I woke up this morning without my body pillow and instead of being wrapped around that incredibly comfortable piece of sleep heaven that not only saves my back but also my sanity, I was hugging tightly to a psychology textbook, drooling and panicking because not only did I miss my run, but my three rugrats were also still snoring and drooling. While doing the rushed, gimp style roll and fall out of bed followed by singing the good morning song from the floor, my brain yelled at me, "you should really start writing this shenanigans down"... duh, I have a blog... that I haven't put an entry in for over a year now. I have a new computer with new software and a fancy keyboard for school so, what's stopping me? Laziness and lack of a topic maybe? I'll settle on laziness since I consider myself a graduate of the fine art of carefully planned sloth between rounds of necessary activity.
So, let's start at the beginning. There's really no point right now trying to explain why my kids decided to continue their education. I'm sure it was difficult for them to figure out if grade three, five and eight are worth their time and trouble but let's face it, the final deciding factor for them, regardless of whether or not they were happy with the decision, is that dear old mom doesn't really give them much of a choice in the matter. We've had the discussion about elementary math not being good enough to even mow lawns for a living but the boy chimed in with something about peeing in the bushes (I have no idea why, he's seven so just go with it) to which we discussed that adults that laugh while peeing in random bushes get a different kind of pay cheque or may be inebriated and make their money doing other things plus they usually also get arrested for doing that no matter how they earn their money. He decided that urinating in bushes is not a plausible career choice at this point, maybe during a possible future drought.
Now with that said, let's get selfish. Why did I decide to go back to university and work on a degree? Yes, I know that's crazy considering my circumstances but guess what? I figured out that in order to get out of these particular set of circumstances, I need to re-educate myself and move forward into something new. This is not uncommon for people considering that a larger percentage of adults changes jobs and/or careers up to seven times in their lives. My resume so far is a strange conglomeration of hops and strange deviations from seemingly interesting paths. Sydney Tar Ponds remediation project to becoming part of the team refitting an oil rig then making asphalt. Strange adventures for sure. I've dabbled in graphic design, payroll, worked with an MLA and sat happily on my ass doing nothing. One of the few things I've thoroughly enjoyed was, oddly enough, sitting in a class and taking notes, studying, the smell of new books, research to satisfy my curiousity and making the light bulbs go on. However, it wasn't feasible to revisit that. Oddly enough, becoming disabled did make it possible to return to school... weird how that worked, eh. (I'm Canadian, shhh.)
Then MS hit and all of you my lovely readers know that battle and that now I'm home full-time: a disabled single mother of three. That's what I was reduced to and that's what my identity became -- mother and the growing list of things I can no longer do. Let's be honest, I do them anyway. I break things, I fall over, I drop a lot of stuff, I trip, I injure myself but I'm not going to stop, just laugh and readjust. Then other things happened other than the physical losses and losing control of my physical self was okay with me to a degree simply because I understand the personality of my disease. I've never known life without it, my beautiful mother battled it her entire adult life. MS is one of my identifiers but, at the same time, has it's own identity within me... like a bad roommate you can't evict but can slip some meds to and shut them up for a little while. Your friends still visit despite the living situation and get a laugh out of the stupid shit the roommate makes you do... like fling a spoon halfway across the kitchen or the Quasimodo dance when you stand up and try to walk.
The things that are beyond my control are the fact that it is incredibly difficult to be taken seriously in this province as a mother and a single woman (I'm sure a single man as well) when they say that something just doesn't seem right either with themselves or with their children. When there isn't an outward wound or physical symptom, the cases are thrown to the bottom of the list. When there no blood and guts issue that can be scanned and looked at or a blood draw with a number in a specific range, there really isn't much in the way of help and the resources that are out there. It took me eleven years of feeling like a hypochondriac and chasing doctors to find that one who believed me and sent me for tests to determine that I did have MS. After reading my medical records, I discovered that I was symptomatic of bipolar disorder at 14 but it was swept under the rug, again it was referred to in my medical records after a suicide attempt at 21 but wasn't told and at 35, it took an irresponsible psychiatrist through the MS Clinic (she had my medical records that I'm guessing she didn't read for a full history) treating what she perceived as stress induced depressive episode with the wrong medication that sent me into an almost complete and dark depression for my family physician to determine that yes, I do have a mental illness that somehow I was able to maintain on my own and with limited care and medication during my adolescence and adulthood. Funny how a lot of my decisions and behaviours now make complete sense. I can now add crazy to my identifiers.
