Wednesday, December 27, 2017
We got lost some time in early November. I think the seeds were planted when she got a head cold in September. A virus that usually sends her spiraling downward, I fought back with all I had learned, and we won, and the beat went on, Health. Happiness. Freedom. Fighting back a PANS flare was like wielding a new found superpower! Powerful and power-filled. I would not let it erase 3 months of beautiful, profound, deepening, health.
Early November, her sister and I caught a mild stomach bug and although she didn't catch it, we started to see PANS symptoms. Once again, I threw everything I had at it to stop the flare from progressing. This time it wasn't as easy or as quick but I felt we were making progress. Sadly, a week and a half later she caught another head cold and all the health we had gained spiraled away from us.
PANS. How easy it was for me to intentionally forget. Blocked from my consciousness I erased the volatility we had been living with for years. We had found "it", figured it out, and she was better now. Three months of health that I could not have imagined, allowed me to erase the volatility of PANS and take comfort at last. My daughter was okay.
The brutality of PANS is monstrous. Months of healthy carefree happiness, stolen in the dark of night. This flare tip-toed around us for a while, creeping closer, slipping further away, and rushing back in to startle us aware. Like a slow motion horror film, dragging my daughter away from me, down in to a deep black hold that has no bottom. Clinging to her with one hand, while my other throws various supplements, medications, and treatments at it. Sighing with relief as she surfaces, if only for an afternoon, it means I have not lost this battle. I still have her in my grasp. I will not let go. It will not get her again.
It has been almost two months now and we are bumping along with good days and bad days. Good nights and not so good nights BUT no horrible nights so we are grateful. Grateful. (humpf) We've tried a couple of new therapies to modulate the immune system; one created more extreme emotional lability so we've put it on hold, and one seems to be helping so we're stepping it up. Only time will tell.
What next? Where does this leave us? When she returns to full health again, which I confidently hope to see within the next two weeks (hope springs eternal), where will we be? Those three months were a gift of precious magnitude that we will likely never have again. The health may come, but the confidence and peace will likely never settle in my heart again. Perhaps when she is grown? Will I let my guard down then?
PANS has taught us fear but life teaches us resilience. Faith may be creeping back in to my heart. Long lost faith. Quieting the noise and the learning and the research, I am learning to trust my instinct even more when it comes to what she needs next. And I press on.
We all fall down...rest, recuperate, recover. Such is life.
Strength. Hope. Love.
A Night to Remember
Monday, October 30, 2017
I'm sitting here on a rainy, windy, Monday morning, wanting to write something profound about my daughter's illness and recovery. Strangely, I'm a feeling a little unsettled that I have nothing to write. We've been treating chronic lyme, several co-infections, for months now, using herbal tinctures recommended by Stephen Buhner in his Healing Lyme books, and a protocol of nutritional supports. Typically, when I've felt inclined to write, I could come here and let it all pour out, but today the inclinations brought me to a blank page. Nothing bubbling over, no emotions running raw. Still, I am compelled for some reason, so I sit.
Healing is a journey just as illness was but almost ellusive in its conscious experience. I set out many years ago to figure out what was wrong with my daughter. I needed to "fix" my kid. A phrase that doesn't sound right to me now, sitting here in relative calm, knowing my little girl is mostly healthy. "Fix my kid" sounds blunt and detached, but in those dark moments when the world was crashing down around us, screams heard throughout the house and into the street I am sure, those were the words that reverberated up and out from the depths of my soul. In those darkest of hours, screams of spiders that were not there and "bad thoughts" that stormed in to her head as we turned out the light each night. Screams that startled me upright from a sound sleep, bolting to grab her and hold her, desperately trying to bring her a sense of safety and comfort. My baby, shaking with fear, eyes darting around a darkened room, legs flailing away at the invisible assaults she felt just as surely as I felt the weight of her in my arms. In those moments, in those desperate moments a parent screams in to the silence, I NEED TO FIX MY KID.
My silent mind screaming, I had to fix this. It was all I could think. How on earth I cared for the rest of my family in those days I do not know. A distant foggy memory stored at the forefront of my memory, standing ready at the call, for the moments I remember. And I remember. The fog lifts and there it is, in my face, so close I can feel the stone in my heart and the adrenaline in my veins, and the shaking light weight of her in my arms. A memory that is far away until it comes rushing back and takes my breath away. I needed to fix my kid. Why can't anyone help me. Screaming silently in to the blackness of the night and of the illness and of the hell she was in.
I broke that silence with a friend one night. A wonderful light in the world, this friend had helped me get my daughter through one of her worst nights. I didn't write everything about what was happening, but the following messages started at 10:39 and continued through the early morning hours.
Later
Later
Later
Later
I just kept thinking, I can not let her suffer. It's been too long, too hard, and I've got to fix this before it is too late. I didn't know what "too late" meant but when your child is sick and tortured a parent just feels a sense of urgency. And now, we have healing. But those memories are on guard, ready to pour back in, and sometimes they do. Out of nowhere I realize my adrenaline has spiked, as I pick up on the teeniest tiniest fluke in her behavior. Every little thing could be the start of a big thing. A stuffy nose could send us spiraling. But for now, I have fixed my kid. For now.
Strength. Hope. Love.
I'm sitting here on a rainy, windy, Monday morning, wanting to write something profound about my daughter's illness and recovery. Strangely, I'm a feeling a little unsettled that I have nothing to write. We've been treating chronic lyme, several co-infections, for months now, using herbal tinctures recommended by Stephen Buhner in his Healing Lyme books, and a protocol of nutritional supports. Typically, when I've felt inclined to write, I could come here and let it all pour out, but today the inclinations brought me to a blank page. Nothing bubbling over, no emotions running raw. Still, I am compelled for some reason, so I sit.
Healing is a journey just as illness was but almost ellusive in its conscious experience. I set out many years ago to figure out what was wrong with my daughter. I needed to "fix" my kid. A phrase that doesn't sound right to me now, sitting here in relative calm, knowing my little girl is mostly healthy. "Fix my kid" sounds blunt and detached, but in those dark moments when the world was crashing down around us, screams heard throughout the house and into the street I am sure, those were the words that reverberated up and out from the depths of my soul. In those darkest of hours, screams of spiders that were not there and "bad thoughts" that stormed in to her head as we turned out the light each night. Screams that startled me upright from a sound sleep, bolting to grab her and hold her, desperately trying to bring her a sense of safety and comfort. My baby, shaking with fear, eyes darting around a darkened room, legs flailing away at the invisible assaults she felt just as surely as I felt the weight of her in my arms. In those moments, in those desperate moments a parent screams in to the silence, I NEED TO FIX MY KID.
