January « 2005 « Sharp Corners

The envelope please…

January 22, 2005

Many weeks ago I began the process of having Son One evaluated to determine what was causing his lack of progress in school, his behavior difficulties at home, etc. After many meetings with doctors, teachers and psychologists, I have my answer:

ADHD and a learning disability.

Kill me now. Quickly.

The good news is that it all appears to be organic in nature, letting me off the hook that I’ve failed my son miserably with terrible parenting skills. No one will ever convince me beyond a shadow of a doubt that I didn’t cause this for him somehow (Did I eat too many Twinkies while he was in-utero? Should I have attached headphones to my belly during pregnancy and played Bach? Should I have insisted he watch the "So Smart" baby movie collection during infancy instead of "Raising Arizona"?). At least for now, I can take comfort in the fact that the doctor didn’t have me reported to Child Protective Services for my utter inability to raise a good and healthy son.

I saw the ADHD diagnosis coming from a mile and a half away so I wasn’t the slightest bit surprised. Anyone who spends more than a millisecond with Son One understands that even Chihuahuas can learn a thing or two about being hyper from him. Technically speaking, he sits on the particular branch of the ADHD tree that addresses impulse control. It is truly fascinating (read: sad) to watch him be unable to control himself for literally five minutes even if the reward for doing so is a much coveted fishing trip or some other such thing. Five minutes. He can’t do it.

Though he scored "above average" in his IQ tests, he appears to also have an auditory processing disorder that slows his reading ability and comprehension to a snail’s pace, hence the co-morbid diagnosis of a learning disability.

So, what does all this mean for us? Well, since every attempt at behavior modification has been tried and has failed, I am looking at having to medicate my son. This, my friends, is a special kind of hell for me. I opted for natural childbirth at home, I breastfed for what seemed like eons, I gave him soy instead of cow’s milk when he was old enough to have it, I crack down on junk food in my home with the vehemence of a Gestapo Agent and where has it gotten us? Nowhere. I thought I was doing everything possible to ensure my kids were healthy and well cared for and now I’m faced with having to medicate him for the next several years anyway. If the doctors and I determine that would best serve him, then that’s what I will do but I don’t have to like it.

I know in my heart of hearts that this is not the end of the world. I realize that he could be facing much worse health issues than this. I understand that millions of kids with the same challenges go on to live happy and productive lives. But why did this have to happen to my child? If it’s genetic, does this mean my other two boys will end up with the same thing? Will he outgrow this? If not, what will his adulthood be like? So many questions, so few answers.

Thank god and every other power out there that my ex-husband is being so easy to work with about this. He has a huge issue with the whole topic of ADD/ADHD and medication so I was fully prepared to go to war with him over this but he has shown himself to be surprisingly easy to deal with. For that I am grateful. I also have a bevy of doctors and other professionals willing to help me get my son whatever he needs to overcome (or deal with?) this challenge.

All of the results just came in this week, a week that had already been overloaded with stresses and worries of other sorts, so I’m just now beginning to sift through what it all means and formulate a plan of action. Because I’m all about "plans of action." I will not sit and cry endlessly in my coffee over this turn of events. I will allow myself a brief period of sadness that my beautiful son has a problem I cannot make go away but then it’s back to business. And that business is getting him what he needs to make his life better. I don’t think I will be overly thrilled at the methods we have to use but they are a means to an end. A good end.

You know, I don’t spend a lot of time writing about my children on this blog. I have no fear of being seen as a "mommy blog" because mommy (and daddy) bloggers are the best of the best, as far as I’m concerned. It’s just that if you look over there on the left at my links to "Sharp Parents Who Blog," you’ll see that I am outclassed in my ability to ever write about my children in the prolific, witty and wonderful ways that those folks do. So I don’t even try. But even if I choose to not write about my children very often, take my word for it when I tell you that they are the center of my universe, the glue that holds me together. They may drive me crazy but I cherish every inch of them as if they were solid gold. Growing up, I never wanted to be a parent. It took my husband five years of constant ~~nagging~~ asking for me to agree to even have children. The day Son One was born, my world tilted on it’s axis and has never been the same since. Though I remain selfish and self absorbed to this day, they are the only thing that I ever consider before myself and my needs. And that, dear readers, is why I will not sit here and feel sorry for myself. Son One needs me to map out a solution for him and that’s what I will do, even if I don’t want to.