Now, let's move on to my oldest who went through an incredibly tumultuous year of mind-blowing, erratic, dangerous and sometimes incredibly violent behaviour. With many phone calls to 911, many trips to IWK emegency, two social workers from two different agencies coming to the home to help, her teachers and school officials making note of and reporting her behaviour and even myself asking Child Protective Services for any ideas of programs or assistance with getting involved with any program to help my family, nothing worked. Finally, at the last emergency room visit we met with a psychiatric nurse, not a doctor because she explained that there is an incredible shortage of qualified psychiatrists and psychologists available in the province. She gave us a referral and sent us home. Came by ambulance with a twelve year old girl screaming she wants to die and ended up being sent away by a nurse with our fifteenth card for the Mobile Mental Health Crisis Team. Joke, call them and leave a message, hope they return your call.
She gave a referral for an emergency psychiatric appointment with the IWK Mental Health Service team. The same one that turned her away twice before. When we received the letter for the assessment, we were given an appointment almost six months away. It takes six months to see a doctor for emergency mental health in this province. I called, I yelled and stomped my feet for something sooner and received a letter with a later appointment date. Again I called and yelled and stomped my feet with an answer of being sent to a doctor that doesn't normally handle these kind of cases or see no one at all. I took the option of the doctor which may have been a mistake with the result being not having the full psychiatric assessment that was requested but a small interview with the two of us in the room together (no privacy no comfort), asking me questions about my childhood experiences that ended with the following statement: "her behaviour has been great the last couple of weeks so, I'm going to give you some information on some programs you can sign her up for, youth groups. It's all fine. If I saw her a few weeks ago I would have said she has this ***** diagnosis but not now." ... What in the ever-loving fuck is wrong with this person? When did a change in behaviour lasting two weeks mean that she was fine? There was something wrong, whether it be some sort of condition or something that she experienced or simply the hormones of puberty hitting her little body a little harder than normal she needed support and care from an outside and safe source, Mommy just wasn't enough anymore. Luckily, the two social workers stepped in and, happy to say, that little fart is doing much better, is smiling and laughing and incident free. Mind you, I have yet to figure out how to stop the eye-rolling. Now, because of her insane mother screaming about this to anyone that would listen, we were able to provide her with an enormous support system that is pulling her through whatever it is she was going through. There was no thanks to our healthcare system because if left to them alone, we'd still be struggling and my little girl may have gotten to passed the point of no return. I wanted my daughter, not a statistic.
Now, I have two other battles with two shorter cute creatures that also call me Mommy or MMOOOOOOOOOM!! One who has no behavioural issues because she's a princess (my eyes are rolling, she's a diva). We have had skin rashes and other issues that for years no one has really listened to me about. Chocolate milk makes her puke, milk makes her constipated, there are other things that randomly do this but milk is the biggest one I notice, yes the steroid cream stings and burns these undiagnosed rashes she gets, yes I know that's not normal and no, doctor/pharmacist/nurse I don't know what it is, that's why we're coming to you. Almost ten years with this and blammo, one doctor finally gives us a referral to a dermatologist. We're still waiting on that answer. For now she's happy in her dress doing twirls and planning her fashion career while I wash all of her stuff separately, make sure I tackle her when tries to drink or eat anything milk and/or chocolate, switched all her soaps and shampoos and pull the angry, overprotective, crazy, tattooed mom card whenever necessary to try to keep the rashes at bay.
The third one? Oh, we have a psych-ed assessment coming this year that I've been fighting for since grade one and we're finally getting speech/language help, a resource teacher to work one-on-one with him and an occupational therapist to help with his classroom setting. This took four years and one teacher to look at his grade primary level handwriting to agree with me that I have incredibly smart and creative son who obviously learns in a different way than the rest. Some are saying dyslexia and ADD while others are saying he's high functioning autistic or what used to be called Asperger's Syndrome. With lots of work at home and now, after a lengthy battle, the school on my side my little monster of boy will finally get a proper assessment so that we can focus on how it is he learns, what he needs around him to thrive and give him a better start. Not a lot of families are as lucky as we are in this case and I know there are a lot of families who have children a lot older and in higher grades that are still fighting.
