Bed Rest ~ Day 15
2:14:00 PM Posted In 2 years , 22 weeks , Bed Rest , Elliott Richard , Gavin , Life , Pregnancy , Stressed/Exhausted , Vent , Worries Edit This 8 Comments »
My family is falling apart.
I don't blog about Gavin very often because I don't know how to "spin" it without making him out to be a monster or painting a rosier picture than is true. He isn't a monster. He's a beautiful little boy with a compassionate soul. He's also so difficult to control anymore. And to make matters worse, some people don't see how he's difficult to control so they think it's just us. Do I deny that he feeds off of our stress levels? No. Do I think our stress levels are the be-all end-all of his mood swings? No.
Gavin is Autistic. He is bi-polar. He is being medicated to bring him out of his manic phase. However, we are without a mood stabilizer so he's just being boomer-ranged into a depressive phase. He is a teeter-totter. Manic. Depressive. Manic. Depressive. Psychotic. Violent. Psychotic. Violent. It's 6 of one, half a dozen of another at this point.
When Gavin is manic, he gets sucked totally and completely into his own little world. Even more than what happens normally with Autistic children. He begins talking to people who are not there. It is next to impossible to get his attention and draw him out of his own little world. He is not a danger to himself or anyone else. But he's also on a completely different planet.
When Gavin is depressive, he's angry and violent. He has little to no fuse. No patience for anyone or anything. If we tell him "no", all Hell breaks loose. He claims he's "starving" and demands to eat but then he takes two bites and refuses to finish. He's lashing out at Elliott Richard for nothing at all. If Elliott dares to touch Gavin, Gavin will throw an elbow or a fist at him. And it's only getting worse.
We find ourselves, once again, faced with the decision of whether or not we should send him to inpatient treatment. We find ourselves, by Gavin's doctors admission; facing the fact that what's best for everyone, may not be what we want to do.
At this point we have one of three options available to us.
Honestly, I don't like any of those options. The lesser of the three evils are 1 and 2. I would do 3 if Pattie and Dr. R felt it was necessary. Even 1 and 2 leave me feeling guilty and less of a mother. However, when I take a step back I realize that Gavin is having a greater effect on our family than is noticeable at first. Elliott Richard has started to mimic Gavin's behaviors. There's the very basic fact that I'm being asked to choose between my children. I don't know how to do that. I don't know how to live with that. I feel as if I'm being asked to sacrifice one to spare the other. And again, I don't know how to deal with that.
There's so much looming over me right now. I'm stuck on this stupid God-forsaken couch and people keep dumping their crap on me! People call to see how I'm doing and dump their troubles on my couch on the way. Rob comes through and dumps his crap on my couch as he passes. Gavin just dumps his crap everywhere. And then I have the added stress of trying to find a balance between over-analyzing every little thing and making sure that I do what's best for Tiny. No one truly realizes just how difficult it is to be me right now.
I pray that you'll hear me when I say this: There are no cabana boys here! No daily massages. No bon-bons on a silver tray. No pretty drinks with umbrellas. It's me. On the couch. In my living room. Trying desperately to find something on 120 channels of NOTHING to watch. So I record every episode of Law & Order: SVU and Criminal Intent ever made because those are the only shows I can stand to watch over and over again. I cross stitch. I nap. I eat. I take potty breaks. Again I beg you, hear me when I say this: that is my life! From 7:00am to midnight, that is what I do. Every. Single. Day.
When I ask for help, it feels as if I'm being humored. When I beg for help, I end up feeling blown off or ignored. Do people not realize that I would love to have my biggest concerns "how many birthday parties I have to attend" or "where I'm going to drink myself into oblivion for St. Patrick's Day". I wish my days weren't spent with the following thoughts cycling through my head:
Do any of you know what that's like?! Do any of you know how it feels to know that you are responsible for getting this tiny new life through to the end? Do any of you know how it feels to know that you could do everything right and it still not be enough? Do you know how it feels to know that even if (because it is an IF at this point) we make it to the end, it may not be close enough to the end? Or it may not matter anyway?
Some days I can't help but wonder, do any of you even care? Granted I'm pregnant and hormonal. I'm carrying your unborn niece/nephew. Your grandson. Your great-grandson. Your cousin. And yet no one can be bothered to go out of their way for us. Three people call me or text me in any given day. Three people email me on a consistent basis: Julie (without her right now I'd be lost), Tammy (my sidelines buddy) and Kelly (my other sidelines buddy). I have received two cards in the mail: one from Great Grandma Gene and one from Merrilee.
I understand that people are busy. I know that you all have your own lives. So if you can't call me, fine. (And honestly all the talking on the phone can be quite exhausting.) Send me an email. Or a card in the mail. (I keep all of my cards for Tiny's hatbox.) Send me a text message while you watch television. (I have unlimited texting now.) Heck, send me smoke signals! I'm desperate here. I'm dying to feel like I'm still a part of the world. I'm dying to feel like people care what the heck happens to us while we are locked away in our own little Hell.
15 down ~ 120 to go
I don't blog about Gavin very often because I don't know how to "spin" it without making him out to be a monster or painting a rosier picture than is true. He isn't a monster. He's a beautiful little boy with a compassionate soul. He's also so difficult to control anymore. And to make matters worse, some people don't see how he's difficult to control so they think it's just us. Do I deny that he feeds off of our stress levels? No. Do I think our stress levels are the be-all end-all of his mood swings? No.
