First of Three

No, not a post about the Borg. Although that might be cool if I did a post on the Borg sometime. 

I have lots of stuff to catch up on... once I actually post everything that's happened, you'll see why it took me so long to post it! 

Instead of creating one, long post, however, I will break it up into several smaller posts. More easily digested that way. Like chewing your food vs. gulping it down whole. 

The big news? We pulled Abby out of ABA. Finito. Kaput. Le fin. 

After a disastrous teleconference with St. Amant regarding nursery school [at which I felt like the acting in-charge-person was essentially daring me to quit the program], we quit the program. Right then and there. 

Effective when? Immediately.  

Would I like help creating an exit strategy? No thanks, I already have one. 

Would you like to have a debrief? Not really. 

Would you care to elaborate on your issues with the program so we can help other families? If you haven't ascertained what my "issues" are by now, I'm sorry I can't help you. 

So.... what now? 

We moved from having a "comprehensive" (and I use the term laughingly and sarcastically) therapy program to having a hodge-podge of services for Abby.

It's fun, actually. We get to go to playgroup. 

Heck, we get to leave the house, that in itself is a novelty and has helped my depression immensely. But I digress... 



I get to expose her a variety of novel situations and social settings. Most days she does great. Some days not so great. That's okay. 

We do home-schoolish things every day, working on different school-readiness skills. Rachael does them with us too, and is loving it. 

We get to sleep in when we need to, and take a "day off" when we're not feeling so well. 

We go to the park, and sing songs while on the swings, and play games and practice eye contact.  

We go to nursery school two afternoons a week, and she has a ECE helper with her. Yeah! 

We're seeing the occupational therapist every other week, the speech therapist every other week, and the Floortime worker once a week.  

Lots to do, lots to keep track of, and I'm the least stressed about "therapy" than I have been in a year.  

Awesome, eh? 

Welcome to our "new and improved life"! You know, where we actually have a life.  

Question and Answer

When your child has a "condition", especially idiopathic ones, you inevitably look inward for causes. You can't help it.

Did I eat the wrong things when I was pregnant? 

Too much fish? Not enough fish?

Did I breathe in too much second-hand smoke? 

Too much time in the sun? 

Did I sleep on my left side like I was supposed to? Or was it my right? 

Was something wrong at birth and I just didn't see it?

Should I have let you get that vaccine? 

Is our water no good? Is it poisoning you? 

Should I have fed you the barley cereal before the wheat one? 

Am I letting you sit too close to the T. V.?

In short, I keep asking myself: Did I do this to you? 

I have often wondered that. Did I break her? I've come to believe, after these few long years, that Abby's epilepsy is a symptom of something larger that's been damaged inside her. I also firmly believe that there are environmental and genetic components to her difficulties.

Recently, I've also began understanding the Autism as part of the same damage, something malfunctioning that is causing these symptoms to bubble to the surface. In my mind, they must be linked, as part of the same parcel.

I have often wondered, in these years, if my taking Celexa during my first trimester of pregnancy had any role. At the time, I was tapering off my dose slowly when I discovered I was pregnant, as I had been taking it earlier that same year to treat a depressive episode. My physician at the time agreed that I should continue tapering the drug, as there was no significant risks known for continuing the take the medication in my first trimester. At the time, it was also thought that Celexa raised the risk of birth defects and it was recommended that it should be stopped before the start of the third trimester. I was done with Celexa by my 12th week of pregnancy.

That thought, that me taking the Celexa during early pregnancy could have played a role in her "condition", has secretly haunted me. It's why I refused medication when I was pregnant with Rachael even though I was suffering panic attacks. It's also why I've refused to take medications for a chronic, low-level depression that has continued to plague me since her birth. Not only do these medications cross the blood-placental barrier, it infiltrates the plasma in the breastmilk.

No one could tell me whether or not I broke one child. No one could force me to break another.

I was reading something totally unrelated today, and I found myself today wondering if anyone else asked that same question about antidepressants. Did anyone else feel the same way? So I asked Dr. Google. 

Click here for an answer.