Never Say Never

So tomorrow, we have an appointment with a Pediatric Psychiatrist. Two words you never want to put in the same sentence for anyone, let alone your own child. It's been a long, twisted road to get to "this place". I'll start at the beginning.
I've learned never to say never.
In the beginning, when M first got diagnosed, I read about six books regarding autism in the first week. I was an obsessed freakshow trying to make sense of this mountain in front of me. I wanted to be armed with knowledge as I made this journey uphill.
In one book, written by a mom (not Jenny McCarthy BTW), about their personal journey to recovery (me cringing at this word here), I threw the book across the room, hyperventilated a bit and flatly told my husband, "I can't do this. This woman is a freak! She's got a journal where she meticulously documents her sons behaviors, activities, food intake, sleep, words spoken, and bowel movements! I can't do this! M is not a science project and I do not have it in me to do it if that's what it takes!" Every second of every day was written in this book and every night she evaluated the data and tried to see patterns and triggers. What's more is that this child also received up to 20 different vitamins and supplements at varying times of day. In the book, though, Mom's constant note-taking and modifications in her "program" ended with this child being "recovered" (again cringing at the word). So this was my destiny and I just threw it across the room.
My husband, always a man of few words and never anxiety-ridden, just says, "You do what you can." Oh, he also said, "No more books."
6 months later, I unknowingly evolved into that woman. I had a three-ring binder filled with daily notes of behaviors, food intake, bowel movements, and our ever-changing list of supplements looking for the perfect cocktail. I expected my husband to fill it out while I was away. Document color and consistency of the poo and how many of the supplements he managed to get M to choke down. He never did quite the same job as his Type A control freak wife did, but he made an honest effort. I can say that I maintained this chart for a year before I retired it and the supplements. It still sits on the counter and has become my research and contact info for M's entourage of doctors and providers. Never thought I'd give up the chart.
Never say never.
Which brings me to the pediatric psychiatrist. I said M would never be on medication. We would do what we could naturally with supplements (failed) and behavior training (failed). M has high anxiety and rigid behavior. Remember the scene where Rainman insists that you can ONLY buy underwear at the KMart on _____ Street? And Tom Cruise is unsuccessfully trying to get across that underwear is underwear no matter where you buy it? Yeah. That's what I mean about rigid. That's it to the nth degree in our house some days, but it can be about everything. M's high anxiety and rigidity are the usual culprit of his tantrums. There are many times when I tell my husband that I feel like this household walks on eggshells for M. The whole household revolves around him. M is supposed to fit into our lives, not rule them.
M also has zero impulse control. He will go into tantrum if the stoplight stays red too long. He cannot regulate his emotions and becomes aggressive easily. On the worst days M's tantrums have lasted 3 hours. He will hit, kick, bite, spit, pull hair, and throw objects. He will try to knock over the fish tank, punch holes in the window screens, and pull over the bookcase.
With his psychologists and the angels of Wisconsin Early Autism Project, we worked through four different behavior plans to help M learn self-regulating and calming behaviors. These plans also included ways of discipline.
On the worst day, when M didn't get a reaction from me by doing all of the above things I mentioned, he took a book, held it high over his head, taunted me with an expression of "whaddya gonna do?" and slammed my foot with it. This would not have been a big deal unless I didn't have two 10 inch knitting needle- like skewers protruding from my foot as part of an injury repair. The pain was excruciating not to mention that he could have easily crippled me permanently. My carnal reaction was self defense. Thankfully, M bailed at the sound of my outcry and I was in too much pain to get up. In my head, I envisioned all the ways my parents would have disciplined me had I just done that to them- and worse. I said I would never threaten or spank my child.
Never say never.
I wanted to and I did. I was not proud of myself. That day drew the line in the sand for me. I told, rather than asked, my husband, that we'd be taking him to get meds. We were divided. Not the first time and surely not the last.
Our third annual consultation with M's Pediatric Neuropsychologist helped clear the divide. We've gone all the way we can go behaviorally. There is some chemical wall that we will never be able to penetrate. M's brain is wired much differently than ours. The medication will help bring M down a level so that our careful behavior plans have a chance to work.
I dream of it. I think of all the places to go. The things to see and do. All the things M will have the opportunity to try when he is not limited by his extreme anxiety and rigidity. I dream of the new peace in our household. Of not walking on eggshells.
I dream of M. All that he is now but not consumed by it.
I dream of lots of things now because I've learned to never say never.