November 4, 2014

The issue with naps (resting) and an early bedtime is an early up-time. 4:05 was too early, so I did what I could to keep my sheets company and was shocked when the alarm went off at 6:04.  Sleep helps tremendously in stressful situations…helps paint a rosier picture (or at least keep sanity at a closer proximity). I hope I’m never one of those moms who is up at early on weekends…I love sleeping until whenever I wake up, and (as lame as this sounds) I love when my kids see me taking extra time to sleep in, because it models that I am taking care of myself.  They know it is because I work hard all week…and see me yawning at 8:30 on Friday nights.  I love being transparent and I hope they'll do the same.

During third block, I left at 12:20 to go pick up Ethan for his appointment in Roseville.  On the way there, I shared stuff (nothing new) about me and tried to normalize symptoms of depression as much as I could.  We got there, and I, in typical Ali fashion, who was more concerned with Ethan and how he was doing, didn’t really pay attention to the surroundings once we had parked (faaarrr to the left of the parking area, might I add), so I walked down the sidewalk to the front of the building, right?   Well.  I found it odd that the door read “Authorized Personnel Only” and had a buzzer to be let in, but then,I know that HIPPA is extremely concerned with patient privacy rights, so I buzzed in.  “Hi, We have an appointment at 1:30 with _____”  “Ummm, yeah..."  So we waited.  And waited.  After about 5 minutes, I was rehearsing the words I would use in my description of the very UNprofessional services received.  Then, for whatever reason, I thought  I’d walk down and check out the other side of the building facing the parking lot…whhhheeerrrre I found the entrance into the office. 

The reason we had been told to arrive to arrive so early was to fill out paperwork.  Ethan sat next to me with his own questionnaire to fill out.  God, I remember being a teen and having to fill out soooo many assessments.  By the end of it, I’d be blasting my “jambox” listening to Ratt, answering an MMPI.  No wonder my scores may have appeared lower than they actually were.  I surreptitiously kept an eye on the answers he was marking down…and my heart broke.  They were all affirmative answers for negative feelings.  Still, I was glad to see he had found the courage to let me know he needs help.  The therapist was a crisis therapist and spoke first with both of us: Ethan’s head hung so low…his shoulders so hunched over..tears slipping off his cheek.  My heart broke again when she asked if he had a best friend.  He looked down, then shook his head, “no”.  He used to…he had two wonderful friends, but now, nothing.  This is HARD to see as a parent.  I left and she spoke to him privately.   Soon, they came out and I went in to speak with her.  He was given a comorbid diagnosis..and I agree absolutely with her.  This is in concurrence with a previous diagnosis from a few years ago.  No wonder this poor boy has such difficulty in school.  I’m looking forward to his IEP on Thursday.  Perfect timing.

 We spoke on the way home…he “didn't like it,” but then, he is his father’s son.  He’s an introvert and hates this type of thing.  Still, by the time we got to his dad’s house, he was in a much better mood, so I hope he sees a light at the end of the tunnel.

 I dropped him off and headed right back to where Ethan’s appointment had been, as my campus is the next building.  The professor is one of those brilliant men who rattles off 7 syllable words without issue.  He is very familiar in working with children who have the diagnoses Ethan has, so I spoke to him after class.  <sigh>  That boy….If I can just keep him free from substances (which’ll be tricky as my donation to his chromosomes has surely contributed something) until he’s 26, then we’re good!

Pictures: An adventure in the Mission...We love SF; An old Sac excursion; Making wishes after a flume hike.  I love my tribe.