My silent mind screaming, I had to fix this. It was all I could think. How on earth I cared for the rest of my family in those days I do not know. A distant foggy memory stored at the forefront of my memory, standing ready at the call, for the moments I remember. And I remember. The fog lifts and there it is, in my face, so close I can feel the stone in my heart and the adrenaline in my veins, and the shaking light weight of her in my arms. A memory that is far away until it comes rushing back and takes my breath away. I needed to fix my kid. Why can't anyone help me. Screaming silently in to the blackness of the night and of the illness and of the hell she was in.
I broke that silence with a friend one night. A wonderful light in the world, this friend had helped me get my daughter through one of her worst nights. I didn't write everything about what was happening, but the following messages started at 10:39 and continued through the early morning hours.
*****************************************
Ba
Omg [FRIEND] I am at my breaking point. Only I don't have the luxury of breaking. Amelia has completely relapsed. I am so mentally and physically exhausted. I just can't believe that it keeps getting worse every day. Praying to a God I don't believe in that this new antibiotic works and we get relief in the next couple of days. Send me strength.
Later
The symptoms are more severe now and so hard. She has been freaking out on and off since 830 bedtime. Ocd about everything related to sleep. I get her calmed down and we lie down. And within 10 mins she's kicking and agitated again. Now upset that stuffed animals aren't placed right. Earlier bc her hair felt itchy on her neck and pillow. Last night up for 2 hours with joint pain.every morning huge meltdowns and even some rages about clothing.
Later
Now she's crying. I can't help her and it's killing me
Later
I just had her come in to my arms and I held her firmly. Talked through a couple things. I think it was a panic attack. When I held her she cried that she didn't know what to wear. Now she's calm and chit chatting. Incessant chatter. Questions and thoughts keep pouring out.
Later
I can't believe she's still awake. Says she's going to open a store for organic food and put up a sign up for people with disorders so they know it's safe to eat.
Later
Now talk of death. Signing off to do that grounding thing.n thank you so much! I feel better able to help her now. Oh and "how did the George Washington die?"
I hardly remember messaging you last night. I was so exhausted and scared. Thank you for being there. She fell asleep in my arms at midnight. Then at 2AM woke me up with kicking and jerking her legs. Very agitated but half asleep. I sat in the recliner with her on my chest like you would an infant and it seemed to calm her.
Later
It could be a progression of the PANS symptoms or it could be a bad reaction to a new antibiotic we added yesterday and a change in supplement dosage. I let her sleep in and drove her to school this morning. She was still a bit manic but functioning pretty well.
Thanks so much for being there. 
******************************************************************
I just kept thinking, I can not let her suffer. It's been too long, too hard, and I've got to fix this before it is too late. I didn't know what "too late" meant but when your child is sick and tortured a parent just feels a sense of urgency. And now, we have healing. But those memories are on guard, ready to pour back in, and sometimes they do. Out of nowhere I realize my adrenaline has spiked, as I pick up on the teeniest tiniest fluke in her behavior. Every little thing could be the start of a big thing. A stuffy nose could send us spiraling. But for now, I have fixed my kid. For now.
Strength. Hope. Love.
Freedoms Rediscovered
Wednesday, September 20, 2017
Tonight I went to my first PTO meeting and I stood in that room feeling lucky, not to be there, but to be ABLE to be there. I was there without worry or doubt, knowing my daughter is free from the symptoms of a horrid illness that has plagued her for so many years. Free from the need to have me and only me there at the time of day when symptoms could be at their worst.
This has been a long time coming. I wasn't sure it would ever happen.
When your child is sick but doesn't look it. When the symptoms require that you be with them, and leaving would amount to abandonment in the darkest hours of their day. Years of heartbreak and hope. Watching them struggle with what comes easy to most of their peers. Five years of being the only one who could be there, not because I wouldn't let my husband help but because he couldn't. As much as he wanted to and as much as he tried, she couldn't be without me. Some of the worst parts were that friends and family assumed I was just being over protective, while others went so far as to say we were coddling her and making things worse. The worst part was knowing that when I had to leave, it could be torture for her. Being your child's Only Person is not only incredibly hard, it is sad because you know they are imprisoned. Your child is not free. You accept your own confinement but to see your child cornered by her own mind and body is heartbreaking.
Tonight I was not needed. I was away in the hours that lead up to bedtime and I did not nervously hold my phone, waiting for the text to call me home. I knew she was okay. It was a great evening and I came home to two happy children and a father who can finally parent his first born again. Finally. We are whole again.
Strength. Hope. Love.
Tonight I was not needed. I was away in the hours that lead up to bedtime and I did not nervously hold my phone, waiting for the text to call me home. I knew she was okay. It was a great evening and I came home to two happy children and a father who can finally parent his first born again. Finally. We are whole again.
Strength. Hope. Love.
A New Chapter
Sunday, September 3rd, 2017
If you don't quite understand how medical illnesses and underlying nutritional deficiencies cause anxiety in a child, I could explain. If you want to understand how OCD, terrifying fears, insomnia, clothing sensory, and emotional outbursts can be caused by a stealthy underlying infection, just ask. My daughter has busted through two more milestones in the last 24 hours that she's been struggling with for 4 years. She has broken through.
If you don't quite understand how medical illnesses and underlying nutritional deficiencies cause anxiety in a child, I could explain. If you want to understand how OCD, terrifying fears, insomnia, clothing sensory, and emotional outbursts can be caused by a stealthy underlying infection, just ask. My daughter has busted through two more milestones in the last 24 hours that she's been struggling with for 4 years. She has broken through.
FOUR YEARS of illness. Four years of pain. Four years of asking, why. Four years of pediatricians who couldn't help. Four years of people giving me well-intended but infuriating parenting advice. Four years of research, learning, fighting, tests, $$$, heart-breaking setback after heartbreaking setback. Four years, each one building upon the other, to give us the knowledge we needed to figure this out. Four years of kinship with other warrior moms, trying to heal their kids of all kinds of illness; pandas, pans, Lyme, ADHD, odd, asd, Tourette's, anorexia, and of course, spd. Moms who refuse to settle for, "this is just the way it is".
And just as I knew four years ago, deep in my bones and in my soul, that something wasn't right, I know now that something is. This is not the fragile, teetering, temporary improvement we've seen so many times before. I can feel it in my bones and my soul is whispering to me....we're on to something and she is healing. 💕
To every friend, old and new, who has been there with me, thank you. Thank you for listening to me drone on about the dangers of chemicals, toxins, and vaccines for our kids. My winding explanations of methylation and detoxification. Cell mimicry, auto-antibodies, glutamate, and inflammation. To the moms who have been on this path much longer than I, who shared their knowledge and set me right, (you know who you are), a special thank you from the bottom of my heart. I know there will be issues to contend with, and future illnesses can set us back, so this is not the end of her story; but is the beginning of another chapter.
Time Warp
Friday June 23, 2017
I don't know how long it's been. I'm not sure if it's been weeks or a month. I can't even go back and look at my group posts to check because I don't think I have bothered to post much (at least I don't think I have). It's all a blur. The pit in our stomach when it's time to get dressed is back. Her fears of being alone in a room, even her own, grind her independence to dust. "Mommy WHY is it coming back?! I don't want to feel like this!" I don't know exactly how long it's been back, but it's here.
