comfortable in. I tried to convince myself that it was for his own good.
I spoke with Evander on the phone shortly after dropping him off, and he made me feel a little better (how he understood what I said through the sobs, I don't know). Then, my good friend Joy sent me two emails after checking in on him. She provided me detailed accounts of Bubba (Lambie tucked safely inside his shirt) interacting with the other children. She may never know how important those emails were for me, but I may not have made it through the 3 hours without them.
I picked him up 3 hours later, only to find that he was unharmed, clean, and in a relatively good mood. I know PPCD is good for him, but I also know that he is only 3. He is a 3-year-old in an elementary school. Through all that we have been through, I have never felt so awful in my life as I did today, walking away from him as he screamed for me.
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