Cordy Archives - Page 38 of 56

Aug 20, 2008

Racing Through The Fog

I really don’t have time to be depressed right now.

August is shaping up to be one of the busiest months for me, and only an Olympic-sized effort is going to get me through to the end of the month finish line with everything accomplished.

In exactly one week school begins for Cordy, and I’m completely unprepared at the moment. It’s not like I really need that much to be prepared – there are no crazy lists of supplies each child must have, including the requisite three boxes of Kleenex. She really only needs a backpack, plenty of pull-ups, and a good pair of shoes. Her feet have spent most of the summer in the freedom of sandals, due to my own obsession with summer sandals. (Am I alone in this? Foot claustrophobia is real, people. My feet must be free.)

I do worry that the emotional preparations for going back to school will be far harder. While she loved preschool last year, and will be returning to the same teacher and many of the same classmates, it’s still another transition that we must face. We’ve discussed it daily, and each time she brushes it off, saying, “I never want to go to school.” I may try giving her teacher a call this week to see if we can come visit the classroom before school starts, so Cordy can re-acquaint herself with the room before adding in the additional stress of several kids.

I’ve procrastinated on several writing projects and now must force myself to finish them and move them off my plate. They’re not difficult at all – getting the motivation to sit down and write is the hardest part. The overwhelming feelings of inadequacy attack every time I try to write something, telling me I’m not good enough to be paid to write, and anything I turn in will be rejected and laughed at. I know it’s not true, but that little voice has become very loud and persistent. I need to find a muzzle for it.

I’m so angry with myself for being depressed. Random crying fits and the energy of a sloth aren’t conducive to getting all of this done. I want to shake it off, get working, and be in overdrive again. I’m paralyzed by my thoughts. Being held down by your own emotions feels worse than being oppressed by any outside force.

I’ve called my doctor to inquire about going back on antidepressants. I have a prescription for Wellbutrin sitting in my patient file, but when I checked with local pharmacies, the cheapest price for the generic version is $130 for 30 days. (!!) My doctor will be calling me back tomorrow to discuss options. Should have figured that the antidepressant that works best for me isn’t one of the $4 generics that pharmacies offer.

Thank you all for your support on my last post. That virtual hug from so many was a very soothing feeling, and I see I’m not alone in fighting with this monster at the moment. I hope those of you who are also feeling the sting of depression can find the help you need, too.

Knowing there is this community of support is what keeps me coming back to blogging, even when I feel like I have nothing worth saying.

And because I do have a pathological need to end on a hopeful note, I will add that Aaron has another job interview tomorrow. It would be a good position for him with a great employer. Fingers are already crossed.

Filed Under: clearly insane, Cordy, daily life, me me me ·

Aug 10, 2008

Why We’ll Never Be Welcomed Back For Dim Sum Ever Again

By Christina ·

Everyone has that one tale about kids acting up in a restaurant, right? Often the tale is of another family, and how you couldn’t focus on eating when some little monster was walking up to your table and reaching for your food, throwing things across the restaurant, or just screeching loud enough to be heard at the Olive Garden across the street. But sometimes the stories are of our own kids, too – times when we wish we never would have gone out to eat that day.

Last fall we were invited out for Dim Sum at a local Chinese restaurant with relatives from Aaron’s family. Aaron and I both worried about how Cordy would react there, especially in light of her recent autism diagnosis. She had been so distant the previous day, and back then she really didn’t handle new experiences well, especially if they involved a lot of new sensory input. (She still doesn’t handle them well, but it’s so much better now.) We feared what might happen, but decided we couldn’t spend our lives trying to avoid the epic meltdown.

The restaurant was packed, with tables close together and no windows in the room. It had a claustrophobic feel for me, so I couldn’t imagine how it felt for Cordy. It was fairly loud, with TV screens on the walls showing Chinese TV, and lots of servers moving from table to table, pushing little dim sum carts. We were shown to an enormous round table, and Aaron and I guided Cordy to the seat against the wall, with us on either side of her to keep her corralled in.

