Monday, November 14, 2016
Well Hello, Fall
Fall has been crazy so far. We've delved into investigating how my body is working, which is always a little anxiety inducing. At this point, I have some "ovulatory dysfunction" and will likely need some intervention with medicine and such to move forward. We will keep pushing forward!
Parker has had a really challenging start to the school year. We were SO celebratory with him giving up bottles in September, but it feels a little like things crashed all around us after that. Our current theory is that, by losing bottles, Parker has lost the little decompression time he had throughout the day. Kind of like all of your work breaks being taken from you without warning. Occasional or even rare extreme behaviors from him have exploded into becoming normal, every day issues. He is hitting and kicking people, clearing off any surface he can reach (imagine the school lunch table with kids learning how to pour their own milk), and screaming whenever there is an audience or potential for an echo. He is adorable, and does all of these things with a giant smile on his face, but it is exhausting. For us at home, it is frustrating us to the max, so we can empathize with teachers who have 17 other kids to worry about.
We immediately convened all of Parker's support systems, and brought on a behavioral therapist to try and help us problem solve. So far, we haven't found anything that can put a dent in the near constant behavioral challenges. Parker is deep in sensory overload, and is just taking stabs at things in his environment to see if he can control anything.
We've hit that dreaded point, where daycare is requiring an aid for Parker to continue. And we are, again, panicking. This time, though, we know in our hearts that the daycare has tried everything they know how to do. The sad thing is that daycares are still businesses. And businesses inherently don't want to spend extra money on kids. So, the daycare has done everything they know how to do (except for anything that might cost extra, like a companion or aid). Thus, we are left with leaving, or paying an aid out of our own pockets, at a minimum of $50 per day. This essentially would almost double the cost we pay for daycare per month.
We are at a loss in some ways. We only have one kid, as nature has so cruelly reminded us of this fall. With our work and commutes, we need a nanny for 50 hours per week. If we had more kids, a nanny would be a bargain, but we don't. So for us, paying for a nanny would be the same amount as paying for an aid plus daycare. Thankfully, a few people have told us about our local Park District, which is required to accommodate for kids with special needs through government regulations, and is actually a smidge cheaper than our current daycare. IF they have space mid-year, and IF we can get the volunteer companion they offer, we might be okay. If not, we are going to be stuck paying the same amount as our mortgage on childcare for ONE child.
The same fury flows through me at this situation as it did the last time we are in it. Except this time, there are no more daycares to fall back on if the park district falls through. We will be forced to remove Parker from a learning opportunity with his peers because no systems exist for kids like him in our situation. I keep having people say to me that I should be the inventive one to create that safe place for kids with special needs. And that can honestly be crushing. I'm honored that anyone believes I could take that on, but frankly, I'm tired. I love my job. I love my family. Why should I have to sacrifice those things to build a system that should already exist? Selfish, I know, but still true.
With a November birthday, Parker has another year and nine months in some kind of childcare setting. Here's to hoping we can find something that works for him, and stay put for once.
Parker has had a really challenging start to the school year. We were SO celebratory with him giving up bottles in September, but it feels a little like things crashed all around us after that. Our current theory is that, by losing bottles, Parker has lost the little decompression time he had throughout the day. Kind of like all of your work breaks being taken from you without warning. Occasional or even rare extreme behaviors from him have exploded into becoming normal, every day issues. He is hitting and kicking people, clearing off any surface he can reach (imagine the school lunch table with kids learning how to pour their own milk), and screaming whenever there is an audience or potential for an echo. He is adorable, and does all of these things with a giant smile on his face, but it is exhausting. For us at home, it is frustrating us to the max, so we can empathize with teachers who have 17 other kids to worry about.
We immediately convened all of Parker's support systems, and brought on a behavioral therapist to try and help us problem solve. So far, we haven't found anything that can put a dent in the near constant behavioral challenges. Parker is deep in sensory overload, and is just taking stabs at things in his environment to see if he can control anything.
We've hit that dreaded point, where daycare is requiring an aid for Parker to continue. And we are, again, panicking. This time, though, we know in our hearts that the daycare has tried everything they know how to do. The sad thing is that daycares are still businesses. And businesses inherently don't want to spend extra money on kids. So, the daycare has done everything they know how to do (except for anything that might cost extra, like a companion or aid). Thus, we are left with leaving, or paying an aid out of our own pockets, at a minimum of $50 per day. This essentially would almost double the cost we pay for daycare per month.
We are at a loss in some ways. We only have one kid, as nature has so cruelly reminded us of this fall. With our work and commutes, we need a nanny for 50 hours per week. If we had more kids, a nanny would be a bargain, but we don't. So for us, paying for a nanny would be the same amount as paying for an aid plus daycare. Thankfully, a few people have told us about our local Park District, which is required to accommodate for kids with special needs through government regulations, and is actually a smidge cheaper than our current daycare. IF they have space mid-year, and IF we can get the volunteer companion they offer, we might be okay. If not, we are going to be stuck paying the same amount as our mortgage on childcare for ONE child.