Gavin is Autistic. He is bi-polar. He is being medicated to bring him out of his manic phase. However, we are without a mood stabilizer so he's just being boomer-ranged into a depressive phase. He is a teeter-totter. Manic. Depressive. Manic. Depressive. Psychotic. Violent. Psychotic. Violent. It's 6 of one, half a dozen of another at this point.
When Gavin is manic, he gets sucked totally and completely into his own little world. Even more than what happens normally with Autistic children. He begins talking to people who are not there. It is next to impossible to get his attention and draw him out of his own little world. He is not a danger to himself or anyone else. But he's also on a completely different planet.
When Gavin is depressive, he's angry and violent. He has little to no fuse. No patience for anyone or anything. If we tell him "no", all Hell breaks loose. He claims he's "starving" and demands to eat but then he takes two bites and refuses to finish. He's lashing out at Elliott Richard for nothing at all. If Elliott dares to touch Gavin, Gavin will throw an elbow or a fist at him. And it's only getting worse.
We find ourselves, once again, faced with the decision of whether or not we should send him to inpatient treatment. We find ourselves, by Gavin's doctors admission; facing the fact that what's best for everyone, may not be what we want to do.
At this point we have one of three options available to us.
1) We continue with life as it is. Gavin at home and daily glimpses of Hell. Gavin will spend much of his free time playing in his room in an attempt to keep him separated from Elliott Richard (in order to protect Elliott Richard).
2) We make arrangements with the grandparents. Rob's parents take him during the day (during Spring Break) and after school once it resumes. My mother takes him after she gets off work. And we would take Gavin to all his appointments with Pattie and Dr. R. And he would come home on the weekends.
3) We visit an inpatient treatment facility and make arrangements to have Gavin admitted. This will be difficult because of the financial aspect of it, but that can be arranged.
Honestly, I don't like any of those options. The lesser of the three evils are 1 and 2. I would do 3 if Pattie and Dr. R felt it was necessary. Even 1 and 2 leave me feeling guilty and less of a mother. However, when I take a step back I realize that Gavin is having a greater effect on our family than is noticeable at first. Elliott Richard has started to mimic Gavin's behaviors. There's the very basic fact that I'm being asked to choose between my children. I don't know how to do that. I don't know how to live with that. I feel as if I'm being asked to sacrifice one to spare the other. And again, I don't know how to deal with that.
There's so much looming over me right now. I'm stuck on this stupid God-forsaken couch and people keep dumping their crap on me! People call to see how I'm doing and dump their troubles on my couch on the way. Rob comes through and dumps his crap on my couch as he passes. Gavin just dumps his crap everywhere. And then I have the added stress of trying to find a balance between over-analyzing every little thing and making sure that I do what's best for Tiny. No one truly realizes just how difficult it is to be me right now.
I pray that you'll hear me when I say this: There are no cabana boys here! No daily massages. No bon-bons on a silver tray. No pretty drinks with umbrellas. It's me. On the couch. In my living room. Trying desperately to find something on 120 channels of NOTHING to watch. So I record every episode of Law & Order: SVU and Criminal Intent ever made because those are the only shows I can stand to watch over and over again. I cross stitch. I nap. I eat. I take potty breaks. Again I beg you, hear me when I say this: that is my life! From 7:00am to midnight, that is what I do. Every. Single. Day.
When I ask for help, it feels as if I'm being humored. When I beg for help, I end up feeling blown off or ignored. Do people not realize that I would love to have my biggest concerns "how many birthday parties I have to attend" or "where I'm going to drink myself into oblivion for St. Patrick's Day". I wish my days weren't spent with the following thoughts cycling through my head:
"am I doing enough to protect Tiny"
"how do I protect Elliott Richard from Gavin"
"how do I protect Gavin from himself"
"how do I help Rob without endangering Tiny"
"should I call Dr. D"
"if I go to L&D will they even take me seriously"
"was that another contraction? how many does that make now?"
Do any of you know what that's like?! Do any of you know how it feels to know that you are responsible for getting this tiny new life through to the end? Do any of you know how it feels to know that you could do everything right and it still not be enough? Do you know how it feels to know that even if (because it is an IF at this point) we make it to the end, it may not be close enough to the end? Or it may not matter anyway?
Some days I can't help but wonder, do any of you even care? Granted I'm pregnant and hormonal. I'm carrying your unborn niece/nephew. Your grandson. Your great-grandson. Your cousin. And yet no one can be bothered to go out of their way for us. Three people call me or text me in any given day. Three people email me on a consistent basis: Julie (without her right now I'd be lost), Tammy (my sidelines buddy) and Kelly (my other sidelines buddy). I have received two cards in the mail: one from Great Grandma Gene and one from Merrilee.
I understand that people are busy. I know that you all have your own lives. So if you can't call me, fine. (And honestly all the talking on the phone can be quite exhausting.) Send me an email. Or a card in the mail. (I keep all of my cards for Tiny's hatbox.) Send me a text message while you watch television. (I have unlimited texting now.) Heck, send me smoke signals! I'm desperate here. I'm dying to feel like I'm still a part of the world. I'm dying to feel like people care what the heck happens to us while we are locked away in our own little Hell.
15 down ~ 120 to go