As the food began arriving, we realized that there was nothing that Cordy could recognize. In a familiar setting, we can sometimes convince her to try new foods. In a new setting, though, it’s practically impossible. I pulled out the few snacks we had in the diaper bag, but those were soon exhausted, and Cordy got very upset that she was hungry but couldn’t find any food. Meanwhile, my father-in-law was snapping pictures at the table, and I think the flash from the camera was further provoking Cordy. Normally she could handle each influencing factor, but in a strange location and all at once, it was sending her into sensory overload.

Cordy started out restless, standing next to her seat, then back in her seat, and then letting her head drift backwards so she stared at the ceiling. She whined for milk, pulled on Aaron’s sleeve, and looked more and more out of it. (She wasn’t tired, though.) Actually, Aaron’s dad took a picture of her during this time, right before she snapped:

See how zoned out she was? Her pupils were huge, she had a vacant stare, and her mouth hung open. She was about 10 seconds away from full blown meltdown.

Eventually, she couldn’t take it any longer. She slipped under the table, rolling around underneath for a few minutes, crawled to the other side, and then threw herself into the walkway, screaming. A server was trying to push her cart through the narrow pass, but Cordy proved an unmovable roadblock, writhing and screaming and partially rolling under other people’s tables.

Heads at other tables snapped around to see what the commotion was, and some of our family tried to talk Cordy into coming back to her seat. Aaron and I jumped up, asking family members to please not help (not that we didn’t want their help, but when she’s like this, all the people crowding around her only makes her more upset). Being an old pro at dealing with this behavior, I scooped her up and carried her out to the quiet of the lobby while she fought me and tried to break free, forcing deep, primeval screams out of herself that echoed off the walls.

I’m sure people thought she was possessed as she screamed and wailed and growled for over ten minutes. Her eyes continued to have that vacant stare in them, pupils dilated and glassy, almost like a seizure. I held her tight to prevent her from seriously hurting herself by banging her head onto things or scratching or biting herself. She cried out, “I need to go home! I need a waffle! I need my jacket!” – she didn’t really want any of those things, but during meltdowns she would commonly ask for anything that popped into her head. People were staring as they walked by, and I felt the redness of embarrassment burning my face. But I held on and waited for this fit to pass, while Aaron spoke with family and explained why they shouldn’t get too close at the moment.

Finally it was over. Her eyes looked less distant, the screaming stopped, and she quietly sniffled and wiped away her tears. “Go to the car?” she asked in a feeble voice. “Yes, we can go home now,” I replied, and I carried her out of the restaurant. She quickly fell asleep in the car and slept for over two hours, worn out by the experience. I wanted to do the same.

After that dining experience, I began to wonder if we would ever go out to eat again. During her screaming fit, everyone in the restaurant was looking at us, and I could see that look of Why can’t they control their kid? in the eyes of several people. (Along with the What are they doing to that poor child? look from others.) I felt like the worst mother in the world.

However, we do still eat out, and we haven’t had a major dinner meltdown since that incident. Part of it is due to Cordy’s behavior improving after being in therapy. But we also try to plan the details of dining out now. We make sure Cordy is well-rested, we go at a time when restaurants are less busy, we bring back-up food options for her in case she doesn’t recognize any food, we bring crayons and paper so she can color while we wait for food, and we also spend a lot of time talking to her about where we’re going, what to expect, and what we expect from her. Making sure nothing surprises her goes a long way towards a better experience eating out.

And while I know we’ll probably be “that family” again someday, I hope it’ll never be that severe ever again.

This post was written for Parent Bloggers Network as part of a blog blast sweepstakes sponsored by Burger King Corp. You have until Sunday night to enter your post about being “that family” while eating out.

Filed Under: Autism, Cordy, family time · Tagged: toddler battles

Aug 6, 2008

Murphy’s Law & Unexpected Kindness

By Christina ·

As I mentioned recently, we lost our health insurance last Thursday, and we’re currently in the process of getting the kids onto state health insurance, just until Aaron can find a new job.

Thankfully, we have two healthy girls. Mira has seen the doctor once outside of normal well-child visits. Cordy has only been twice for a sick visit in nearly four years. So what are the chances that the girls would get sick in this small window of no insurance?

