Tuesday, November 2, 2010

the one where i don't have the answers

I had the distinct pleasure of taking my son to my doctor with me today (asthma issues). And then we went to his doctor. And then we went to a lab. You know who has lots of paper? Doctors. You know who likes paper? My son. It was super fun.

Pertussis, better known as Whooping Cough, is making its way around our area, and since Punkin has some symptoms they decided to go ahead and test, quarantine, and treat him to be safe. That means we can enjoy nothing but each other's company until Monday! That's five more days, y'all.

Do you know how they test for Pertussis? A swab up the nose. That was good times. Took three people. And they wanted him to wear a mask! HA! A mask! They're so funny.

Anyway, life has been interesting lately as his anxiety levels have seemed to sky rocket over recent weeks. He's afraid to go into any room that isn't part of his typical routine, he has wet the bed several times, and like I said in a previous post he has started crying any time I leave him except at school.

Over Halloween weekend we went up to visit my sister and he asked for a snack. I gave him several options and he chose a Pop Tart. He sat down with it and immediately started fake crying and asking for Lucky Charms. I said no, he chose a Pop Tart. This continued for several minutes until the Pop Tart ended up on the floor and toys were ricocheting off the walls. It ended in my sister and I restraining him for at least 20 minutes until he could refrain from hurting himself, hurting us, or damaging anything in the apartment. It sucked. He was stuck, red faced and overcome with tears, in a complete meltdown that he wanted no part of until finally something clicked and he let go of the tension.

Now, I know this wasn't really over a Pop Tart, though it seems that way on the surface. There was some kind of communication breakdown coupled with not getting his way and being tired and being in a different place. It all added up to overwhelm him. And I know he wasn't being naughty. And I know he hates meltdowns as much as I do, though I don't think he fears what will happen 5 or 10 or 15 years from now. But I don't know what to do about it. What's the next step? Do we try Zoloft again? Do we try therapy? Do we go see Dr. Berry-Kravis? Where is the instruction manual, people?!

1 comment:

George said...

I'm wondering about that instruction manual as well. Seriously, I could really need it every now and then.
I know it's not under their feet, I've checked.