The Elder Son has always been a stubborn, challenging type. He was sitting breech for the final couple months of my pregnancy, despite many attempts on my part to get him to flip over. In the weeks leading up to my due date, we scheduled an ECV to try to get him properly situated. Even with much pushing from the doctor, he who was said to be the best in the area for the baby flippin' deed, Elder Son would not budge. So, we did a c-section, and he was not pleased at being yanked from the womb.
Fast forward a few year, to kindergarten. Many calls from the school when he decided that his desires did not match up with the instructions in the classroom. Angst galore, culiminating in some testing last year to make a diagnosis of ADHD-hyperactive type (with inklings of ODD and some anxiety). But we started on meds, and things got better.
Until a couple weeks ago, when Elder Son's disagreements with the aftercare staff caused him to run away, off school grounds. There are few things that hang in your head more ominously than having "We've just called the police. Get here as soon as you can," be the last things you hear in a phone call. And last week, when the school called to say that his anger at another student, because of a disagreement over the rules of the chess game, if some accounts are to be believed, he lashed out to the point that one of the teachers had to visit the doctor to have the scratches and bites examined. Five day suspension.
The last week has been a whirlwind of medication adjustments and conversations in which we try to figure out what is going on in that little eight-year-old brain. And the next few days of the suspension will be spent trying new medicine and calling more doctors. Words like "neurologist" and "bipolar disorder" and "intensive outpatient program" and "antipsychotic prescription" can be unnerving. Even more so when the word "pediatric" gets added to the mix.
Comments