5 Comments | Monkey boys | Permalink
Posted by Lisa Hoover

Adaptability is everything

January 21, 2005

I was invited to a Red Carpet Ceremony for BoB Finalists over at Tall Poppy and went to check out the details. While I was there, I took a few minutes to re-read this entry about adaptability. I’ve been thinking about this ever since I read it last week, particularly this passage:

A Tall Poppy…"Knows that in order to continue to learn and grow, she must be open to an occasional change of scenery.

Knows that change is good. Life without Change is Stagnant–which, of course, is NOT good."

There were a tremendous amount of changes in my life last year, far more than any other year I can recall. Some were good, some not so good, some within my control, some not, but all of them were necessary and worthwhile. I’ve spent a lot of time this week thinking about the results of those changes and how they came to pass. Perhaps I’m a restless sort or perhaps my attention span is limited, but I am not afraid of change. In fact, I welcome it. I am also not afraid of the readjustment period that must accompany it but I find it to be a little more challenging than the change itself.

Take, for example, the huge change that occurred when I enrolled my children in public school after years of homeschooling. Many things necessitated that switch and I’ll admit I was more than a little leery of doing it. Overall, it has worked out well, but not perfectly but I understand that I need to stay open minded if it’s going to work. On top of that, I am aware that my children will take their cues from me and if I indicate that all is well, they will think so too. There was quite a learning curve associated with putting my children in school. Things that seem second nature to other parents are forgien to me. Am I being too strict when I refuse to send sodas with my boys’ lunches? Is it intrusive to try to talk to a teacher after class or should I send a note to school instead? Is it wrong for me to expect I will be notified if my child gets sent to the office for feeling sick or should I trust the school secretary to determine if he’s well enough to stay? Turning control of my sons over to the school each day has been a big task for me but one I know is important, for micro-managing them from home would be counterproductive. All these months later, I’m still trying to find the right balance between being an involved parent and letting go of the reins.

Perhaps the most astronomical change last year occured when I got divorced, a decision that was a long time in the making. Years in the making, if I’m going to be honest. As a result, I’ve had to adapt to many little things that were never an issue before. When filling out forms that request and emergency contact name, I have to stop and think. Rewriting my will introduces an interesting set of questions. Even adding a second driver to my rental car insurance contract is different since the legal bonds of marriage, rather than practicality, seem to dictate the rules these days. The lack of a ring on my left hand seems to serve as a beacon for every lonely guy on the planet (and don’t for a minute assume that I think that has anything to do with me specifically, but rather a visible sign of assumed availability that single men seem required to address). I have adapted very well to my new freedom but figure it will take a while to complete a full cycle of holidays, visitations, school and health issues and the like to really settle into an understanding of the long term impact of being divorced. The key for me is to stay open minded and, well, adaptable to whatever new situation comes up. For the first time in over a decade, I am completely in charge of my future. How cool is that?

Unless I miss my guess, there are a lot more changes ahead for me. I’m thrilled, excited…and scared. Once again, I don’t expect them all to be a picnic but I hope I can find a good thread or a learning experience in all of them. My mother taught me to be adaptable, to pick up and dust myself off if things don’t work out, to make the best of any situation. That advice has gotten me through a lot of tough times and it’s something I want to pass on to my children. I want them to know that things won’t always go the way they think they will but how they adapt can make the difference between being happy and…not.

2 Comments | So there | Permalink
Posted by Lisa Hoover

Dude, where’s my bike?

January 20, 2005

The outpouring of people witnessing or nearly being in car accidents is making me want to permanently park my car and take to bike riding instead. Maybe I’m just being overly sensitive (me? never!) but it seems like every time I turn around someone is telling me that they were rear ended, side impacted, hit or overturned. I’m beginning to get paranoid. Add to that, I’ve spent most of my day in driving around with my heart pounding out of my chest and my palms sweating buckets. And that was just from the ride over to pick up my rental car.