On Friday, Mira ran a high fever. I was sure we would have to take her to the doctor because she was so hot. However, I treated it with ibuprofen at home and after a few days it went away on its own. Whew – crisis averted.

But over a week ago Cordy started to develop some red spots around her mouth. Then they turned into weepy sores. I thought at first that maybe she had eaten something that caused an allergy, but they only got worse, not better, and then they started to spread to her chin.

I called the doctor last week (while we still had insurance), and they told me it was probably impetigo and to put some antibiotic ointment on it and it would be fine. They didn’t want to see her. I did as instructed, but on Sunday I could see it was still getting worse.

Of course. The child who never needs to see the doctor now needs to see one. Even worse: she’s the one who has epic meltdowns at the doctor’s office.

So I looked over our options, and the cheapest was to visit a little clinic inside our local grocery store. It was only $59, versus over $100 at the doctor or urgent care. We waited our turn, with Cordy being amazingly well-behaved considering we were going into a medical setting. After half an hour, Cordy’s name was called by a gentle looking older woman.

We walked into the office, and the woman – a nurse practitioner – could immediately see our problem. She pulled on some gloves and took a closer look at Cordy’s face while I explained the history of the sores and how I’ve treated them so far. She agreed it was impetigo.

“Have you been here before?” she asked.

“No.”

“What insurance do you have?”

At this point I explained that we had none at the moment, due to my husband losing his job. She nodded, glanced at her computer with the new patient form waiting to be filled in, then turned back to us.

“Well, I can write her a prescription to clear that up. And don’t worry about a charge for the visit.”

My jaw fell open. “Are…are you sure?” I asked. (And yes, later I thought to myself WHY DID YOU QUESTION HER? Take the free offer and run!)

“Oh yes, don’t worry about it. I’ve had to do so many sports physicals for kids today, with all the paperwork that goes with them, that this is a relief! Let me go check with the pharmacy and find the least expensive option for you to clear this up.”

As she left the room to consult with the pharmacist, I reflected on her generosity. She had no reason to do it. After all, this place was designed for those who don’t have insurance or need to see someone after regular office hours, and she gets paid for seeing patients. The visit fee isn’t cheap, but it’s far cheaper than other options.

I couldn’t even consider Cordy as the cause. While I never encourage it, Cordy’s inability to deal with certain situations has resulted in being ushered to the front of line or given quick service in the past, probably to get rid of us as rapidly as possible.

But this time Cordy was brilliant, and I was so proud of her. She stayed in her seat, with only minor quirky behavior and even let the nurse touch her – unheard of behavior for this child! Cordy actually focused on the nurse when she spoke to Cordy, too. I wondered if this nurse was secretly some kind of spectrum-child-whisperer, and could she please come home with us?

When she came back into the room, she told me that the first choice of treatment for impetigo was very expensive, but the second choice was an antibiotic that comes in a generic form for roughly $20. I agreed to that, and she wrote the prescription. We chatted for a few minutes about nursing school and she gave me tips for finding a job after graduation. I thanked her at least ten more times before we left. She asked Cordy for a hug, and again the stars aligned and the heavens parted to shine down on this nurse as Cordy gave her a big hug.

Times may be tough, but there are good people out there doing what they can to help. We all – no matter our situation – have the ability to help others in some way, even if it’s something as small as saying a kind word or giving a friend a hand with moving. (Or participating in Blog the Recession.) I hope I can pass on to others the benevolence given to me.

Our kindness to each other shows humanity at its best, and reminds me that just maybe the world isn’t the cold, selfish, impersonal place that I often worry it’s becoming.

Filed Under: Cordy, daily life, money, people who don't suck ·

Aug 4, 2008

More Cordy-isms: The Passive-Aggressive Edition

By Christina ·

“Mommy, I have a cold.”

“Oh, really? I’m sorry to hear that, Cordy.”

“I need ice cream to feel me better.”

“Are you saying you want some ice cream?”

“No, I need ice cream to feel me better.”

————-

“Mommy, what’s the word on the street?”

