
Sharing the journey of Sam the Conqueror, a medically-complex, differently-abled warrior whose precious spirit refuses to surrender to the limits imposed on him by his multiple diagnoses : Rubinstein-Taybi Syndrome, Cerebral Palsy (Periventricular Leukomalacia and Static Leukoencephalopathy) and Epilepsy.

An interesting bit of info I read recently is that Risperdal can heighten anxiety issues. Very interesting. Especially as I sit here on a daily, sometimes hourly, basis trying to figure out where all these extra anxieties have come from. Now it's no secret that I am not Risperdal's No.1 fan, almost instantly Sam became over-emotional and insatiably hungry. But I figured a little sporadic sobbing and healthy appetite was a small price to pay if there was noticeable improvement in other areas, like sleeping and social behaviour. The thing is, there's been no noticeable improvement in those areas so at this stage the negatives are outweighing the positives. I am still cautious about taking Sam off the Risperdal though, so have opted for the most conservative weaning process which is decreasing his dose by 10% every 3-4 weeks which effectively means that Sam will only be Risperdal-free at the end of June.
Trying to figure a way forward with Sam's social development has made me realise that we do not give Sam's anxiety issues enough credit for the role they play in his social interaction. Sam comes from at least two generations of severe anxiety sufferers (a story for another day but, yes, genetics do play a role in anxiety disorders), compounded by an under-developed nervous system from being born prem and needing the many medical procedures his special needs required with only this under-developed sensory base to comfort and stabilise him. I am an adult with a fully-functioning cognitive system (well most of the time) from which to draw the rationale which would help me process all the 'trauma' in my life, like surgeries, etc and yet still I can quite comfortably say that I'd be close to a nervous wreck having dealt with some of the challenges Sam has.
HOW TO RECOGNISE ANXIETY IN CHILDREN WITH SPECIAL NEEDS
Fear is a normal part of childhood. But for many kids with special needs–kids who’ve experienced scary medical procedures, separation from their parents, constant pain, and other situations they shouldn’t have to endure–anxiety can become debilitating or lead to post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). When it does, parents and other caring adults need to step in and help them find treatment.
5 Symptoms of Anxiety in Kids
But how can we know when ordinary childhood fear has morphed into debilitating anxiety? A post at Lending Hand Resources lists the following 5 symptoms.
• Your child doesn’t want to leave the house. To the point where they avoid it or display fear and sadness when forced to leave.
• Your child is always angry. Anxious children are angry because they feel trapped.
• Your child is always sick. Anxious kids fear the worst. So they over react to the slightest headache or heart flutter.
• Your child sweats constantly. This is a natural physical reaction for kids who are always ready for flight or fright.
•Your child can’t sleep. Anxiety leads to racing thoughts. And who can sleep with all that head noise?
The entire article can be found at Is Your Child Suffering from Anxiety? Five Symptoms to Look For.
Just one of the more basic articles on anxiety, but still significant in identifying many of our issues with Sam.
The first major step is a change is mindset, from my side. I have lived most of my life with anxiety and on more than one occasion needed medication to help me cope, so one would think I would automatically have this built-in alarm system which would perfectly guide me to a more tranquil little dude, right? Wrong! Sometimes my desire to see Sam enjoying something 'normal' overides my judgement, like yesterday afternoon. We took a drive to the waterfront, not anticipating how frightfully busy it was going to be. Meg and Chris were inside the mall trying to find something to drink but the noise levels were unbearable in there so I pushed Sam outside for a few mins of as-close-as-we'd-get to some quiet. I'd barely got outside when Sam spotted the Big Wheel which, thanks to Mr Tumble, he gestured excitedly at and signed "big wheel". Mommy brain cheered "Yay! Sam likes!" and instantly pushed Sam closer while sensory-cautious brain lay trampled on the ground.
I have told so many people so many times that Sam likes everything from a distance, I don't know what I was thinking by pushing him closer to the Big Wheel, especially as it meant dealing with the extra noise from all the outside eateries. 50 metres from the wheel and smack bang in the middle of all the folks enjoying their meals Sam went into screech-overload, ironingboard-mode! Chris calls it surfboard-mode, go figure ¶: Either way, you're dealing with a 20kg kid who is in full startle extension, screeching at a pitch that would put a fire engine's siren to shame. In hindsight, it must have been pretty darn entertaining...153cm high, stress-relief smoothie (of all things) yielding woman trying to remove said panic-stricken dude from pushchair...with one hand nevertheless. It was by far our most traumatic social meltdown EVER! And this without vomit even. Me thinks we'll do the hermit thing again this week. No wait, what am I saying...Meg has a soccer match tomorrow. Oh my fragile heart.
And in other, nowhere near as exciting news...
A piece by Ellen Stumbo....
"Perhaps some of us special needs parents have snapped, yelled, spit, or barked at friends or family, leaving them utterly confused about our behavior. Who can blame them for thinking, “Well that’s the last time I talk to her!” “What’s wrong with him?” “Is his disability sarcasm? He is so rude!” “Every time I talk to her I’m walking on eggshells!”