Here’s a suggestion: if a rental car company offers to come pick you up and give you a ride over to their shop, don’t do it. If the guy that came to get me is any indication, they only hire NASCAR drivers that have been disqualified for speeding.

I knew I shouldn’t have gotten in the car in the first place when the employee called me to say he was lost. On my street. A half a block from my house. I sent up a flare or two to guide him and he finally showed up ten minutes later. All one hundred and two years of him. He sat warmly in the van while I struggled in the pouring rain with three car seats, a squirming four year old, my bag and my keys. When he got out into traffic on the main road (did I mention it was pouring rain?), I think we pulled four Gs. He drove at warp speed all six miles to the rental place with one finger in his nose and the other hand in his lap, one finger crooked around the bottom of the steering wheel. Furthermore, he refused to turn on the windshield wipers (did I tell you it was pouring rain?) because they "interfered with his vision." I was 100% positive we would be splattered on the side of the road but all he cared about was finding whatever he was looking for in his left nostril. I swear to god I nearly kissed the ground when we got into the parking lot (which he turned into on two wheels). All I got for my troubles was another minivan to rent while mine is being fixed. You’d think they could have at least pimped me out in a nice Tahoe or something. Geez.

I was seconds away from getting sideswiped on my way home this afternoon so I’ve had all I can take of this "driving" thing. My nerves are shot. Just give me a three wheeled bike with a basket and a nice horn and I’ll be happy. Besides, it can’t make me look any worse than driving around in a minivan.

1 Comment | I care even if you don't | Permalink
Posted by Lisa Hoover

Can you hear me screaming?

January 20, 2005

I’m in the process of setting up Movable Type on my new server, which is about as much fun as having my toenails pulled out with rusty pliers. It’s much more fun, however, than spending time writing long blog posts only to have them eaten by cyberspace instead of publishing themselves like I asked. So, the protracted silences you’ve seen here of late are a combination of those two issues. Patience, my friends, I’m still here. Now, please pass the pliers.

Leave a Comment » | So there | Permalink
Posted by Lisa Hoover

Things that make you go “hmmm”

January 19, 2005

I was gathering up paperwork to process the medical claims from the car accident and finally got a good look at the prescription receipts from the pharmacy. At the top of the paper is a bunch of information, including the first two letters of your last name and whether you’re waiting in the store for your prescription or picking it up at a later time. Imagine my surprise when I saw that the top of the page read: "HO WAITING". Granted, I’m just as interested as the next person in the final BoB Awards results but how did the pharmacist know that?

Why is there a screwdriver in my refrigerator? Not a vodka-and-orange-juice concoction but a real screwdriver. I’m sure one of my kids knows.

We invited friends over for dinner last night and J spent an hour preparing rib tips on the grill for our feast. They probably would have been delicious but we’ll never know because the dog jumped up, grabbed them off the plate and dragged them to the corner of the yard. We ended up eating cheese and crackers and getting drunk on cheap wine by the fire.

Where can I get one of those nifty signs for the back of my car that says, "Keep Back 500 Feet"?

1 Comment | Brain lint | Permalink
Posted by Lisa Hoover

Sure, I’m insured

January 18, 2005

Dealing with auto insurance companies is like dealing with a pack of wild monkeys while wearing a backpack full of bananas. The insurance company I pay zillions of dollars to each month is, uh, less than responsive but the carriers for the other two drivers involved in the accident have swarmed me like vultures.

I was not at fault for this collision since I was sandwiched between two other vehicles against my will. The ~~idiot~~ driver who hit me is insured through Hal’s House of Insurance and Paperweights (Motto: "Our coverage sucks but here’s a nice snowglobe") and the driver in front of me has a policy with a company so sneaky that even disbarred lawyers won’t work for them.

Since my insurance company only returns phone calls on days ending in "Q," I’ve been trying to negotiate between the two other carriers without benefit of counsel and they’re both pulling on me like I was Stretch Armstrong. The offending driver’s people are telling me fairy tales about what a great deal they’re going to work for me to fix my minivan while the other driver’s carrier gleefully chirps that the first guy actually has no coverage at all. My carrier, in the meantime, finally got back to me last night for the first time (the accident was Friday) and spent a half hour reviewing my coverage that I won’t need to use because it was the other guy’s fault!