We are bumping along. At eight-years-old there is more capability to reason so we are able to process her emotions a little better than before. Listening to what it feels like to have her body betray her again is crushing but it is something I can do for her. At times it is all I can do and the most difficult thing to do. To listen without trying to help her; no advice, no suggestions, no directions. Just quietly hearing her and seeing her and really being in the moment with her. Sometimes it is the only thing I can do.
We are all doing much better in our actions if not in our hearts. There is a resolve that has moved in which is at once a welcome calm and a frightening realization that this may be our "normal". Up and down. Peace and torment. Healthy and sick.
What is it this time? She either has a cold or allergies and either one could be causing symptoms. We are trying different OTC allergy meds with no luck so far. A new nasal spray will be here tomorrow which has some promising results with other kids like this. One other lyme herbal is coming and we will hope something gets us back to healthy.
I am nearing the end of my hope that herbals and supplements might be the answer. They have helped and we've made tremendous progress in pulling out of the horrid flares we fought for the last year, but I want MORE.
I want my daughter to be able to wear whatever she wants to wear. She doesn't have to like how jeans feel but she should be able to wear anything she WANTS to wear. A comfy pair of shorts should not produce so much trauma. I loose nightgown shouldn't be too overwhelming to put on. So we'll try a few more ideas, wait to see if symptoms subside as this head cold or allergy attack passes, we are trying some behavioral therapy techniques. I've set a date in my mind and if we have not leveled out again by then it may be time to revisit antibiotics.
Progress is wonderful but we need consistency. We need to feel secure in knowing that we won't be thrown in to another horrifying flare without warning. When they start we never know how bad it will get or how long it will last. There is no magic ball. We just hold our breath and I throw what I can at it and hope it sticks. Spaghetti at the wall, as one of my PANDAS/PANS/LYME mom friends tells me. We aren't better "yet" but we will get there. The moms who walk this path with me are in my head - they get free rent up there, coaching me and speaking words of wisdom from the experience they too wish they never had.
Our hearts are not broken today - we refuse. Today is our first lazy-summer-morning, when we get to veg out all morning long. We need the break. We are warriors, she and I and her little sister, fighting different battlefronts of the same war. The three of us are talking about this journey, exploring the experience, and making decisions about how we handle the rough spots. These are two amazingly strong little girls for all they've been through. I am one incredibly grateful mommy. I am also one incredibly stubborn mommy and I will not stop.
Strength. Love. Hope.
I don't know how long it's been. I'm not sure if it's been weeks or a month. I can't even go back and look at my group posts to check because I don't think I have bothered to post much (at least I don't think I have). It's all a blur. The pit in our stomach when it's time to get dressed is back. Her fears of being alone in a room, even her own, grind her independence to dust. "Mommy WHY is it coming back?! I don't want to feel like this!" I don't know exactly how long it's been back, but it's here.
We are bumping along. At eight-years-old there is more capability to reason so we are able to process her emotions a little better than before. Listening to what it feels like to have her body betray her again is crushing but it is something I can do for her. At times it is all I can do and the most difficult thing to do. To listen without trying to help her; no advice, no suggestions, no directions. Just quietly hearing her and seeing her and really being in the moment with her. Sometimes it is the only thing I can do.
We are all doing much better in our actions if not in our hearts. There is a resolve that has moved in which is at once a welcome calm and a frightening realization that this may be our "normal". Up and down. Peace and torment. Healthy and sick.
What is it this time? She either has a cold or allergies and either one could be causing symptoms. We are trying different OTC allergy meds with no luck so far. A new nasal spray will be here tomorrow which has some promising results with other kids like this. One other lyme herbal is coming and we will hope something gets us back to healthy.
I am nearing the end of my hope that herbals and supplements might be the answer. They have helped and we've made tremendous progress in pulling out of the horrid flares we fought for the last year, but I want MORE.
I want my daughter to be able to wear whatever she wants to wear. She doesn't have to like how jeans feel but she should be able to wear anything she WANTS to wear. A comfy pair of shorts should not produce so much trauma. I loose nightgown shouldn't be too overwhelming to put on. So we'll try a few more ideas, wait to see if symptoms subside as this head cold or allergy attack passes, we are trying some behavioral therapy techniques. I've set a date in my mind and if we have not leveled out again by then it may be time to revisit antibiotics.
Progress is wonderful but we need consistency. We need to feel secure in knowing that we won't be thrown in to another horrifying flare without warning. When they start we never know how bad it will get or how long it will last. There is no magic ball. We just hold our breath and I throw what I can at it and hope it sticks. Spaghetti at the wall, as one of my PANDAS/PANS/LYME mom friends tells me. We aren't better "yet" but we will get there. The moms who walk this path with me are in my head - they get free rent up there, coaching me and speaking words of wisdom from the experience they too wish they never had.
Our hearts are not broken today - we refuse. Today is our first lazy-summer-morning, when we get to veg out all morning long. We need the break. We are warriors, she and I and her little sister, fighting different battlefronts of the same war. The three of us are talking about this journey, exploring the experience, and making decisions about how we handle the rough spots. These are two amazingly strong little girls for all they've been through. I am one incredibly grateful mommy. I am also one incredibly stubborn mommy and I will not stop.
Strength. Love. Hope.
Hope Springs Eternal
Wednesday, April 19, 2017
We have lift-off! The last two weeks have been a period of steady progress and my heart is full. I made some big changes to our treatment plan and something is working. She has color in her cheeks, her eyes are sparkly, she's happier, tantrums don't last forever, she's gotten dressed by herself for several days now! I am so happy I want to shout from the rooftop! And once again, I am reminded that parenting healthy children is infinitely easier than parenting sick children.
I stopped a lot of supplements and two of her three prescriptions, removing one thing at a time and watching for negative reactions. There were no improvements but nothing got worse either. I added a b complex supplement at a very low dose, and some other supplements and therapies. I also started managing flaring symptoms with a new protocol which worked beautifully against agitation and anxiety. After a week or so I was able to stop the flare protocol and she's been great!
I have been around long enough to know that this may be a short-lived phase, but I have also learned a lot about PANS, the immune system, exotoxicity, and the inflammation process in the body. I feel better armed to handle future flares.
I'm going to just throw caution to the wind and let myself be excited. I'm going to revel in the knowledge that I did something to help my daughter. I'm going to take advantage of this opportunity to breath, relax, and enrich our lives. Focus on enjoying the simple things again and appreciate that we aren't living in a constant state of being on guard.
Strenth. Love. Hope. Resilience. NEVER give up because the end game is priceless.
