Because I've gotten used to how different Leo has been since his seizure. And maybe just how gradually different he's been since stopping Risperdal three months ago. He's become more bumptiously active, not necessarily in a bad way though he did accidentally run into his grandmother during Christmas -- something she's always been worried about, and even though she said she was OK she was also shaken. He has been having a harder and harder time getting through our usual outings and excursions without getting upset -- about not getting a treat at the grocery store (never a guarantee), or not getting take-home pizza at Costco (also never a guarantee). His teacher has let me know that the last two weeks have been ones of unprecedented classroom activity and sensory-seeking, so much so that they now have a stand-based punching bag in the corner of the class for him to unleash all his excess energy. And he's been having a devil of a time falling asleep at night, though in the morning he does not want to get up when the alarm rings, which is also different as he's usually our alarm.
I can absorb this all now, in hindsight. But I couldn't recognize that yes, his behaviors were not within standard operating parameters, not until midway through this morning's appointment when he had a stimming cavalcade -- of hitting me. And then he hit his doctor. It wasn't even truly aggressive, more puckish than anything else, because he was not angry and kept smiling the whole time. But it hurt, and he didn't seem to be able to stop, and since I cry if people look at me funny you can imagine the sobbing wreck I shortly became.
Though his pediatrician took her hit in stride (she often spends her vacations doing humanitarian medical work in areas of conflict), she also let me know she was seriously worried about Leo, and would be putting in a call in to his behavioral pediatrician -- the doctor who prescribed Leo's Risperdal. Who called me less than 15 minutes after I arrived home. And let me know that it's probably time to revisit meds ... if not Risperdal, then the Seroquel we'd been intending to transition him to anyway three months ago. I just need to call the neurologist Leo's pediatrician did in fact refer me to, and ask her if Seroquel would interfere with any of the tests she'd want to run on our boy.
I don't have a problem trying a new med for Leo. I really don't. Um. But I have to admit that in my heart of hearts I was so very much hoping Leo had outgrown the need for behavioral meds. Because I don't like meds. I don't like to take them, I don't like my kids to have to take them.
And that is selfish, because my son is teetering on the edge of a behavioral precipice right now, and if he falls over that edge -- if his behaviors spiral so badly that he can't focus, can't go to school, can't leave the house, or we can't have friends visit -- all because I don't like meds -- then that makes his life suck and makes me a bad parent.
In other current news, I'm pissed about Amy Lutz's one-sided neurodiversity hit piece on Slate, and think you should read Emily Willingham's Forbes article Can People Really Grow Out Of Autism?, as it includes perspectives from autistic people. Under typical circumstances I would shred the former and write my own piece on the latter, but critiquing via a spattering of social media and typing the post above is all I got for today. I'm going to go pet my cat, pretend I can't see the mess that is my house, and then pick up my kids.