Support

Today was a hectically long appointment for my girl, A. She’s going to have a bunch of blood tests to be sure it’s the Abilify causing weight gain, not thyroid. Iron cos she had super low iron even before puberty hit, so she might be joining me in iron infusions if the double dose iron hasn’t helped her. Also testing how healthy she is given the weight she has. And then I’ll go back next month without the little patient to discuss which pill to put her on depending on her fasting insulin and fasting glucose and all that stuff.

It was long but productive. Lots of ‘stop, look into each others’ eyes and crack up laughing’ moments. The absurdity of the behaviours where you both think, “Well, she doesn’t have a conscience yet anyway so THAT solution won’t work..” Or laughing at how home is calm until she herself causes the trouble.🫣

The doctor suggested she go to her room when angry, to calm down. But she said that’s a bad idea because she breaks the light switch, tears her clothes with her teeth, breaks doors… At least she has an accurate inventory of the damage she inflicts on the room.😬

She made me smile with the paintings she took pictures of. She’s such a lover of beauty.

And then, as always, the question came to me. I’ve put great supports in place for her, give her different places to go to and people to converse with, but where is my own support? Who is my village to watch the children and I rest on weekends or holidays. Who takes the children away for some hours so I can enjoy a quiet Sunday morning?

I told her I have no village.

And of course then she strongly commanded to have therapy as all this neurodivergence around me is stressful and draining and AS will never calm down seeing as stress triggers flares and I have nobody here to share the emotional and mental burden with and give me proper rest.

She suggested online meetings so I don’t kill my body traveling then sitting.

I don’t know. Maybe after the divorce.

Somehow, God will have to provide a circle that will enfold us all and give me chance to breathe. Because my mind is stretched out. I feel like I’m two seconds away from tearing at my hair and screaming and screaming and screaming..and never stopping.

Each appointment for each child, each bit of research for each child, each interruption by each child, every fight over something so trivial even the others complain, takes a lot from me and I’m barely there to begin with. I need a miracle. Or a village. But a therapist will have to do. One day…