We have lift-off! The last two weeks have been a period of steady progress and my heart is full. I made some big changes to our treatment plan and something is working. She has color in her cheeks, her eyes are sparkly, she's happier, tantrums don't last forever, she's gotten dressed by herself for several days now! I am so happy I want to shout from the rooftop! And once again, I am reminded that parenting healthy children is infinitely easier than parenting sick children.
I stopped a lot of supplements and two of her three prescriptions, removing one thing at a time and watching for negative reactions. There were no improvements but nothing got worse either. I added a b complex supplement at a very low dose, and some other supplements and therapies. I also started managing flaring symptoms with a new protocol which worked beautifully against agitation and anxiety. After a week or so I was able to stop the flare protocol and she's been great!
I have been around long enough to know that this may be a short-lived phase, but I have also learned a lot about PANS, the immune system, exotoxicity, and the inflammation process in the body. I feel better armed to handle future flares.
I'm going to just throw caution to the wind and let myself be excited. I'm going to revel in the knowledge that I did something to help my daughter. I'm going to take advantage of this opportunity to breath, relax, and enrich our lives. Focus on enjoying the simple things again and appreciate that we aren't living in a constant state of being on guard.
Strenth. Love. Hope. Resilience. NEVER give up because the end game is priceless.
No Catchy Name...just more of the same
Saturday, March 11, 2017
I don't have much to report. We are still struggling. It is not the worst flare because at least she is...wait, never mind. I've learned not to jinx myself so I don't dare say it. But it is not the worst.
The mornings are just awful and as bad as I remember they were in those early months of crisis when she was five years old. I am trying so hard but I can't help her. I've grown more stressed and reactive. I keep picking myself up and creating all this optimism - I can't help myself - it's what I do. I think, "This afternoon will be different. We will just relax and hang out, have pizza and watch a movie", and before I know it all hell has broken loose. I pick myself up and then come crashing down. Hard. My daughter is screaming because I've asked her to take a break from something, and after 20 minutes of being really calm and patient I am suddenly not. I seem to have a lower level of tolerance and I am crying more.
I am so tired. I am so sad. I feel like this is defining our life and our family and their childhood. Her younger sister just watches all of this go on day after day. After a fun morning of playing outside before school it is time to go and my kindergartner is all buckled in when it starts. "MY PART DOESN'T FEEL RIGHT!" and we're off but standing still. She's been fixating on the part in her hair lately. An OCD fit begins and I feel helpless and hopeless. I sit, emotionless, knowing nothing I do or say will do anything but make it worse. "YOU HAVE TO FIX IT! FIX MY HAIR...NOW!!!" If I try to fix it, the rage will go on, get louder, and it may never ever end and we will be stuck in this car with the screaming for the REST OF OUR LIVES. That's how it feels in that very moment. So I either drive to school with her screaming and risk that she won't get out of the car when we get there, or I bring them inside and hope the change of scenery helps me to snap her out of it. We have only 10 minutes wiggle room to get to school on time. We unbuckle, she screams at me, we head inside, I close the door to the outside world again. What is my little kindergartner feeling at that moment; all ready to go to school and out of the blue we are in the midst of chaos, again. It breaks my heart in to a million pieces.
Very quickly I realize this isn't going to be over in 10 minutes, I can't get them to school on time, by little one starts crying because she just wanted to go to school, and I can not seem to hold myself together. I begin to unravel. I go to my room to focus and get myself pulled together. Pulled together for my kindergartner, pulled together enough to walk in to that school, and pulled together enough to try again and calm her down.
What is going through my little ones head now? Minutes ago, sitting in her car seat, happy; her shining eyes and that smile are etched in to my memory by the familiar look of fear that replaced it in an unforeseeable instant. To be driven because it is a fun change from taking the bus. This happy morning has turned in to a disaster and now instead of being at school before the buses arrive, she'll be 30 minutes late. Instead of chatting on our way to school she has to listen to her sister screaming and crying and carrying on. I can not seem to hold myself together for the pain and fury of it all. I quiet my voice and tell her it will be okay; that her sister will feel better soon, and that I will not yell. I'm sorry she has to experience this every day.
When they play they yell at each other now. Little arguments become screams - echoing the words shouted during meltdowns and ripping my heart to pieces. They are replaying it all, probably in an effort to work it all out. I want to do so so so much better for them. I want to help them cope and manage all these emotions. I want it so bad I can taste it and feel it but there are days I just don't have anything left to give. I sit and listen to their play and I can not go to them. Every failure on my part depletes my resolve and strips away just a little bit of my optimism. I hope this flare passes and gives us all some relief in time for me to regroup. I want to set a good example for how to handle big emotions and frustrations. I try so hard. Every single day I wake up and go through my plan in my head. Every night I vow to do better the next day. And in between I have wonderful moments and horrible moments and the beat goes on.
This is harder than anything I have ever endured in my life. This feeling that I am absolutely letting my children down. I can not make her better. I can not fix this. I can not heal her. Failing them. Failing myself. Just failing. What my daughter is going through is horrid. It is a monster that is taking over our lives and I hate it. i have to figure something out. figure out how to keep myself whole and keep my children whole. i have to do better. tomorrow i have to do better.
strength love hope
I don't have much to report. We are still struggling. It is not the worst flare because at least she is...wait, never mind. I've learned not to jinx myself so I don't dare say it. But it is not the worst.
The mornings are just awful and as bad as I remember they were in those early months of crisis when she was five years old. I am trying so hard but I can't help her. I've grown more stressed and reactive. I keep picking myself up and creating all this optimism - I can't help myself - it's what I do. I think, "This afternoon will be different. We will just relax and hang out, have pizza and watch a movie", and before I know it all hell has broken loose. I pick myself up and then come crashing down. Hard. My daughter is screaming because I've asked her to take a break from something, and after 20 minutes of being really calm and patient I am suddenly not. I seem to have a lower level of tolerance and I am crying more.
I am so tired. I am so sad. I feel like this is defining our life and our family and their childhood. Her younger sister just watches all of this go on day after day. After a fun morning of playing outside before school it is time to go and my kindergartner is all buckled in when it starts. "MY PART DOESN'T FEEL RIGHT!" and we're off but standing still. She's been fixating on the part in her hair lately. An OCD fit begins and I feel helpless and hopeless. I sit, emotionless, knowing nothing I do or say will do anything but make it worse. "YOU HAVE TO FIX IT! FIX MY HAIR...NOW!!!" If I try to fix it, the rage will go on, get louder, and it may never ever end and we will be stuck in this car with the screaming for the REST OF OUR LIVES. That's how it feels in that very moment. So I either drive to school with her screaming and risk that she won't get out of the car when we get there, or I bring them inside and hope the change of scenery helps me to snap her out of it. We have only 10 minutes wiggle room to get to school on time. We unbuckle, she screams at me, we head inside, I close the door to the outside world again. What is my little kindergartner feeling at that moment; all ready to go to school and out of the blue we are in the midst of chaos, again. It breaks my heart in to a million pieces.
