"Is she over-medicated?"

Someone asked me that today.

If the USGS reported an earthquake over 5.0 on the Richter scale in central Alabama, it was just yours truly trying not to pop off on some moron in front of other people at the dance school where the Demie Diva used to be a ballerina.

A former student of mine, whom I adore, recommended this place for me, in part because it's close, in part because she used to teach the class in which the Demie Diva is enrolled.  Now, the former student is AMAZING.  She watched the Demie Diva at aged two and laughed cause she knew I had a dancer of some sort on my hands, knew that this world was antithetical to me, and found it HILARIOUS.

Of course, that was pre-epilepsy.

The Demie Diva has been through hell.  She's emotionally about 9 months to a year behind her chronological age.  I have told the person in charge of the school this, with the understanding that this was to be communicated, along with the fact that she is epileptic, that meds are an inexact science, and that ... wait for it... loud sounds w/ amplification in the treble are going to (you should excuse me here) treble my child's neurological pathways.

Add to this the following:

The Demie Diva needs to know what is happening.  She is, in that way, rather like a post-institutionalized child.  The trauma of her last year (and it is a year.  Right.  Now.) has dictated that she has to  have control over her surroundings.  She may not follow the rules she knows to be arbitrary adult bulls  constructs, but at least she'll know what's expected.  The same kids aren't at dancing class every week.  The teacher is a teenager, which means that she is on the same kind of developmental roller coaster that her charges are.  The other kids bring in stuffed animals to the studio.  Some weeks she gets a coloring sheet, some weeks not.

It's an OCD person's little hell, I tell you.

Today, the Demie Diva reached out to her teacher - HURRAH - to practice skips.  This has been hard for the Demie Diva - first, because she doesn't trust easily, and second, because a little beeotch had told her she was doing it "wrong" so that was the kiss of death for skips and the Demie Diva.  And......WHAM

Let's go to the other studio.  Combine classes.  Meet another teacher who is older, male, and Belorussian.  Learn a routine with kids she doesn't know.  Yep.  Disaster.  I cried at that age.  The Demie Diva withdraws, stands on her own, and passive aggressively does NOT participate.

At which point, as I was simultaneously trying (yet again) to explain to the idiot woman in charge that we didn't know if the recital would be a go because of the effect of amplified sound on the Demie Diva's neurologic function, that she didn't know the wonderful man dancing with the girls so she was having nothing to do with him cause she had man issues (oh, and btw...that would be because she doesn't see her dad a lot...I mentioned that five hundred times, right?), and that she was emotionally closer to four than to five, I was asked about the Demie Diva's state on meds.

WTF?????

We have been working like HELL on meds this year.  Getting one titrated up.  Getting one titrated as low as we can get it cause we KNOW what it does to her, but that what happens without it sucks worse.  Getting her ADHD dealt with so that we can figure out where the hell the epilepsy holes are.

And this silly cow asks me, "Is she over-medicated?"

I see a future of educating asshats  ahead of me.

ADHD hell

Let's ride bikes.

If ever ever I doubted that the devil drug, Keppra, made the Demie Diva's ADHD worse, I only need look at my life in the last two weeks.

Monotherapy didn't work.  Those little myoclonic jerks I thought I saw?  Yeah, they were what I thought I saw.  Called the neuro and said, in essence...I've started her back on the devil drug.  This is the highest dose at which we had NO visible seizures and NO evil moods.  I refuse to go higher, but I want an official okay to do what I'm doing.  So, we're back on the devil drug.  It's working.

No visible seizures (unless we have a fatigue trigger) and no evilness.  But oh. my.God.

I'm showing my age here....but I used to be one hella wicked pinball player.  My own ADHD probably helped me bounce that little metal ball all over the place, and, quite frankly, the rest of the world never did march to my drum, so I undoubtedly worked of some serious ADHD aggression playing it.

No one told me that there was a four year old version of pinball.  Eff me, that child is off the wall when her Focalin wears off.  We have a listening ear factor of negative five hundred.  We have 6.02 times ten to the twenty-third lack of follow-through on directions as simple as "pick two stories please".  Really, don't tell me that's four and a half.  We have stories (two) every night.  Every.  Single. Night.

Sigh.

My patience, at the end of a day of teaching, is nil.  Somehow, I have to dig up more reserves, as she has been particularly trying the last two days.

I know, and as the grown-up, I understand, that this is partially exhaustion.  We got back from the Diva Grandparents' place on Sunday night.  We went back into reality on Monday, and her dad picked her up.  She was up in the middle of the night last night in near-hysterics over the loss of her stuffed giraffe.  (He'd fallen on the floor).  When she is tired, her brain goes into rapid-fire mode.  Fatigue is a trigger.  It's not her fault.  She can't help it, since the overactive brain does funky things to the ADHD.

