And Here We Are...

It's been six months since I brought my baby home from the hospital. I would love to paint a picture of roses and sunshine but bipolar does not allow me to do that. There are many times that I feel our life is ruled by this awful curse and that if I could run faster or pull harder we could rid ourselves of it.

The weeks and months after the hospital stay were brutal. He came home overdosed on medications, falling asleep on the path at a park, smacking his forehead from electric impulses that were surging through his brain when we took him off the medications from the hospital. It was all I could do to let him finish out the school year, it was trying at best and he nearly did not make it.

Summer found us moving in a courageous Grandma and her dog, allowing the Little Man to spend his days at home rather than at daycare. By the end of summer, another hospitalization seemed imminent as Grandma, the neighbor children, and I were all battered and bruised. He lost friends during this time and has worked his little tail off to earn them back. It's been a long road but he came out on the other side.

School started in September and we have found that the Little Man THRIVES on schedule and routine. He began to soar in first grade - making huge strides in reading and phonetic spelling. It has been an amazing sight to see, it would be for any mother, but even more so for me knowing what he has overcome in the past year.

His teacher is God’s gift to me. She is my Knight in Shining Armor and appears to be one of the Little Man's biggest advocates. You see, her daughter was in the same hospital as the Little Man last May, they were there at the same time. This gift to me, she does not merely understand what our life is like each day - she's lived it.

I have relished in the ease of the past 2 1/2 months, at times taken for granted how wonderful and almost angelic it has been. Gone are the egg shells, the pit in my stomach when I drive to daycare each night, the anticipation when his alarm goes off in the morning. I no longer have to question who the child will be that I receive, he is happy, he has his smile back, and that laugh that comes from the deepest depths of his core. Unfortunately, these times never last long enough. They are on borrowed time and I never know when they may end.

Two weeks ago, the Little Man walked downstairs and in to the kitchen for breakfast. The first thing he said was "I HATE the smell of the soap in the dishwasher!” That was my red flag, I knew it would be a matter of time before the peace was gone and replaced with fear. He has gone downhill much faster this time around; daycare again is a challenge for him - the lights, the sounds, and the busy-ness of it all. He is having trouble at school, even regressing academically. He is getting placed on a behavior plan and his parent/teacher conference has been replaced with an IEP review.

Yesterday was the worst. Before I even got out of my car the children from daycare were yelling to me all the things he had done to them that afternoon. On my lunch I purchased a new slip cover for the couch. When he got home he sat on it and then said "You bought this at Target. I can smell it." He becomes super-human when he is unstable; he smells things no one else can, he hears everything, and his strength is beyond compare. I couldn't imagine the assault on his body that he must be feeling at the moment.

We go to the psychiatrist on Tuesday, a feat of its own. His psychiatrist recently left the country, now we are left scrambling to find a new doctor. Tuesday I will enter this appointment armed with years of history in hand; hopeful that this new doctor will agree with the other six about the diagnosis – as controversial as it is. Then I cross my fingers that she also agrees with our treatment plan and will make immediate adjustments to his medications. A lot rides on this day – our future depends on it. For now I will dig in my heels and hold on for the roller coaster that we are embarking on.

I’ve never been a fan of roller coasters.