So, with all that said and all that peek into my personal life and that of my strange little family, I'll share why I decided to go back to school:
No one should have to fight as much as I have for myself and my family to be healthy both physically and mentally. No one should have possible medical conditions kept from them by doctors. No one's children should go without assessment or treatment. No woman or man or child should be given the run around by a medical system who then places the blame on the parent or individual for not knowing how to navigate an intense medical bureaucracy. Not all of us are capable of finding the resources that are tucked and hidden in the nooks and crannies of this antiquated, underfunded and broken system. I was so blessed and so incredibly lucky to have firms like FamilySOS and Parenting Journeys come into my home, free of charge to me and not only be an advocate for myself and my children but give me the tools to be able to advocate for myself and family on my own. With that said, I want to be able to get the credentials I need so that I can do my small part to make sure that another family doesn't have to fight the way I did.
That and I seriously do like to study and part of me wants to sneakily use some of my friends as research subjects. So, let's take this serious post as an introduction to what's to come ... weird posts about school and cats and kids and adventures to the next phase.
Love you all, thanks for reading :)
Now with that said, let's get selfish. Why did I decide to go back to university and work on a degree? Yes, I know that's crazy considering my circumstances but guess what? I figured out that in order to get out of these particular set of circumstances, I need to re-educate myself and move forward into something new. This is not uncommon for people considering that a larger percentage of adults changes jobs and/or careers up to seven times in their lives. My resume so far is a strange conglomeration of hops and strange deviations from seemingly interesting paths. Sydney Tar Ponds remediation project to becoming part of the team refitting an oil rig then making asphalt. Strange adventures for sure. I've dabbled in graphic design, payroll, worked with an MLA and sat happily on my ass doing nothing. One of the few things I've thoroughly enjoyed was, oddly enough, sitting in a class and taking notes, studying, the smell of new books, research to satisfy my curiousity and making the light bulbs go on. However, it wasn't feasible to revisit that. Oddly enough, becoming disabled did make it possible to return to school... weird how that worked, eh. (I'm Canadian, shhh.)
Then MS hit and all of you my lovely readers know that battle and that now I'm home full-time: a disabled single mother of three. That's what I was reduced to and that's what my identity became -- mother and the growing list of things I can no longer do. Let's be honest, I do them anyway. I break things, I fall over, I drop a lot of stuff, I trip, I injure myself but I'm not going to stop, just laugh and readjust. Then other things happened other than the physical losses and losing control of my physical self was okay with me to a degree simply because I understand the personality of my disease. I've never known life without it, my beautiful mother battled it her entire adult life. MS is one of my identifiers but, at the same time, has it's own identity within me... like a bad roommate you can't evict but can slip some meds to and shut them up for a little while. Your friends still visit despite the living situation and get a laugh out of the stupid shit the roommate makes you do... like fling a spoon halfway across the kitchen or the Quasimodo dance when you stand up and try to walk.
The things that are beyond my control are the fact that it is incredibly difficult to be taken seriously in this province as a mother and a single woman (I'm sure a single man as well) when they say that something just doesn't seem right either with themselves or with their children. When there isn't an outward wound or physical symptom, the cases are thrown to the bottom of the list. When there no blood and guts issue that can be scanned and looked at or a blood draw with a number in a specific range, there really isn't much in the way of help and the resources that are out there. It took me eleven years of feeling like a hypochondriac and chasing doctors to find that one who believed me and sent me for tests to determine that I did have MS. After reading my medical records, I discovered that I was symptomatic of bipolar disorder at 14 but it was swept under the rug, again it was referred to in my medical records after a suicide attempt at 21 but wasn't told and at 35, it took an irresponsible psychiatrist through the MS Clinic (she had my medical records that I'm guessing she didn't read for a full history) treating what she perceived as stress induced depressive episode with the wrong medication that sent me into an almost complete and dark depression for my family physician to determine that yes, I do have a mental illness that somehow I was able to maintain on my own and with limited care and medication during my adolescence and adulthood. Funny how a lot of my decisions and behaviours now make complete sense. I can now add crazy to my identifiers.
Now, let's move on to my oldest who went through an incredibly tumultuous year of mind-blowing, erratic, dangerous and sometimes incredibly violent behaviour. With many phone calls to 911, many trips to IWK emegency, two social workers from two different agencies coming to the home to help, her teachers and school officials making note of and reporting her behaviour and even myself asking Child Protective Services for any ideas of programs or assistance with getting involved with any program to help my family, nothing worked. Finally, at the last emergency room visit we met with a psychiatric nurse, not a doctor because she explained that there is an incredible shortage of qualified psychiatrists and psychologists available in the province. She gave us a referral and sent us home. Came by ambulance with a twelve year old girl screaming she wants to die and ended up being sent away by a nurse with our fifteenth card for the Mobile Mental Health Crisis Team. Joke, call them and leave a message, hope they return your call.