Knowing what I know about her birthmother's medical history, I know that she comes by this genetically.  Knowing what I know about how much my child she is, I know that she comes by this honestly.

The apple doesn't fall far from either tree.  Which, actually, is another post - this one adoption related, and raising the tandem issues of "when does it become their story" and "how do I tell my relatives that it is now irrelevant unless the Demie Diva chooses to share.

This is a road I never expected to navigate.

Does someone have a map?

Pick yourself up...dust yourself off...

and start all over again.

Okay.  So I didn't get either of the jobs in my home state.  This is fine.  Really.  I'll keep telling myself this, and eventually I will believe it.  Sigh.  But you know what, that doesn't make it any easier.  At. All.

Now, I'm sure that there are reasons for this.  I'm sure that there will come a time when I can go home.  HOWEVER...now is not that time.

Still and all, it allows me the golden opportunity to see the Demie Diva tell her father to his face that she does NOT like him.  It allows me the far more golden opportunity to watch her tell him "Here Dad, let me show you the door for going out."

If I were a not very nice person, I'd be really gleeful.  But, this isn't about me.  It's about the Demie Diva.  And she needs a relationship with a male role model that is positive, nurturing, and pretty much everything my brother in law is.

I discovered this when we were up north last week.  The Demie Diva has always adored this particular uncle - seriously ADORES the man.  She wanted Analytic Uncle (he's a computer guy with the soul of a musician) to show her the silverback gorilla at the zoo.  She wanted him to hug and cuddle her.  She wanted to be with him at all times.

So, yet again, I have empirical evidence for what I need and for what she needs.

However, the trip up North also a trip of discovery.  The Diva Grandpa is aging.  Significantly.  How much of that is because he desperately needs his eyelids lifted so that he can see the 30% of the world he isn't seeing, I couldn't say.  How much of that is because he's more ADHD than I am, I couldn't say.  But I can say that as a blind as a bat visually impaired person, you don't process when you can't see.  As the ADHD adult that I am, I can say that when you KNOW you're not processing, it exacerbates your ADHD, which then causes  you to miss more, and know you're missing it,.... see the pattern?

So.

The Diva Grandpa is caught in a cycle of physical issues which are impacting his mental state.  He's an aging male, which automatically limits his ability to think outside the box.  He tends to be a bit curmudgeonly anyway, so this is not helping.

The Diva Grandma is a saint.  A saint, I tell you.

The Diva Grandma is also aging...but not as quickly as her sisters.  The Crazy Aunt is battling cancer - and losing.  This is kicking the DG's butt since as she put it "I can't do another funeral lunch."  The simple fact is that of nine, there are now three.  And, there will be two.  And of those two, the Diva Grandma is the matriarch, despite being the baby.  The Bossy Aunt will be 80 this summer, and the Demie Diva and I will head home (which it is) to meet the DD's new cousin, see the old cousin (he's three going on 300...seriously) and have some serious family time centered around the BA's 80th birthday party.

So, I pick myself up.  Commit to another year where I am.  See what the future holds.  And know that for all of the above, and more inarticulable reasons, we still need to be "home", even though, paradoxically, it was good to be "home" after a week away.

Dear Universe....

The conflicting messages I'm getting from the universe these days are seriously annoying the snot out of me.

REALLY.

Demie Diva is doing great.  G-R-E-A-T.  She is on monotherapy and is, as evidenced by my last post, her own little sassy stinker self.  The ADHD meds will get adjusted here and we should see the last of her focus issues vanish in a cloud of speed  Focalin.  However, her stated desire to get to the Land of Sky Blue Waters is profound.

Mine?  Oh, it's profane.

Seriously.

I get a wonderful "ding" letter from a school in my native state that makes me believe that the vote on making me a finalist for a position was a little divided.  And, really, it was a long shot, cause it was a lateral move for me, so I'm okay with that.  My own alma mater is seriously irritating me, as they continue to hire for one-year positions.  This is one of the few schools in my world with a teachers union...and they're hiring one-year hires.  Crap.  The other of the big three in my hometown...hiring in my field.  I've applied.  I will follow up this week with a phone call.

 Professionally, I'm happy.  I'm supported.  I want to see these freshmen I'm  currently teaching turn into amazing seniors, cause they are hilarious as freshmen.

Personally, I want to see my parents more than four times a year.  I want to watch my darling nephew be the precocious thing he is.  I want to meet my niece when she comes, and see her more than twice a year. I want to watch my sister and brother-in-law be amazing role models for all three of the grandchildren - my one and their two.

I can handle the waiting.  I can handle the ding letters.  I believe firmly in everything in its time.

But to taunt me with THREE different cars bearing plates from my native state on two consecutive mornings?  Universe????

Bite me.