Very quickly I realize this isn't going to be over in 10 minutes, I can't get them to school on time, by little one starts crying because she just wanted to go to school, and I can not seem to hold myself together. I begin to unravel. I go to my room to focus and get myself pulled together. Pulled together for my kindergartner, pulled together enough to walk in to that school, and pulled together enough to try again and calm her down.
What is going through my little ones head now? Minutes ago, sitting in her car seat, happy; her shining eyes and that smile are etched in to my memory by the familiar look of fear that replaced it in an unforeseeable instant. To be driven because it is a fun change from taking the bus. This happy morning has turned in to a disaster and now instead of being at school before the buses arrive, she'll be 30 minutes late. Instead of chatting on our way to school she has to listen to her sister screaming and crying and carrying on. I can not seem to hold myself together for the pain and fury of it all. I quiet my voice and tell her it will be okay; that her sister will feel better soon, and that I will not yell. I'm sorry she has to experience this every day.
When they play they yell at each other now. Little arguments become screams - echoing the words shouted during meltdowns and ripping my heart to pieces. They are replaying it all, probably in an effort to work it all out. I want to do so so so much better for them. I want to help them cope and manage all these emotions. I want it so bad I can taste it and feel it but there are days I just don't have anything left to give. I sit and listen to their play and I can not go to them. Every failure on my part depletes my resolve and strips away just a little bit of my optimism. I hope this flare passes and gives us all some relief in time for me to regroup. I want to set a good example for how to handle big emotions and frustrations. I try so hard. Every single day I wake up and go through my plan in my head. Every night I vow to do better the next day. And in between I have wonderful moments and horrible moments and the beat goes on.
This is harder than anything I have ever endured in my life. This feeling that I am absolutely letting my children down. I can not make her better. I can not fix this. I can not heal her. Failing them. Failing myself. Just failing. What my daughter is going through is horrid. It is a monster that is taking over our lives and I hate it. i have to figure something out. figure out how to keep myself whole and keep my children whole. i have to do better. tomorrow i have to do better.
strength love hope
I could make teddy bear pancakes
February 16, 2017
We leave in a couple of hours to see Dr O for more tests and an IV medication to detoxify her system in the hopes that it reduces inflammation and provides healing. I want to test for everything we can this time before our insurance deductible resets in a few weeks. Heavy metals, mold, vitamins, minerals, and the normal ANA, CBC, and CMP.
This morning I let her stay home from school; I would have picked her up 2 hours in to her school day anyway and she can use the rest from this rough week. I also let her stay home because I wanted to give just one peaceful morning to her little sister. My kindergartner woke up before me, got dressed, and was making her bed when I came to her room. She is a child of this illness too but in a different way than her sister. She tries to be extra good, extra sweet, extra loving, to balance out all the yuck that this illness brings to her world. The screaming, the unpredictability, the mommy-time she's robbed of because her sister's needs must be met as they arise, no matter when or where, or else. Waiting on the sidelines so much of the time, I wonder if she is starving for normalcy, calm, attention. What will the story of her childhood be? My energy is focused so much on the story of her sister that I haven't thought about her story so much. One day she will write her story and so as her mother I ask myself, what can I do now to co-author it?
I made chocolate chip pancakes for her in the shape of a teddy bear with a chocolate chip face. This is something I can do. It's not the first time I've done cute little mommy-things but it is the first in a long time and it doesn't ever happen on a school morning. Mornings are too hard. I cut up some fruit too. I even wrote a love note and slipped it in her school lunch bag. A beautiful morning with my little girl who is growing up by leaps and bounds, too quickly. We had a beautiful morning and the bitter-sweetness caught in my throat and choked me as she waved goodbye through the yellow bus window. This is as it should be.
Her sister played, staying in just her bathrobe so she didn't have to endure the torture of putting clothes on her inflamed body. It's been a very rough week. Sensory, agitation, emotional. Insomnia has been horrid as she's been unable to fall asleep until 10, 11, or 12 o'clock each night. Hyper, manic, agitated. Last night she cried as we began her math homework and I saw for the first time her brain wasn't working right. She struggled with something she does all the time - something that always comes easy to her.
Homework was hard and bedtime last night was a challenge but she was asleep by 9:10, likely because she was completely exhausted from the previous nights' sleeplessness. This morning I haven't asked her to do anything but take her lyme herbal water. She's on the Kindle and I'm here doing my therapy writing. I just wanted a peaceful morning, for her sister, for her, and for me. But mostly, for her sister.
My kindergartner and I walked outside to wait for the bus in our front yard. She wore her mixed up outfit that she chose by herself and her self-made ponytail was messily tucked in to her furry hood. It is a sunny, brisk, winter day. Bright blue sky, crisp air, little whispy white puffs sailing by. We laughed about how she could almost stand on top of the foot of snow that had hardened along our driveway. We talked about the mommy-day I would set for her in the coming weeks when just she and I would play hookie from school and go out to lunch. I gave her a bigger hug than usual when the bus pulled up and yelled an extra "I love you" as she rounded the front to get on. She waved as the bus pulled away, making sure to see me. My sweet. I won't be here when she gets home from school and I know that bothers her. It bothers me too. That I am not here for her as I would be without PANS/LYME ruling our world. Thank the universe for Grandma's.
I'm going to make a list of all the things I don't do because of PANS/LYME and then I'm going to start doing them. I'm going to make teddy bear pancakes on school mornings, cut up fresh fruit, talk to my kindergartner as we wait for the bus, and write love notes for lunch boxes. I'm going to make a big list and do everything that I might wish I had done looking back five years from now. If I have to do it in the middle of the night I will. If I can only do it a couple of times a month on days that aren't so hard I will. I will not let this illness take their childhood from me. In 5 years what would I say to myself? "ENJOY every moment you can. FIND them. STEAL them. MAKE them. Don't let them be robbed of you. They are YOUR moments. They are THEIR moments. LIVE them, no matter what."
Got it.
Strength. Love. Hope.
We leave in a couple of hours to see Dr O for more tests and an IV medication to detoxify her system in the hopes that it reduces inflammation and provides healing. I want to test for everything we can this time before our insurance deductible resets in a few weeks. Heavy metals, mold, vitamins, minerals, and the normal ANA, CBC, and CMP.
This morning I let her stay home from school; I would have picked her up 2 hours in to her school day anyway and she can use the rest from this rough week. I also let her stay home because I wanted to give just one peaceful morning to her little sister. My kindergartner woke up before me, got dressed, and was making her bed when I came to her room. She is a child of this illness too but in a different way than her sister. She tries to be extra good, extra sweet, extra loving, to balance out all the yuck that this illness brings to her world. The screaming, the unpredictability, the mommy-time she's robbed of because her sister's needs must be met as they arise, no matter when or where, or else. Waiting on the sidelines so much of the time, I wonder if she is starving for normalcy, calm, attention. What will the story of her childhood be? My energy is focused so much on the story of her sister that I haven't thought about her story so much. One day she will write her story and so as her mother I ask myself, what can I do now to co-author it?