The same fury flows through me at this situation as it did the last time we are in it. Except this time, there are no more daycares to fall back on if the park district falls through. We will be forced to remove Parker from a learning opportunity with his peers because no systems exist for kids like him in our situation. I keep having people say to me that I should be the inventive one to create that safe place for kids with special needs. And that can honestly be crushing. I'm honored that anyone believes I could take that on, but frankly, I'm tired. I love my job. I love my family. Why should I have to sacrifice those things to build a system that should already exist? Selfish, I know, but still true.
With a November birthday, Parker has another year and nine months in some kind of childcare setting. Here's to hoping we can find something that works for him, and stay put for once.
Saturday, November 12, 2016
Time is Flying
It has been a while (again) since I've written here. In some ways, I just haven't known what to say. The school year began in whirlwind form personally, and then ramped up all around. Some of this post will be TMI, but honestly, I think that is okay. While I am much less angry about it now, I feel like so much of the pain that comes with pregnancy, pregnancy loss, and fertility is silent. That bothers me. I'll admit, though, that I am less angry about the silence because I understand how different the grief process is for everyone now. I also understand that there are people who have never even remotely had to worry about pregnancy, and that their comments can be hard to handle. I know, because I used to be one of those people. More than anything, I've learned that SO many people go through this, and that it hurts for everyone. The compassion that I have witnessed is so reassuring.
With no real direction from my OB-GYN, and some research, Matt and I decided that our coping mechanism would be to try again. With excitement and a healthy dose of skepticism, we found out I was pregnant again right after our genetic counseling appointment (ironically). That was a Tuesday. By the weekend, I knew something wasn't quite right. In short, different brands of pregnancy tests have different sensitivities, so I could tell that my hormone levels weren't rising fast enough. By the following Monday morning, all of my tests were negative. Soon after, the bleeding started again. Just in time for my OB-GYN blood work. By then, I had already accepted what had happened. I met with one of the doctors in my practice in a conversation I don't know that I'll ever forget. She told me that my body probably just hadn't recovered from the last one yet, and that since everything happened so fast, "they wouldn't count this one as a miscarriage," and would consider it a chemical pregnancy. I left that appointment feeling like it was my fault for not having waited long enough. By discounting the current pregnancy, this doctor felt like she was sparing me heartache, but instead, I felt to blame.
Because of my PCOS, I see an endocrinologist who also happens to specialize in reproduction. I am so thankful for her. I met with her the same week as the "chemical pregnancy" was ending, and she was visibly frustrated with the way my OB handled everything. She let us know that this was in no way our fault, and that my body had plenty of time to recover and do its job. She considers my 2nd pregnancy a miscarriage, or at least uses the term interchangeably with chemical pregnancy. We made a plan for how to take a deeper look at everything going on with my body, and actually listened to what I had to say.
The point is that your words, tone, and time all make a difference to people. I now believe in the spirit and possibility of a "rainbow baby" and hope that ours isn't too far out of reach.
With no real direction from my OB-GYN, and some research, Matt and I decided that our coping mechanism would be to try again. With excitement and a healthy dose of skepticism, we found out I was pregnant again right after our genetic counseling appointment (ironically). That was a Tuesday. By the weekend, I knew something wasn't quite right. In short, different brands of pregnancy tests have different sensitivities, so I could tell that my hormone levels weren't rising fast enough. By the following Monday morning, all of my tests were negative. Soon after, the bleeding started again. Just in time for my OB-GYN blood work. By then, I had already accepted what had happened. I met with one of the doctors in my practice in a conversation I don't know that I'll ever forget. She told me that my body probably just hadn't recovered from the last one yet, and that since everything happened so fast, "they wouldn't count this one as a miscarriage," and would consider it a chemical pregnancy. I left that appointment feeling like it was my fault for not having waited long enough. By discounting the current pregnancy, this doctor felt like she was sparing me heartache, but instead, I felt to blame.
Because of my PCOS, I see an endocrinologist who also happens to specialize in reproduction. I am so thankful for her. I met with her the same week as the "chemical pregnancy" was ending, and she was visibly frustrated with the way my OB handled everything. She let us know that this was in no way our fault, and that my body had plenty of time to recover and do its job. She considers my 2nd pregnancy a miscarriage, or at least uses the term interchangeably with chemical pregnancy. We made a plan for how to take a deeper look at everything going on with my body, and actually listened to what I had to say.
The point is that your words, tone, and time all make a difference to people. I now believe in the spirit and possibility of a "rainbow baby" and hope that ours isn't too far out of reach.
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