To Drown or Breathe

We met with a Behaviorist for Alex yesterday. This is our second Behaviorist with the first having flaked out on us, and honestly, $250 an hour was way beyond what our budget could endure. We have our fingers crossed that our second, this one, Miss ‘Lee ($50 an hour) will be just what we need.

The initial (free) consultation was in our home with all three kids awake. I could see Miss 'Lee out of the corner of my eye wondering when we'd be able to start as both Zach and I were managing things (though they were relatively under control). After a few seconds, I told her that we could begin at any time; that Zach and I were actually able to pay attention and answer our kid’s requests at the same time. It was a good meeting.

At the end, she was able to compliment us. Funny how it's hard to accept a compliment. She said that we seemed to have it together (she was impressed with a portable notebook-style photo schedule we have for Alex). She felt as though it may be a few things we could tweak, a few things to work on and we may be able to get a better handle on some of the impulsive, violent and then oppositely, the overly affectionate things Alex does (like kiss the bottoms of his friends’ shoes repeatedly). She felt as though she would be able to help us manage his delays and autistic features and in turn, it would help him feel ‘better’ in his own skin. We’re good with that!

Here’s the thing though. It’s tough. It’s hopeful; it’s promising. It’s encouraging and dreadful all at the same time. She made us feel as though we actually have more of a handle on things that we believed. She made us realize that we understand more of what Alex’s needs are than we recognized, that we’ve managed more for him than “many parents are able to at just 6 years old” (almost 6). It felt good…again, encouraging. BUT…it’s more.

It’s always more. We’re never done. Many days we feel like we’re drowning in appointments, meetings, therapists, homework, school functions, home functions, family outings, picture schedules, paperwork for additional Medicaid waivers, more paperwork for SWAAAC evals at school, IEP’s, doctor visits, neurologist visits, shopping for AFO shoes, everything – anything. We feel like we’re drowning. And now we’re in the middle of the holiday season and we’re even adding something else. More schedules cards, more reinforcements, more, more, more.

Don’t get me wrong. We will do it. We will do anything to help him. We will do everything to help him. It just gets tiring.

It gets overwhelming. Not to mention that each time we add something, it’s the mini grief cycle again. You know, the one I just told you about. We haven’t finished the cycle that started with the reports of his IQ, or the one that began with the realization that he was starting to oscillate between becoming impulsively violent and impulsively affectionate, and now we’re adding something else. Something positive, yes; something helpful, yes; it’s just that it’s something more.

And, that takes its toll. It takes its toll on us as individuals, as married people, as parents. We take it out on each other. We usually don’t. Usually we’re very good with each other; Comrades of Battle and all. But sometimes it just gets to be too much. We haven’t had a second to breathe, a second to digest, just a second.

We’re supposed to go away together for one night next week to celebrate our 5 year anniversary. Yes, do the math. Alex will be 6, we’ve been married for 5 years on this New Year’s Eve. Alex was our Best Man. So, we’re supposed to go away, for the first time in some time. We have a wonderful sitter, Alex’s previous preschool teacher. My mom is on stand-by to help if needed. We can go away and breathe.

The thing is, we’re starting to question how much breathing we need to do. Do we go away together and bond, or do we go away separately and breathe? We both understand the importance of both. In the end, I’m sure we’ll go together, it is our anniversary after all…but when we come back, how will we feel?

Will we feel as though we got a break, that we gained perspective, a renewed sense of purpose of comradery, of love and thankfulness of what we have and what we’ve endured together? Or, will we come back and feel as though we never left?

What would you do?

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