“I don’t know, what’s the word on the street?”

“Sandwich!”

“Are you trying to tell me you want lunch?”

“Yes.”

————

“Do you miss your grandma, Cordy?”

“Yes! Grandma wants to see me now!”

“Do you mean you want to see grandma?”

“No, grandma wants to see me now!”

————

“Oh-my-dear! My tummy is rumbly!”

(The fact that she exclaims “Oh my dear!” is perhaps the cutest thing in the world.)

————

“Mommy, car is saying something!”

“What’s the car saying, sweetie?”

“Home!”

“Do you mean you want to go home?”

“Yes. Car takes me home.”

————

As you can see, my child never wants anything. At least she never wants anything directly.

Filed Under: Cordy, daily life, kid logic ·

Jul 16, 2008

Ups and Downs: Currently In The Downs

By Christina ·

It’s amazing how much harder it is to blog in the summertime. When Cordy’s regular special needs preschool ended, I worried how her behavior might change as a result of this change in routine. She needs that routine, so she knows what to expect each minute of the day. Without routine, she’s fidgety, hyperactive, defiant, and sometimes just plain manic. I was so excited when she was recommended for the district’s special needs summer school, knowing that some continuation of routine would be good for her.

The week between the end of class and the beginning of her summer school wasn’t too bad. She was a little off, but overall we found ways to keep her days filled with activity. Then summer school started, and she hated the new routine. Unlike the regular school year, she rode the bus both ways instead of just one way, her school day was longer, and she had new teachers and new classmates.

I had hoped that my Amazon warrior princess would adjust quickly to the new school. And she did adjust a little, but the last day of school was last Thursday, and she still cried getting onto the school bus, just like she did every day before that. She never wanted to go to school, begged to stay home, and occasionally told me she wanted to see her old teacher.

But even worse is that her behavior started to backslide even while in school. She would come home from school and be on the verge of a meltdown if we didn’t cater to her demands. There ae some weird new habits that she’s developed, like constantly putting her fingers in her mouth or licking her hands. And while potty training was starting to reach some success, for the past week and a half it’s been a complete failure.

Now summer school is over, and while she starts a camp next week, I’m ready to cry uncle. This backslide is so difficult. She’s still an adorable girl who charms everyone with her politeness – even while in a screaming fit, she’ll still answer your requests with “No, thank you!” Cordy also can melt your heart as she hugs you and says, “You’re my best friend.” But the manic running back and forth, the constant repetition of scripted phrases, the shrieks and screams when we do something she doesn’t like, and the self-inflicted injuries when we try to correct her are wearing me down.

I know that when it comes to autism, there are periods of growth and periods of regression, however we’ve had such a long up period that this downward tumble is painful to experience. I try to be a good mom, try not to take the screams personally and try not to take out my frustrations about her behavior on her. I know that she has trouble controlling her reactions to sensory stimuli and keeping her emotions in check.

Then Cordy pushes me too far, and I lash out at her, yelling, imposing strict punishments, followed by cooling down and crumpling to the floor, feeling like I’m not cut out for this kind of parenting. I wonder why me? How can someone like me – an average mom, fumbling along for the first time – be expected to pull this child out of the fog she’s often trapped in? Where’s my handbook on how to raise her to be a successful member of society?

The small bit of good news is that we just found out that we’ve been approved for funding through the county’s developmental disability office. This means we’ll be able to seek out more therapy and treatment for Cordy, with the county picking up any costs that insurance won’t. (Which means everything, since our health insurance will not cover any treatment for autism, considering it an “untreatable” condition. Bastards.) And they’ll help cover the costs for me to attend an autism conference in October, where I hope to learn more about how I can best help my daughter.

It’s a good thing that I’m getting on a plane for BlogHer on Thursday. I need an escape – just for a little while – from all of the stress at home. Hopefully I’ll be able to come back refreshed and ready to find new ways to handle any further backsliding Cordy may have.

(PS – Thanks for all of the well-wishes on my exam on Friday. I’m proud to say that not only did I pass, I scored the third best in my entire class. I guess I knew more than I thought I did!)