Startling to see how long ago I started this blog, not to mention how quickly I abandoned it. Okay, so not really abandoned, but just left it to moulder whilst filling that tumblr space with my mental health medicine of choice (read: Richonne adoration and Carlyle obsession). Well, okay, maybe that’s a sign of good mental health, right?
So the undersized 12-year-old son is now a 15-year-old son and taller than me by a head, which is, granted, no big achievement as I’m short, but still. His hospital stay in 2014 lasted through early 2015, and he returned to the hospital at the start of 2017 for just over a month. The first time, an extended stay that included weaning him off the array of meds he was taking, was actually helpful, discharging him just shy of his 13th birthday to a wonderful therapeutic school in the south. He remained med-free for a year and a half, but the anxiety just became too much to bear (along with a severe depression that manifested almost immediately when my mom died) and he began acting out and …. well, the meds began again that summer.
And now? Well, this last hospital stay was …. insane. He spent it in a state of controlled quiet or impulsive wall-writing, and the chief of the youth ward decided (after reading precisely two reports about him and only speaking to him for 10 minutes in one meeting) that he has ADHD, that’s his problem, and let’s give him Ritalin.
What. The. Fuck.
ADHD he may very well have, but the anxiety, panic attacks, and rage issues haven’t gone away. And yeah, the DSM-V decided that his PDD is now just another point on the autism spectrum, but that hasn’t changed, either.
He was on Ritalin when he was in elementary school, Doctor. And Concerta. And RitalinLA. And I’m not sure what other variation of it because I’ve forgotten by now. BTDT.
The psychiatrist at his school, who has had many extended meetings with him, and his therapists and his special-ed teachers all agree that the ADHD (if indeed he has it, as it was ruled out in his first hospitalization) is the least of his problems.
But the doctor from the hospital gets the last word, because the Ministry of Health logo is on her letterhead.
Not sure what all this means for him, but at the very least it means he’s going to have to fight for help and support and services. Not sure what it’ll mean when his Tzav Giyus comes, either. Maybe his brother, who’s starting his own army service soon, can find out for us who to call to find out how to deal with that bit.
All medical care comes with a price, too.
I will say that is one of the things that has made all of this trial easier…. being here, where for all of the hospitalization and therapy and care that he’s been through, we have never been billed a shekel. Or a penny. Or anything else. Okay, co-pays for meds, but even those are mild.
Can’t imagine what it would be like if we were still in the States. Or now, with the travesty that the resident of Pennsylvania Avenue is making of health care over there….
Hoping for everybody that we all get through all of our trials. With as small a price as possible.