Unless, of course, he really isn’t insured after all and the jury is still out on that. The at-fault driver’s company promised me a rental car from Enterprise and I won’t take it unless they come pick me up in a car covered in burlap just like their commercials. My only fear is that they’ll make me sit on the hood to navigate back to the rental place. My neck still hurts too much to recreate the scene from "Titanic."

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Posted by Lisa Hoover

Rocco Zappa

January 18, 2005

Rocco has to behave now. Nyah, nyah.

Last night was our first session with the dog trainer. Under his tutelage (Jay), he learned how to sit, come and stay off the couch in less than an hour. I am truly impressed. Mr. Trainer uses a remote collar to get the dog’s attention as he learns commands but I still get to give him liver snacks for good behavior (mmmmm). We still have a few more sessions to go where he’ll learn how to heel, stay and go to a predesignated place when we say to (so he won’t eat our UPS ~~man~~ packages).

I think at first Rocco thought Mr. Trainer had some mystical power that sent him little electronic pings when he didn’t listen. Rocco was eying Mr. Trainer awfully suspiciously for the first few minutes but seemed to get the picture when he got pinged even if J or I commanded him to do something. Now he comes when we call him but still doesn’t remember he can’t stick his nose halfway down the potato chip bag when I’m holding it. We’ll work on that next.

2 Comments | Sharpest dog | Permalink
Posted by Lisa Hoover

So domestic it hurts

January 18, 2005

Since I spent the weekend laid up, the house ~~went to hell~~ got rather messy so I spent my Monday cleaning. Oh, such fun. Since there was no school yesterday, I enlisted my little army of helpers to vacuum, dust and find the carpeting under the pile of toys in the playroom. I know that you all think I’m perfect so I’ll shatter that illusion for you right now. Here was the shining moment of my day:

You know that stuff that you spray in the shower that will allegedly "make soap scum disappear"? It doesn’t work. I sprayed and sprayed until I was faint from the fumes (or maybe that was the toilet bowl cleaner and bleach I mixed together, I don’t know) and waited the proper amount of time for it to do it’s job. When I went back in the bathroom to see if it had dissolved the scum, I was sorely disappointed and think I may have actually added to the problem. The spray had turned to concrete. I got out a good scrubber and started scraping away, rinsing out the sponge in the sink as I went. I got tired of running back and forth from the sink to the shower so I finally just used the showerhead to rinse the sponge as I worked my way around the stall. Standing in the middle of the shower stall, singing along with the Red Hot Chili Peppers and trying to ignore the pain in my shoulder, I rinsed the sponge a final time. By turning on the showerhead. That I was standing under. God, I can be such a moron.

Don’t even ask about what happened when I went to mop the floor.

2 Comments | Brain lint | Permalink
Posted by Lisa Hoover

Lisa, please report to the ER STAT

January 16, 2005

Now, I love a good spontaneous day trip as much as the next person but this is one I could have done without. Mom, you were right. Thank god I had on my good underwear.

After the accident, I was obsessed with picking up my kids at school (that’s where I’d been headed) so I opted not to be treated immediately. As a former Paramedic, I absolutely know this was a bad idea so may I use this opportunity to say: if you’re ever in an accident, do as I say, not as I do.

The next morning I was in extreme pain and tried to play through it as long as I could before finally just breaking down and going to the ER where I got to meet the ~~flotsam and jetsam~~ neighbors. A few people in the waiting room looked like they were holding hands with the Grim Reaper but most of them bounced out of their seats like they were being asked to "come on down" by Bob Barker. Such a lively bunch of sick people, I’ve never seen. I’m no stranger to the ER, been in lots of them for work and a few with my kids but this one had one peculiarity that I just couldn’t figure out.