Someone googled, “Why are special needs parents hard to get along with.” And well, I don’t blame them for feeling that way…sometimes.
So let me start by saying that yes, sometimes, we are hard to get along with. If you caught us on a bad day, I could see why you turn around and walk away the next time you see us. But that is not the whole story. Yes, sometimes we can be abrasive and rude and sarcastic and hard to get along with…but there is a reason.
You see, so much of the world sees our kids as unlovable, as people without value, as a burden. Even the professionals that are supposed to be on our team can unfortunately communicate that our children’s lives have less meaning, and those messages might even come from the people who are close to us, like family or friends.We feel so alone, but if we don’t fight for our kids then who will?
And we fight, we fight so hard for our children to be included, to be considered, to be given a chance. We are on the defensive, constantly. It’s a battle, a battle that sometimes keeps us up at night, and unfortunately, we have to keep our guard up so often that we forget that there are times when we can put the guard down.
Sometimes we might be hard to get along with. But not always.
I think you would agree that it’s not easy being a parent. Being a special needs parent feels a little bit more challenging.
Would you extend me some grace and know that I have hard days? Will you be willing to forgive the rudeness and the fight? Some days I feel so vulnerable that ugliness comes out, when really, what I need is a friend, someone that I can talk to, someone that will listen, just listen.
And I need to remember that too. I need to extend that same grace to you, because you do not live a life directly impacted by disability, and I cannot expect you to be at the same place of understanding I am at when this is not your life.
I knew so little about parenting children with disabilities when I started this journey. Actually, I knew so little about being a parent before I became a mother! I am still doing the best I can for all my kids, learning, messing up, some days getting things right. Being a special needs parent is not something that anyone can be prepared for. You just have to live it.
So I am sorry if I have ever offended you, it was not my intention. And I need to remember that as well, that you never intended to be offensive either. If I am hard to get along with, please offer me some grace. I will do the same for you. I know I need to extend the same consideration I want to receive back.
I need your friendship, I need your support. And I like to believe that you need mine too, because this giving and taking is part of friendship.
Let’s do some more grace giving, some more forgiving, some more laughing, some more, “No big deal!”
A postscript: Some people are simply mean and inconsiderate human beings who have no qualms at making derogative comments. Well then, you had that coming, nobody messes with our kids."
So. This post. Special Needs parents hard to get along with? Are we really? Occasionally a little over-emotional maybe, crazy-passionate about advocating for our kids here and there...distracted by lack of sleep sometimes, forgetful of the odd birthday or therapy appointment...Oh no, hang on! That's just me ¶:
But I'm not sold on the "hard to get along with" thing. We're a growing community of special needs parents here in our little piece of the world and I'd hardly refer to any one of these people as hard to get along with, especially in a way as described in this article.
Sure we have bad days, you know, like everyone does. Sometimes the unending struggles our kiddo's deal with can dampen the spirits ever so slightly. I know I went through a self-inflicted stage of solidarity...I felt it was inconsiderate of me to burden others with some of the more challenging of Sam's social/anxiety issues so playdates and party invites were regularly and repeatedly graciously declined. The thought of having the hard work a friend has put into her child's birthday party ruined by a puking little dude was as heartbreaking as the thought of strangers thinking badly of my little dude, possibly meeting him for the first time.
(An interesting sidestep about Sam's vomiting in public - most people presume that I've made a poor decision as a parent by taking my sick child out in public, which is also a little troubling. After often being asked if Sam's sick, I now find myself explaining frantically to anyone within earshot that the throwing up is just a result of his high anxiety levels)
But rude? Ugly? Abrasive? I don't believe I've ever been any of these to anyone I might call friend (or stranger for that matter) and having a child with special needs certainly wouldn't give me an excuse to be so. Almost everyone is fighting a battle of some sort, imagine if everyone going through a rough patch adopted this attitude? I've a feeling that if you're prone to snapping, yelling, spitting and/or barking at friends, it's a part of your personality that would be there whether you were parenting a child with special needs or not.
An article like this does worry me a little as it could well deter someone from making a connection with the parent/s of a child with special needs. Of course, I cannot speak on behalf of my own friends who might well consider me hard to get along with...but if this be the case then they're pretty darn awesome friends for sticking with me through it all....
If I had a Rand for every person who's ever told me how great it is that I can remain lighthearted about most of our challenges, I'd have...well a handful of Rands...enough to buy a lottery ticket and put me in the runnings to become a MILLIONAIRE! (As long as "millionaire"'s somewhere in that equation, right?) Usually I laugh and say "Well, if I don't laugh, I'll cry...and if I start crying, I'm not sure I'd stop" and then we laugh some more.
Few realise how completely honest I am being.
Some days I just can't muster the energy to fake okay. Today is one of those days.