I made chocolate chip pancakes for her in the shape of a teddy bear with a chocolate chip face. This is something I can do. It's not the first time I've done cute little mommy-things but it is the first in a long time and it doesn't ever happen on a school morning. Mornings are too hard. I cut up some fruit too. I even wrote a love note and slipped it in her school lunch bag. A beautiful morning with my little girl who is growing up by leaps and bounds, too quickly. We had a beautiful morning and the bitter-sweetness caught in my throat and choked me as she waved goodbye through the yellow bus window. This is as it should be.
Her sister played, staying in just her bathrobe so she didn't have to endure the torture of putting clothes on her inflamed body. It's been a very rough week. Sensory, agitation, emotional. Insomnia has been horrid as she's been unable to fall asleep until 10, 11, or 12 o'clock each night. Hyper, manic, agitated. Last night she cried as we began her math homework and I saw for the first time her brain wasn't working right. She struggled with something she does all the time - something that always comes easy to her.
"WHY is this so hard?! Why am I so agitated?! I don't want to be like this!
None of the other 21 kids in my class have to have needles in their arms for bloodwork!
No one else has this and I don't want to be different!"
Homework was hard and bedtime last night was a challenge but she was asleep by 9:10, likely because she was completely exhausted from the previous nights' sleeplessness. This morning I haven't asked her to do anything but take her lyme herbal water. She's on the Kindle and I'm here doing my therapy writing. I just wanted a peaceful morning, for her sister, for her, and for me. But mostly, for her sister.
My kindergartner and I walked outside to wait for the bus in our front yard. She wore her mixed up outfit that she chose by herself and her self-made ponytail was messily tucked in to her furry hood. It is a sunny, brisk, winter day. Bright blue sky, crisp air, little whispy white puffs sailing by. We laughed about how she could almost stand on top of the foot of snow that had hardened along our driveway. We talked about the mommy-day I would set for her in the coming weeks when just she and I would play hookie from school and go out to lunch. I gave her a bigger hug than usual when the bus pulled up and yelled an extra "I love you" as she rounded the front to get on. She waved as the bus pulled away, making sure to see me. My sweet. I won't be here when she gets home from school and I know that bothers her. It bothers me too. That I am not here for her as I would be without PANS/LYME ruling our world. Thank the universe for Grandma's.
I'm going to make a list of all the things I don't do because of PANS/LYME and then I'm going to start doing them. I'm going to make teddy bear pancakes on school mornings, cut up fresh fruit, talk to my kindergartner as we wait for the bus, and write love notes for lunch boxes. I'm going to make a big list and do everything that I might wish I had done looking back five years from now. If I have to do it in the middle of the night I will. If I can only do it a couple of times a month on days that aren't so hard I will. I will not let this illness take their childhood from me. In 5 years what would I say to myself? "ENJOY every moment you can. FIND them. STEAL them. MAKE them. Don't let them be robbed of you. They are YOUR moments. They are THEIR moments. LIVE them, no matter what."
Got it.
Strength. Love. Hope.
If only
February 10, 2017
I rocked and sang a sweet lullaby as she nursed and drifted off to sleep. Rain sounds gently calming and the twinkling star lights fading red, blue, and green on the walls of her her nursery room, I let the busyness of our day slip away. I thought I heard a sound break through the pittering rain. Rocking more slowly, an ear turned towards the mostly closed door. Yes, there it is again. My 3-year-old's voice, piercing the calm as she pleads with her daddy about some issue with her own little bedtime routine. Waiting. Listening. Yes something is up. I gently laid little sis down on her bed and quickly slipped away. What could this be? So unusual. Their routine is counted upon every single night. I wonder, as I turn to follow the banister that lead to her bedroom, what could be wrong.
It was the first of what would become years of struggle. Our beautiful three-year-old daughter suddenly fighting her bedtime routine was not just unusual, it was unheard of. Every night since she was a baby had been a sweet ending of our day. My husband and I used to take turns putting her to bed and sometimes I'd negotiate to get two days in a row. It was that good. Consistent, sweet, calming, our special time. Read stories in the rocking chair then settle her in to bed. Sing her special lullaby twice, hum it a few more times, kiss her goodnight and watch her snuggle in. One more kiss from the door, "I love you", and all was right with the world.
My husband and I used to laugh when we'd hear her little footsteps quietly patter across the floor, we'd look up at the ceiling as if we could see what she was doing. She always settled down quickly though. Such a good little one. During my last check of the night I'd often call my husband in to see what the activity had been. One night she lay on a sliver of bed that was not covered with "friends", wearing a tutu over her jammies, a pink cowgirl hat by her head, her new stick-horse next to her. What I wouldn't give to have one of those nights back. She always loved her special goodnight time with mom or dad and felt safe in her crib or bed. It is hard now, to remember.
Suddenly, it changed. Night after night without warning. Happy, sleepy, cuddly, stories. Tucking in and lullabies. The light turned off and up she would sit, proclaiming that she was NOT ready to go to sleep. I tried my up-until-this-point-highly-effective style of rational parenting and boundary setting. "This is not what we do at bedtime. At bedtime, you are in your bed, Mommy and Daddy tuck you in, and you lie down to rest. This is what we do. This is not a choice." It was as if my words simply bounced off of some invisible shield that was holding her hostage; I could not reach her. Screaming and crying, sitting on her pillow or standing in the far corner of her bed she bellowed that she was not tired and was not ready to go to sleep yet. We had never experienced this level of defiance. We didn't understand it. Couldn't make any sense of it.
It was a few days in to this new bedtime refusal, during another one of my very reasonable expectation setting discussions, that I realized there was something more to this than a preschooler testing her boundaries. As she argued her point, solidly dug in and unmoving, I saw my words had no sound in her ears. If she were simply testing her boundaries my steadfastness would have weakened her resolve but she was not with us. There was something about her that wasn't right. I stopped talking, sat on her bed, opened my arms. In she crashed. I held her to my chest, rocking her gently. After a few minutes I softly asked what was wrong. In her little fragile voice, I heard the words that broke my mommy heart for the first time in my parenting life.
She sobbed and sobbed and I sat stunned for a half-second-hour. Oh my god. Scooping her up in my arms I lied to stop her hurt. "Honey, I'm not going to die. I'm right here and I'm always going to be here. What made you think of that?" She was not comforted.