She gave a referral for an emergency psychiatric appointment with the IWK Mental Health Service team. The same one that turned her away twice before. When we received the letter for the assessment, we were given an appointment almost six months away. It takes six months to see a doctor for emergency mental health in this province. I called, I yelled and stomped my feet for something sooner and received a letter with a later appointment date. Again I called and yelled and stomped my feet with an answer of being sent to a doctor that doesn't normally handle these kind of cases or see no one at all. I took the option of the doctor which may have been a mistake with the result being not having the full psychiatric assessment that was requested but a small interview with the two of us in the room together (no privacy no comfort), asking me questions about my childhood experiences that ended with the following statement: "her behaviour has been great the last couple of weeks so, I'm going to give you some information on some programs you can sign her up for, youth groups. It's all fine. If I saw her a few weeks ago I would have said she has this ***** diagnosis but not now." ... What in the ever-loving fuck is wrong with this person? When did a change in behaviour lasting two weeks mean that she was fine? There was something wrong, whether it be some sort of condition or something that she experienced or simply the hormones of puberty hitting her little body a little harder than normal she needed support and care from an outside and safe source, Mommy just wasn't enough anymore. Luckily, the two social workers stepped in and, happy to say, that little fart is doing much better, is smiling and laughing and incident free. Mind you, I have yet to figure out how to stop the eye-rolling. Now, because of her insane mother screaming about this to anyone that would listen, we were able to provide her with an enormous support system that is pulling her through whatever it is she was going through. There was no thanks to our healthcare system because if left to them alone, we'd still be struggling and my little girl may have gotten to passed the point of no return. I wanted my daughter, not a statistic.
Now, I have two other battles with two shorter cute creatures that also call me Mommy or MMOOOOOOOOOM!! One who has no behavioural issues because she's a princess (my eyes are rolling, she's a diva). We have had skin rashes and other issues that for years no one has really listened to me about. Chocolate milk makes her puke, milk makes her constipated, there are other things that randomly do this but milk is the biggest one I notice, yes the steroid cream stings and burns these undiagnosed rashes she gets, yes I know that's not normal and no, doctor/pharmacist/nurse I don't know what it is, that's why we're coming to you. Almost ten years with this and blammo, one doctor finally gives us a referral to a dermatologist. We're still waiting on that answer. For now she's happy in her dress doing twirls and planning her fashion career while I wash all of her stuff separately, make sure I tackle her when tries to drink or eat anything milk and/or chocolate, switched all her soaps and shampoos and pull the angry, overprotective, crazy, tattooed mom card whenever necessary to try to keep the rashes at bay.
The third one? Oh, we have a psych-ed assessment coming this year that I've been fighting for since grade one and we're finally getting speech/language help, a resource teacher to work one-on-one with him and an occupational therapist to help with his classroom setting. This took four years and one teacher to look at his grade primary level handwriting to agree with me that I have incredibly smart and creative son who obviously learns in a different way than the rest. Some are saying dyslexia and ADD while others are saying he's high functioning autistic or what used to be called Asperger's Syndrome. With lots of work at home and now, after a lengthy battle, the school on my side my little monster of boy will finally get a proper assessment so that we can focus on how it is he learns, what he needs around him to thrive and give him a better start. Not a lot of families are as lucky as we are in this case and I know there are a lot of families who have children a lot older and in higher grades that are still fighting.
So, with all that said and all that peek into my personal life and that of my strange little family, I'll share why I decided to go back to school:
No one should have to fight as much as I have for myself and my family to be healthy both physically and mentally. No one should have possible medical conditions kept from them by doctors. No one's children should go without assessment or treatment. No woman or man or child should be given the run around by a medical system who then places the blame on the parent or individual for not knowing how to navigate an intense medical bureaucracy. Not all of us are capable of finding the resources that are tucked and hidden in the nooks and crannies of this antiquated, underfunded and broken system. I was so blessed and so incredibly lucky to have firms like FamilySOS and Parenting Journeys come into my home, free of charge to me and not only be an advocate for myself and my children but give me the tools to be able to advocate for myself and family on my own. With that said, I want to be able to get the credentials I need so that I can do my small part to make sure that another family doesn't have to fight the way I did.
That and I seriously do like to study and part of me wants to sneakily use some of my friends as research subjects. So, let's take this serious post as an introduction to what's to come ... weird posts about school and cats and kids and adventures to the next phase.
Love you all, thanks for reading :)
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| My three favourite study buddies!! |
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