Unfortunately, having kids has ruined many holidays. That sounds terrible doesn't it? But it's not. It's really a matter of perspective. The first time I heard my father-in-law talk about how he used to secretly hope that one of his kids would get picked off by a fast moving bus when they were little, I was horrified. Now that I've had my children, I can put that into it's proper place and double over laughing so hard I just about pee my pants. A much more mature response don't you think?
I shouldn't use the word "ruined" exactly. Rather, my children have made the holidays "very loud with all the screaming." Yeah. That's more accurate. And I usually find ways to enjoy anyways. I'm not someone who's easily deterred from celebration. I've come to realize that for me, suffering because of another's behavior is a matter of choice. It's not always an easy choice and sometimes I still chose to suffer. But other times I chose not to, no matter how much screaming is going on. Still, I have always wished for a holiday when everyone could just be happy. I've had kids for seven and a half years now. Seven and a half years. And before this Christmas, we had never had a holiday during which everyone was happy.
I used to wait for my children to "get" Christmas. When I had my first baby, Alden, I couldn't wait for Christmas. I don't know why I thought he would be as excited as I was. He was only six months old. He wasn't excited at all. Instead he pooped in his Christmas outfit, tried to eat the Christmas decorations, and got fussy just in time for the opening of the presents. I ended up alone in the bedroom nursing him to sleep while everyone else had fun. Now he celebrates Christmas properly. He gets so excited he screams like a little girl.
Isabel, who was two weeks old during her first Christmas, was dressed in red, fuzzy pajamas and passed from family member to family member getting snuggled. She was sooo cute. It wasn't bad by any means, but I couldn't wait for the day she'd recognize presents under the tree. Now she recognizes them. She has very little impulse control. If she feels like doing something, she just does it right then and there. She was opening the presents under the tree for three days before Christmas this year. I had to keep wrapping them back up and telling her she had to wait.
And Cale...well...I've come to accept that Cale will probably never "get" Christmas. He'll probably never recognize holidays as anything special at all. I've also come to accept that that's not really so bad. After all, he has been blessed with a mommy who can celebrate enough for the both of us. With him I always just tend to hope that he won't scream the WHOLE time we were trying to celebrate.
Cale started a new medication about three weeks before Christmas. And I'll have you know that I was never, EVER going to be a person who would allow psych. meds. anywhere near her children. But, of course, that was before I had Cale. I always told myself that if I had a child with problems, I'd help them with diet only thank you very much. Now, I'm not discounting diet. Diet changes alone have done wonders for Isabel, but diet alone hasn't done shit for Cale. This is partly because we struggle so much to get nutritious food past his lips.
Anyways, do you know what I've come to realize? That all my half ass attempts to understand the "human psyche" (a patched together bachelors degree in psychology before I found my real passion) have helped me to come to know just enough to be dangerous. I've come to find out that I actually don't know everything.
Cale has become a completely different child. It sounds so cliche, but the experience of it has actually been quite powerful. He's become a calm, smiley, cuddly, present, interactive, and less rigid child. He's saying a few words regularly and when he starts to cry, I give him a word for what he's trying to get. And instead of ignoring me and immediately trying to climb onto to the top of the refrigerator, he's stops, still enough in his mind to be able to hear what I'm saying. Then he says the word I gave him, sort of, and gets what he wants. He's finding power in his word attempts and he hasn't had one sustained tantrum since he started the medication. Not one. It's amazing what you grow to appreciate. Who cares that he doesn't "get" Christmas. He hasn't screamed in weeks!
The medication is called Risperdal and from what I understand it's a serious anti-psychotic, part stimulant and part tranquilizer. The stimulant addresses the ADHD and the combination of the two stabilizes mood and addresses extreme or exaggerated feelings and behaviors.
When a person gets extremely upset (as Cale tends to do over very small things such as dropping a piece of cereal out of his bowl onto the floor), a dose of adrenaline and a dose of cortisol shoot straight into the blood stream preparing the body for a "fight" or "flight" response. Then, of course, the person has a "fight" or "flight" response (he comes unglued, throws the entire bowl of cereal, screams at the top of his lungs and bangs his head into the walls for at least twenty minutes straight, pinching the face of anyone who tries to comfort him).
This type of reaction is appropriate if, say, one were to find a mountain lion in one's kitchen. However, since Cale can't tell the difference between a mountain lion and a piece of cereal hitting the floor (because he's so rigid in his thinking - one emotional response fits all negative situations), it's helpful for these shots of adrenaline and cortisol to be blocked. That's partly what this medication does. It keeps him from going over the edge. Now, when he gets upset, it's much like how we would react to cereal hitting the floor. It's irritating, but certainly not worth blowing a gasket over.