I talked and talked and lied our way out of this conversation. I would not die until she was very old. Maybe by then there would be medicine so none of us had to die. Please don't think of it my love. I am your mommy and I will always be here with you. I held her tight and from that night on one of us has sat with her until she falls asleep. That was then. This is now. Three nights ago, as I sat with her for what ended up being 2 hours until she fell asleep, I felt her bed shake just a bit. "Are you okay, honey?" In a split-second this almost 8-year-old was in my arms crying, "I'm having bad thoughts Mommy." It took her several attempts to explain, because I couldn't understand through her sobs. "I don't want to lose you. I don't want you to die." How many times will she have to endure this pain? I so badly want to take her pain away but I can not. I am not able to fix this. All I can do is try to use this illness to make her stronger, but I can not fix this.
It is worse when she is sicker, and better when she is more well. During the rough times she wakes multiple times a night. She isn't fighting sleep when she wakes in the middle of the night; it just won't come to her and she doesn't want to be alone. If we stay with her she lies quietly, content to just have us there while she rests. It's been like this since that first night when she was three years old. In those early months we thought sleeping with her would reinforce the behavior but we had no choice. We were beat. We needed sleep. We couldn't get up multiple times a night, sit with her for 45 minutes, and then be woken up again less than an hour later. I didn't know much back then but I knew something wasn't right. A child should not have this type of insomnia. So started our calls to the pediatrician, trials of melatonin, reward systems, and calming techniques. And so started our journey to PANS and Lyme.
Gone was our carefree child who loved to snuggle into her bed and tiptoe around in the dark when we weren't looking. Gone was our brave little girl who used to get up and use the bathroom in the middle of the night and tuck herself back in to bed without even asking for us. Gone was a part of her childhood that we would never get back. It was only the beginning. If only I had known then what I know now maybe I could have stopped the onslaught. More fears would come. More anxiety. More physical symptoms; skin-on-fire-sensory, insomnia, urinary issues, lack of appetite. Suffering and more suffering.
I wracked my brain to connect all of this behavior to something. I googled, talked, chatted, posted, libraried, researched, and tried every tip I was given. Only later would I recognize this sudden change as the "sudden onset" of a horrid medical condition. If only I had known then what I know now. Damn it. I could have DONE something then.
If I could have one wish, it might be to go back to that first night, knowing what I know now. Or maybe it would be back to her first vaccination, her first ear infection, her first breath. Oh if I could give her breast milk to provide her immune system with healing from that first moment. If I could be more judicious with vaccinations and provide detoxification support after every one. I'd skip the flu shots, give her probiotics every day, and make sure she had quality vitamins. I'd go back to that night and hold her and let her sleep in my arms. The next morning I'd get her started on the herbal antibiotics and antivirals. I'd do all kinds of things to stop this illness form spiraling out of control and hijacking her childhood.
I don't live with regret but there is so much I would do differently. The only useful thing about regret is to recognize it and make sure you don't repeat the thing that brought it to life. What would my five-years-from-now self, say to me? What advice would I give me? What would I tell myself to do now instead of waiting. I couldn't help her then but I can help her now. I have to be able to help her.
Strength. Love. Hope.
I rocked and sang a sweet lullaby as she nursed and drifted off to sleep. Rain sounds gently calming and the twinkling star lights fading red, blue, and green on the walls of her her nursery room, I let the busyness of our day slip away. I thought I heard a sound break through the pittering rain. Rocking more slowly, an ear turned towards the mostly closed door. Yes, there it is again. My 3-year-old's voice, piercing the calm as she pleads with her daddy about some issue with her own little bedtime routine. Waiting. Listening. Yes something is up. I gently laid little sis down on her bed and quickly slipped away. What could this be? So unusual. Their routine is counted upon every single night. I wonder, as I turn to follow the banister that lead to her bedroom, what could be wrong.
It was the first of what would become years of struggle. Our beautiful three-year-old daughter suddenly fighting her bedtime routine was not just unusual, it was unheard of. Every night since she was a baby had been a sweet ending of our day. My husband and I used to take turns putting her to bed and sometimes I'd negotiate to get two days in a row. It was that good. Consistent, sweet, calming, our special time. Read stories in the rocking chair then settle her in to bed. Sing her special lullaby twice, hum it a few more times, kiss her goodnight and watch her snuggle in. One more kiss from the door, "I love you", and all was right with the world.
My husband and I used to laugh when we'd hear her little footsteps quietly patter across the floor, we'd look up at the ceiling as if we could see what she was doing. She always settled down quickly though. Such a good little one. During my last check of the night I'd often call my husband in to see what the activity had been. One night she lay on a sliver of bed that was not covered with "friends", wearing a tutu over her jammies, a pink cowgirl hat by her head, her new stick-horse next to her. What I wouldn't give to have one of those nights back. She always loved her special goodnight time with mom or dad and felt safe in her crib or bed. It is hard now, to remember.
Suddenly, it changed. Night after night without warning. Happy, sleepy, cuddly, stories. Tucking in and lullabies. The light turned off and up she would sit, proclaiming that she was NOT ready to go to sleep. I tried my up-until-this-point-highly-effective style of rational parenting and boundary setting. "This is not what we do at bedtime. At bedtime, you are in your bed, Mommy and Daddy tuck you in, and you lie down to rest. This is what we do. This is not a choice." It was as if my words simply bounced off of some invisible shield that was holding her hostage; I could not reach her. Screaming and crying, sitting on her pillow or standing in the far corner of her bed she bellowed that she was not tired and was not ready to go to sleep yet. We had never experienced this level of defiance. We didn't understand it. Couldn't make any sense of it.
It was a few days in to this new bedtime refusal, during another one of my very reasonable expectation setting discussions, that I realized there was something more to this than a preschooler testing her boundaries. As she argued her point, solidly dug in and unmoving, I saw my words had no sound in her ears. If she were simply testing her boundaries my steadfastness would have weakened her resolve but she was not with us. There was something about her that wasn't right. I stopped talking, sat on her bed, opened my arms. In she crashed. I held her to my chest, rocking her gently. After a few minutes I softly asked what was wrong. In her little fragile voice, I heard the words that broke my mommy heart for the first time in my parenting life.
"Mommy, I don't want you to get old. You will die and leave me and I don't want to
be here without you. Mommy I will miss you and I don't want you to die!"
She sobbed and sobbed and I sat stunned for a half-second-hour. Oh my god. Scooping her up in my arms I lied to stop her hurt. "Honey, I'm not going to die. I'm right here and I'm always going to be here. What made you think of that?" She was not comforted.
"But when you are old you are going to die right? And I don't want to be here
without you. Mommy when you die I want to die with you."
Shattered.
I talked and talked and lied our way out of this conversation. I would not die until she was very old. Maybe by then there would be medicine so none of us had to die. Please don't think of it my love. I am your mommy and I will always be here with you. I held her tight and from that night on one of us has sat with her until she falls asleep. That was then. This is now. Three nights ago, as I sat with her for what ended up being 2 hours until she fell asleep, I felt her bed shake just a bit. "Are you okay, honey?" In a split-second this almost 8-year-old was in my arms crying, "I'm having bad thoughts Mommy." It took her several attempts to explain, because I couldn't understand through her sobs. "I don't want to lose you. I don't want you to die." How many times will she have to endure this pain? I so badly want to take her pain away but I can not. I am not able to fix this. All I can do is try to use this illness to make her stronger, but I can not fix this.
