Monday Morning

Monday mornings can hold a variety of emotions as we recover from the various experiences that the weekend brought our way. This monday morning, after the frenzy of getting my son ready and off to school, I sit down with a sigh of relief and prepare to clean the house from this weekends whirlwind of constant noise and motion. As I reflect why my life held such constant noise and motion, I let loose the tears and grieve.

I mentioned in my first post that I am the mom of a special needs child. My son has so far only been officially diagnosed with SPD and is also being treated for anxiety issues that stem from OCD. I have been on a tiresome and frustrating journey for a couple years now seeking to have him fully evaluated to get him the help he needs. I have been told by one of his doctors that I just have a "difficult child." I have been told he is just "jealous of his baby sister." I have been told "We won't evaluate for that until he is 7." I have been brushed off and ignored even though I am the mom that, until he started school, has been with him 24-7 and I know the things I see sometimes are just not normal.

If he was just a "difficult child" then why do I relate so much when I see shows like Parenthood and I see the little boy Max and think "OMG, he is just like my son!" Why is it that I can relate so much to what Max's parents go through with him? Why when I read stories of what other families with children with Autism go through can I nod my head and go "Yep, that's us, I can completely understand!"

Someone recently made a good point to me that "if he was just a 'difficult child' why is he not like that all the time? A difficult child would *always* behave like that, and he is not always like that."

No, he is not. Most of the time he is an amazing, terrific, fun-loving, gentle, curious, sensitive, artistic, humorous little boy. But he has what I call "triggers." It could be something he eats, it could be he is hungry, it could be something I have yet to figure out, but when he is triggered there is a transformation that occurs. It is heartwrenching and grueling to watch sometimes and frankly I am at the point of being beyond mad at whatever this is that keeps stealing my son away from me. For those that have parented a child like this, you understand.

This weekend was one of those weekends where he seemed to be constantly triggered. So instead of communicating with words, he speaks to me through noises. Instead of using his imagination to play, he roars and growls out the aggression and anxiety built up inside. I was lucky though that this weekend we did not have to deal with the rage.

Recently we had his blood tested to see if he has low blood sugar or lead. This morning the doctor's office called back to say that everything came back normal. So I march on. As his mother I am determined to get to the bottom of this and get him, and us, the help we need. I am not the only one to recognize something is going on. His teacher has seen it now too and has been gracious enough to offer writing a journal for us to give to the Doctor. Maybe now he will listen to me. Either way, I know that the journey ahead of us is still a long one.

So today, after taking sometime to reflect on this weekend and mourn what we are going through, I will pick up my house and pick up the broken pieces of my heart. I will march on and I will call the Doctor and, not ask, but tell him we need an evaluation. And when my son gets off the bus this afternoon I will give him a big long hug. Because he is one amazing little guy and I love him so dearly.