Sam has many issues relating to his RTS, Cerebral Palsy and Autism. Some are pretty straightforward...reflux, constipation, etc...some are more serious...apnoea, physical abnormalities, odd seizures, etc. I can live fairly peacefully with almost all of these and the care they require. They are all tangible issues...things I can feel or see or smell or hear. They are all fairly common issues too, maybe not always effecting one person at the same time, but isolated they are all issues that when discussed with someone else they are easily recognised and relatively easy to treat, whether it's upping Movicol, reducing fluids before bed, sleeping on a wedge, having regular physiotherapy - they are mostly tangible problems with tangible solutions.
They are the easiest part of our journey.
And the hard part? The hard part is something that cannot be seen or heard or felt or smelled. If you sent Sam for an MRI/scan/scope it would not show up like a tethered spinal cord or malfunctioning oesophagul valve or thickened bowel wall or funky airways or Periventricular Leukomalacia or any of the other things responsible for the above ailments.
FEAR!
Irrational, uncontrollable, all-consuming, life-draining FEAR!
You just cannot begin to imagine what sort of fears a 5 year old could possibly have that might be anywhere near as debilitating as what I'm trying to imply. Let me blog you through our last 36hrs....
After averaging yet another night of only 3-4 hrs sleep, Sam woke grumpy, with a grumbling tummy due to his growing aversion to anything remotely resembling food and the sight of his dad in bed next to him. Yes, sounds like a harsh statement for me to make but Sam knows that Dad not going off to work means weekend which in turn means a change to his daily routine. Pediasure bottle made and handed to shaking hands - Sam has a fear of liquid moving, whether it's waves at the beach, water from a sprinkler, water poured over him in the bath or, as in this instance, milk swishing about in his bottle. It takes him a good few minutes to build up enough courage to put the swishing milk to his lips, almost choking as his shaking prevents him from swallowing calmly. Still, it's an accomplishment as sometimes fear trumps hunger and the bottle goes flying to the floor as if it might cause him physical harm. Fear 0 : Sam 1
Once we're all showered and dressed, off to the kitchen to prepare Sam's porridge. Throwing good parenting skills out the window, I put Sam in front of the TV with his favourite show hoping it will distract him enough to at least tolerate a few spoonfuls. Fail. The second I bring the bowl in he starts gagging. Fear 1 : Sam 1
Dad leaves to drop his car off at service garage. Needing to follow shortly so that I can collect Dad and we can go to shops, I opt for another Pediasure bottle. Sam spots bottle entering the room, gags and throws up what's left of the previous bottle. Fear 2 : Sam 1. Off to fetch dad and brace month-end shoppers on an empty stomach. Or so I thought.
Arrive at service place, walk into dimly-lit garage to see how it's going with car. Sam starts gagging. Mom does not panic as there can be precious little left in the kid's stomach. Wrong! Sam showers the parking lot and mom with a surprising amount of fermenting Pediasure. Fear 3 : Sam 1
Back home to shower and de-puke. Survived a thankfully uneventful shopping trip for nappies and Pediasure. Once home and after yet another food-sighting-induced-gag-session, Sam manages about 5 spoons of mashed potatoes and 120mls of Pediasure. Desperate to have this small helping actually digested, remain at home. Another night of restless, body-bashing follows.
Sam wakes a little more cheerful this morning until his bottle is placed in his hands. More gagging, but luckily this time puke-less. Same story as yesterday when porridge bowl is spotted. Surrender and head off once again to supermarket for the rest of the family's needs. Barely in shop a few minutes when employee decides to remove the strip which keeps the prices in place on the shelves. The 'ripping' noise sends Sam into instant gagging mode and over the next few minutes, Sam empties his entire stomach's contents (?) all over the trolley, shop floor and himself. Mom flees with vomit-saturated kid and scarlet-faced teenager, leaving Dad to finish the shopping. Back home for bath and de-puking. Before heading back to shop to collect Dad, Mom swings by local church to collect two generously gifted items for her new playgroup. Upon pulling into the unfamiliar parking lot and choosing to park right in front of the open doors, a motherload of Pediasure is projected from Sam's stomach. Sam, carseat and car's seat all drenched. Phone Dad to advise we are headed home first for de-puking. Once Dad and groceries have been collected, retreat to our cave giving up (once again) on the Sunday afternoon family outing.
Washing machine works overtime for the remainder of the day, family members tiptoe around with their own food to avoid further gagging and eventually, after a mere 320mls of Pediasure for a straight 24hr period, Sam falls asleep exhausted from a day filled with unexplainably frightening things.
Mom sits next to him on the bed, listening to his grumbling tummy and shushing him when he whimpers in his sleep, feeling helpless and lost about how to help him. Is it possible to avoid all the things that cause her 5 year old so much anxiety? Yes, of course...but it means never leaving home. She wipes the tears from her cheeks as she reminds herself that no-one gets this part of Sam...of their lives, especially the doctors and specialists...and realises that until someone does, it can't ever change.
FEAR 54785588 : MOM 0