It is worse when she is sicker, and better when she is more well. During the rough times she wakes multiple times a night. She isn't fighting sleep when she wakes in the middle of the night; it just won't come to her and she doesn't want to be alone. If we stay with her she lies quietly, content to just have us there while she rests. It's been like this since that first night when she was three years old. In those early months we thought sleeping with her would reinforce the behavior but we had no choice. We were beat. We needed sleep. We couldn't get up multiple times a night, sit with her for 45 minutes, and then be woken up again less than an hour later. I didn't know much back then but I knew something wasn't right. A child should not have this type of insomnia. So started our calls to the pediatrician, trials of melatonin, reward systems, and calming techniques. And so started our journey to PANS and Lyme.
Gone was our carefree child who loved to snuggle into her bed and tiptoe around in the dark when we weren't looking. Gone was our brave little girl who used to get up and use the bathroom in the middle of the night and tuck herself back in to bed without even asking for us. Gone was a part of her childhood that we would never get back. It was only the beginning. If only I had known then what I know now maybe I could have stopped the onslaught. More fears would come. More anxiety. More physical symptoms; skin-on-fire-sensory, insomnia, urinary issues, lack of appetite. Suffering and more suffering.
I wracked my brain to connect all of this behavior to something. I googled, talked, chatted, posted, libraried, researched, and tried every tip I was given. Only later would I recognize this sudden change as the "sudden onset" of a horrid medical condition. If only I had known then what I know now. Damn it. I could have DONE something then.
If I could have one wish, it might be to go back to that first night, knowing what I know now. Or maybe it would be back to her first vaccination, her first ear infection, her first breath. Oh if I could give her breast milk to provide her immune system with healing from that first moment. If I could be more judicious with vaccinations and provide detoxification support after every one. I'd skip the flu shots, give her probiotics every day, and make sure she had quality vitamins. I'd go back to that night and hold her and let her sleep in my arms. The next morning I'd get her started on the herbal antibiotics and antivirals. I'd do all kinds of things to stop this illness form spiraling out of control and hijacking her childhood.
I don't live with regret but there is so much I would do differently. The only useful thing about regret is to recognize it and make sure you don't repeat the thing that brought it to life. What would my five-years-from-now self, say to me? What advice would I give me? What would I tell myself to do now instead of waiting. I couldn't help her then but I can help her now. I have to be able to help her.
Strength. Love. Hope.
Up and down and round and round
February 8, 2017
We are in our third month of herbal lyme treatment and the ups and downs keep coming. A few weeks ago it started up again - those horrible symptoms. Armed with some new tools of attack I think we have been able to keep things at bay. Maybe.
She is up to multiple supplements in the morning and that in and of itself is taking it's toll. I hate to take my vitamins so I can imagine what it feels like to a seven-year-old little girl to take so many. I was hard on her this morning. I just wanted her to take her pills and it had been 20 minutes of fiddling with them and complaining. I tried empathy. It's time to brush teeth and hair. I tried encouragement. We only have 10 more minutes until the bus gets here. I tried the threat of consequence. It's TIME! I finally took them away and told her to go out to the bus. That is the greatest threat of all because she fears what will happen if she doesn't take them. Running around me she grabbed them from the counter and began. She fears the crushing sensory symptoms that may escalate. She is terrified of the scary thoughts that could come crashing in to her brain without invite, no way to push them out. She hates the insomnia that keeps her awake for hours and hours because it usually gets the better of her and then of me and the crying and yelling ensues.
How did this happen? Why? I don't often go there. I'm always looking forward, focused on what to do next. We're trying to get b vitamins balanced, adding minerals, and lots of anti-inflammatory and liver-detox support. I think it's helping but it's a lot to take - literally a lot of pills to take. After a morning like today's, I reassess to see if I can safely remove a couple of pills. Just to ease the burden on this little girl.
Then again, we are lucky right? It could be worse. At least she is "healthy" and not fighting something worse. So maybe she needs to suck it up and take eleven. Big deal, right? At least we can fight and there is hope. Some kids have so little hope. Some kids are fighting something that is ultimately going to win. She will win this battle so the focus needs to be on sustaining her as we go. At least she is home and comfortable and able to go to school and enjoy good friendships. She is learning and playing as she should be. It's just this other stuff she's got to handle. And there it is. Perspective. Never takes me too long.
So how can I better sustain her and hold her up? How can I strengthen her and her resolve? I tell her she is strong and brave and conquering it all. I think she believes me. Most of the time. When she's not just too damn tired of it all.
Me too. I'll do better.
Strength. Love. Hope.
We are in our third month of herbal lyme treatment and the ups and downs keep coming. A few weeks ago it started up again - those horrible symptoms. Armed with some new tools of attack I think we have been able to keep things at bay. Maybe.
She is up to multiple supplements in the morning and that in and of itself is taking it's toll. I hate to take my vitamins so I can imagine what it feels like to a seven-year-old little girl to take so many. I was hard on her this morning. I just wanted her to take her pills and it had been 20 minutes of fiddling with them and complaining. I tried empathy. It's time to brush teeth and hair. I tried encouragement. We only have 10 more minutes until the bus gets here. I tried the threat of consequence. It's TIME! I finally took them away and told her to go out to the bus. That is the greatest threat of all because she fears what will happen if she doesn't take them. Running around me she grabbed them from the counter and began. She fears the crushing sensory symptoms that may escalate. She is terrified of the scary thoughts that could come crashing in to her brain without invite, no way to push them out. She hates the insomnia that keeps her awake for hours and hours because it usually gets the better of her and then of me and the crying and yelling ensues.
How did this happen? Why? I don't often go there. I'm always looking forward, focused on what to do next. We're trying to get b vitamins balanced, adding minerals, and lots of anti-inflammatory and liver-detox support. I think it's helping but it's a lot to take - literally a lot of pills to take. After a morning like today's, I reassess to see if I can safely remove a couple of pills. Just to ease the burden on this little girl.
Then again, we are lucky right? It could be worse. At least she is "healthy" and not fighting something worse. So maybe she needs to suck it up and take eleven. Big deal, right? At least we can fight and there is hope. Some kids have so little hope. Some kids are fighting something that is ultimately going to win. She will win this battle so the focus needs to be on sustaining her as we go. At least she is home and comfortable and able to go to school and enjoy good friendships. She is learning and playing as she should be. It's just this other stuff she's got to handle. And there it is. Perspective. Never takes me too long.
So how can I better sustain her and hold her up? How can I strengthen her and her resolve? I tell her she is strong and brave and conquering it all. I think she believes me. Most of the time. When she's not just too damn tired of it all.
Me too. I'll do better.
Strength. Love. Hope.
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