Once you signed in and got looked over by the triage nurse to make sure you wouldn’t drop dead in the waiting room and ~~sue them, mess up the holding pen, upset the patients~~, meet an untimely demise, patients were called one by one to provide personal information at the registration desk. Okay, who am I kidding? All they wanted was the name of whatever insurance company would be willing to foot the bill. Anyway, instead of just calling us to the desk in a soothing tone, they would pick up an intercom and scream,

"LISA PATIENT. PLEASE REPORT TO THE REGISTRATION DESK!!!!"

in a voice I’m sure could be heard at the International Space Station. The first time they did that, I jumped a foot. By the fourth time I was ready to launch ScreamerGirl to the Space Station myself.

Once I got taken to a room, I spent roughly thirty-nine hours listening to other people try to finagle the doctor out of pain meds, MRIs, insurance claims, work release notes and his Rolex. My favorite passtime was eavesdropping on the conversation between an obnoxious but ill thirteen year old and his wheedling, pushover mother as he continually refused to have his blood drawn. I know for a fact that all ERs have restraints hidden in a drawer (don’t ask) and I was ready to forgo all my own treatment if it meant they would tie the brat’s ass to the bed, jab him with a needle and then stick his mother for being such a doormat.

Oooh, OOOH! My turn!!!! My turn for Xrays and a CT scan! YAY! They took me, bed and all, down the hall to Radiology. As luck would have it, it was the tech’s first day with her ER Gurney Driver’s License so she careened me off of every wall and every door jamb she could find. In fact, I think she backed up once or twice to smack it again for good measure. The high point of getting internally viewed for a half hour was the blissful silence. Unless, of course, you factor in that they turned and twisted me into X-Ray origami to get just the right views of my neck and head.

Mind you, I was there for excruciating neck pain and I was nearly in tears by the time they were done moving me around. The tech felt terrible, though I told them I understood completely. In fact, he felt so bad, he offered to help me sit upright so I could get off the table and back to the gurney. He gripped one hand in his massive paw then put the other behind my neck and pulled! God’s honest truth, he did.

I was never so happy as when I got wheeled back to my little curtained room to wait the eleven years it would take for the doctor to synthesize the results and let me know if I was going to live or die.

It turns out I’m going to live.

They were concerned for a neck fracture and a brain bleed, neither of which I appear to have, instead gracing me with a diagnosis of whiplash. Of course, the doctor mentioned that they "noted sinus congestion" on the CT scan. Ohhhh……well, then. The knowledge that I have a runny nose was worth every penny I spent and every hour I sat in the Emergency Room. Whew! I sure will be able to sleep tonight, doc. Thanks for pointing that out. Eight years of med school, right? Boy, you got your money’s worth, there, doc.

All things considered, it was a nice enough place to visit but I wouldn’t want to live there. The staff was friendly and as efficient as one could be when you’re just a little cog in a great big wheel of a hospital. The only thing that would have made it better is if he had been my doctor. Who do I write to about that?

Leave a Comment » | Brain lint | Permalink
Posted by Lisa Hoover

It’s hard to be witty when you’d rather be unconscious

January 16, 2005

Oh, sure. Everything’s fine. Unless, of course, you count the nightmares, the inability to turn my head without shrieking, the chronic earache or the numbness in my fingers. Other than that, I’m doing swell.

I know you didn’t tune in to hear me whine but, well, you’re gonna. I feel like I was hit by a truck. Oh, wait, I was. To be honest, I’m better than I was yesterday because I can walk without looking like Quasimodo but today is no picnic. And I think the current pains are here to stay for a while.

I haven’t been able to bring myself to take the Darvocet (though I suspect my blogging would benefit if I did. I might actually be funny.). I took a muscle relaxant last night before bed which promptly put me in a near coma that was punctuated by vivid dreams of being hit by planes, trains and automobiles. I’ve been trying to take my mind off of things but I only have 7,234 cable channels so there’s nothing to watch. I tried reading but can’t concentrate. ARGH! I hate this! I don’t to "laid up" very well, preferring to be the one to inflict pain and suffering on people, rather than be the recipient.

All right, I’ve complained enough. I won’t bitch about all this to my friends and family but aren’t you glad I feel close enough to all of you to do it? My next post will be about the lovely and fabulous trip I won to the ER. Now, go vote. Make an invalid happy.

1 Comment | Brain lint | Permalink
Posted by Lisa Hoover