"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.