We usually go home for the holidays but we decided to stay put this year and celebrate Christmas in our tract house, christening it with the final stage of being home. Since Cale was on this medication and not so wild anymore, we actually dared to allow all five of us to decorate a Christmas tree. It took three straight hours of hanging countless bulbs and school-made, Popsicle stick ornaments to end up with a tree about to fall over from all the decorations being in the lower, left hand corner. Cale helped by shattering all the pesky glass ornaments onto the floor and bouncing the plastic ones off of it too, just to check. "The medication is working," Shane and I said to each other, "Look how calm and happy he is shattering those ornaments!" Again, it's amazing what you grow to appreciate.
"Santa is coming tonight!" I shrieked on Christmas Eve., way more excited than any thirty-five year old should ever get about anything. The look in Alden and Isabel's eyes was totally worth the blood vessel I almost popped in the midst of my enthusiasm. We hung the stockings above the pre-fab. gas fireplace with care, and I managed to convince both Alden and Isabel that Santa really would be able to squeeze that massive gut of his through the gas line into the house. Then we set out milk and cookies for Santa and "reindeer food" for the reindeer. "It fills the reindeer with magic," I told the kids, "helping them to do the extraordinary!"
It was almost eleven o'clock before my kids finally fell asleep. Shane and I had eaten Santa's cookies, making sure to leave big crumbs on the plate, and I was outside like a crazy person at midnight sprinkling "reindeer food" so I could prove the reindeer had really had their snack as they were taking off from the roof.
As I was standing in the driveway in my pajamas, feeling very tired and slightly sick from Santa's cookies, I stopped for a moment and looked down at the handful of "reindeer food" I was holding. The intensity of the longing seemed silly, especially since I knew how much happier Cale had been during the past few weeks. But I guess I still didn't trust it. So I found myself wishing that the odd little mixture of Quaker Oatmeal and glitter might give us a little magic for the next morning too. Then I sprinkled it onto the cement.
The kids burst in at 7am Christmas morning to inform me that Santa had filled the stockings and left presents. Cale burst in with them, just excited because they were excited. I instinctively wondered how long his "happiness" would last. It was the first time he'd be in a house full of people, noise, and chaos (he usually disappears or screams under such conditions) since he started the medication. "This is where the rubber will meet the road," I thought.
Groggily, Shane and I made our way down the stairs. We made coffee and threw the casserole in the oven as family started showing up for the big morning. The tree was bright and sparkly and completely brown. I really hadn't noticed how dead it had become until our family members saw it. I got it way too early in the first place and I really don't know how to care for them properly, so the little brown needles fell onto the floor in miniature, prickly truck loads as we pulled the presents out. Still, it seemed to be turning into a beautiful morning.
We were half way through opening our presents when I realized how noisy it was with all the talking, laughter, and chaos. It was even bothersome to me, yet Cale was still in the room. He was sitting on the stairs looking at his presents, wondering, I'm sure, what they were. I walked over and opened two of them for him. He doesn't usually play with new toys (the rigid thinking again). In fact, it usually takes him quite a long time to warm up to a new toy. But he immediately started playing with his new toys in the midst of all the noise, and that's when I started to cry. It was Christmas. And everyone was happy. He didn't cry one time on Christmas day.
The psychiatrist is a genius in my opinion. The last time we saw her (just before Cale started the Risperdal) I told her I'd been giving him espresso for the ADHD and she didn't even bat an eye, "Well," she said, "the stimulants we give for ADHD are much stronger than coffee."
After I confessed to just how much coffee I'd been giving him and how much better he was doing in his therapies as a result, she decided to do a stimulant based medication instead of a non-stimulant based one even though he's only four years old. She was interested to see how he'd do with the Risperdal since this medication has helped some of her other young, Autistic patients.
I haven't seen her again yet since he started it, but our next appointment is in January. My plan is to kiss her a thousand times. Do you think she'll mind? I'll have to tell her that Dr. Chickenshit (the G.I. specialist she was so insistent that we see) refused to address the nutrition component for Cale's high cholesterol. Hopefully she'll have some other ideas because the only problem with the Risperdal is that it has two side effects. Can you guess what they are? Yes. Of course! They're constipation and high-cholesterol. And if this medication spikes his cholesterol even higher than it already is, she'll have to take him right off of it.
Oh hell. The saga continues I guess. But I'll tell you what. If we never again have a Christmas when everyone is happy, I'll still have gotten my wish. Thank you "reindeer food."
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