Yesterday Jonah had another appointment at the child psychiatrist. Andy and I tried to time it so I’d get there first to check him in, meet the social worker from Wildwood, and then Andy and Jonah would meet us there so Jonah wouldn’t have to wait (thus hopefully decreasing the chances of him flipping out). It worked out pretty well. Jonah did a very good job of staying relatively calm for the small amount of time the doc and a med student observed him- then Jonah and Andy left and I stayed behind with the social worker to talk to the doc.
Doc wanted to change Jonah’s meds a bit – increase the risperdal by a little and remove the atavan PRN (as needed) and replace it with klonopin PRN. When Andy and Jonah left, he wrote the scripts up and I explained that we were going on a tour of Tradewinds on Thursday. Then I asked a “what if” question I’d been thinking about:
“What if we find the magical mix of meds and the aggression goes away? Do we still place him? Does he still need residential care? Do you ever hit upon the right cocktail of meds and fix the problem?”
“Occasionally,” he answered, “but I wouldn’t get your hopes up. Usually we can mitigate the symptoms for a short time. But the decision is up to you. Remember, the choice is yours. If you place him, you can always take him back home.”
Sigh.
I don’t like this kind of decision-making. This ‘playing around’ with the course of my child’s whole life. When I dropped the scripts off at the pharmacy and stopped at the house, I talked to Andy about this.
“He definitely needs to be placed,” Andy asserted. “I can’t even handle him anymore.” At least he isn’t arguing with me – we are on the same page about doing the best for our son. But how can we really know what that is?
Jonah’s log book from school reads like a roller coaster. On Monday he had 6 aggressions. On Tuesday he had only one. Wednesday he scratched a peer. Thursday he threw a toy at a teacher. Friday he tried to throw a computer.
I hate the inscrutability of it all.
I hate the way my mother is falling apart over this; she doesn’t eat right, isn’t sleeping, and some days she just cries all the time. She refuses my help to find her a therapist or get on some medication. I can’t help her accept this and I feel like I have become her scapegoat and I hate that too.
Both she and Andy have indicated that they want to pack up and move to wherever Jonah is placed, when it happens. I don’t know if they just said that, if they really meant it, but I must stay here. I have a good job that pays well – much more than I could ever make in Oneonta or Utica. I carry the health insurance for all of us. I am the one who has the means to set up a special needs trust for our son, to draft a will, to set up life insurance, to afford a mediator for our separation, to maintain a home Jonah can come back to if and when he is able to do so.
It all makes me feel abandoned. I lose my child, my mother, my child’s father.
I lose. (Not that there are any winners).
The Never Normal 