Our Ordinary Days

A Trip to ER

We were awakened by the sound of Zachary gasping for breath about 12:30AM last night.  He was in a panic, his eyes huge and terrified.  With every breath in and every breath out, his neck and chest constricted tightly as he struggled to breathe.  It had come on fast.

Before I even made it to him, Paul was working on a breathing treatment -- our only defense in the battle.

Several times, Zach started to cry in his panic.  But each time I was able to calm him and remind him of his important job:  to breathe.  No breath for crying.  No breath for talking.  Just breathe.

You could literally hear his stridor and struggle across the house.  He was in the middle of a big, bad one.

Starting a second treatment, Zach's condition had not improved.  While I tried to decide whether to call 911, Zach's desperate question, broken up between labored breaths, caused me to make the call.  With huge, terrified eyes, he asked me, "Am I going to die?"

While huge tears leaked from his eyes, I assured him he was not going to die.  "Just keep breathing.  Look at me.  You are doing great.  Keep breathing."

I called 911 and reported what was taking place.  They immediately got the ambulance in route.  While we waited for help, Paul held Zachary and I worked to keep him calm and breathing.  A few minutes later the ambulance finally arrived at our house.

Upon arrival, the paramedics informed us that he needed to be transported to Cooks ER.  While they prepared Zach for transport, I quickly dressed and grabbed my purse.

Zach continued to be an amazing trooper.  The lack of breath horrified him.  The pain in his throat and chest terrified him.  And the ride on the stretcher and into the ambulance made him panic.  He was shaking and wide-eyed as they hooked him up to machines and started an IV.

By the time we reached the hospital, he had had a dose of steroid intravenously and 4 breathing treatments.  His breathing was still quite labored, but the retractions were less severe.  Still, no stethoscope was needed to hear his wheezing.

I just sat beside him, holding and rubbing his hand, while the nurses worked to get him more stable.  About 15 minutes after arrival, I noticed that I couldn't hear his breaths anymore.  A really good sign!

As Zach's breathing became easier, he realized how sleepy he was.  It was 2:30AM.  But before he would let himself relax even a little bit, he turned to me with his big, scared eyes and asked, "Mom, if I go to sleep, do you think I will die?"

I again assured him that he wouldn't die, that all of these people were watching him and would help him.  But he still didn't relax at all.  I don't think he believed me.

The doctor came in and told us that what Zach had experienced was a combination of croup and asthma.  We could go home, but we were to come back if it started again.

Finally a little after 3AM, Zachary said something to me and realized that his voice didn't sound hoarse or constricted.  His eyes lit up, his burden of fear was lifted, and he beamed at me, "Mom!  My voice!  It's better!"

And that was his turning point.  That is when he was convinced that he wouldn't die.  His whole demeanor changed in an instant.  He finally let himself believe that he was, indeed, going back home.

"I can't wait to see my daddy!"

"I can't wait to see my house!"

We came home around 3:30.  (Thanks, Papa, for picking us up in the middle of the night!)  And Zach danced around a little bit in the dark living room -- literally celebrating life!

Last night and today, we've had several discussions about asthma and about death.  He keeps asking about it.  He was terrified.  Oh, how it breaks my heart to know how scared he was.

And again, we are thanking God for sparing Zachary's life!  Thank You, Lord!

Playing ball

Zippy is playing basketball and loving it!  He's good at it, too.  His team is the Longhorns, and they are the burnt orange and white just like the Texas Longhorns.  It is a bit difficult as big ol Baylor fans to cheer for the Longhorns!

Zippy scored two baskets in his game last week.  He hustles, he listens to the coach, and he encourages his teammates.  We are quite proud.

(I will try to get some photos of our other favorite basketball player this weekend.)

Test

Zachary has an anxiety disorder.  He worries a lot.  He is in a constant state of stress.

One of his anxieties is school.  Namely, failing school.  Last year he was always afraid of failing 2nd grade.  This year he is terrified of failing 3rd grade.

While all of his grades are currently passing, there is a big test that looms over the heads of all students in Texas' public schools.  The TAKS test.  3rd graders are required to pass TAKS, or they are retained in 3rd grade.  And Zach is scared of it.

The TAKS test doesn't take place until March or April, but today the students are taking a practice test.  As should be the case, this practice test is taken quite seriously.  It gives teachers, students, parents, and administration a good idea of where the students are in learning the required content.

I know that a speech from the teacher to reiterate the importance of the tests is sometimes in order for a class filled with clowns or goof-offs.  I know that since the test is of utmost importance to the teacher, the school, and the district, they feel the need to remind the students that their lives depend on their passing TAKS.

But I also know that a child like Zachary-- who is already miserably dreading TAKS, who is already convinced that he is going to fail, who already takes the test very seriously as if his life did literally depend on it--  does not need a reminder of its importance.  And in fact, a reminder of its importance may have quite a negative effect on the results of his test taking.

Zachary came home from school yesterday and announced, "Tomorrow is the day I find out if I failed 3rd grade."

Wow!  How's that for pressure??

How frustrating to be trying so hard at home to get Zach's anxieties under control only to be thrown this huge wrench of anxiety from school.  Ugh!

Remembering that today's test is actually just a practice test, I tried to convince him that this wasn't THE test.  But he wouldn't be convinced.  But thankfully he didn't mention the test much more before bed.

But then at 1:00AM, he came running to my room, crying.  "I'm going to fail 3rd grade!  I don't want to fail 3rd grade!"

I, of course, told him he wasn't going to fail . . . that we don't have to worry about that because he's going to do his best . . . that he is not going to fail 3rd grade.

He quieted down and got into bed with me.  We snuggled up close and tight just like he likes.  His little body fidgeted, writhed, and jerked as it so often does when he tries to go to sleep -- his anxious little body fighting him while he tries to relax.  Every few moments his sleepy, sad voice would say that he was going to fail.  I realized that his anxieties were speaking loud and clear in his little mind, convincing him that he would, indeed, fail.

It was then that I got the idea of whispering to him a different phrase, hoping it would drown out the whispers that were haunting him.  I wasn't sure how he would respond to my whispering.  I thought maybe he would tell me to stop and get frustrated.  But as I watched his little body jerk nervously and listened to his whimpers, I decided to take the chance.

While we cuddled, I placed my hand on his face -- a tactic which has had a calming effect on him since he was an infant -- and got my lips up close to his ear.

"You are smart and you will pass," I whispered so gently.  "You are smart and you will pass.  You are smart and you will pass," I repeated.

He did not tell me to stop.  And after a minute or so, his writhing slowed and his body relaxed just a bit.  My words were working.

"You are smart and you will pass," I repeated with each breath.  And I prayed as I spoke that my words would penetrate his mind and heart until he believed it.

For 10 minutes or more, I whispered the sentence in his ear.  When he got a little fidgety, I thought maybe he had heard enough so I stopped speaking.

But he immediately whispered sleepily, "Do more of that."

So I continued for quite a while, even after his body had relaxed into sleep.  While he snored, I whispered, "You are smart and you will pass.  You are smart and you will pass.  You are smart and you will pass."

He woke again later in the night and whimpered a little bit.  Then he snuggled up close and requested, "Do more of that."  So I whispered again, "You are smart and you will pass.  You are smart and you will pass."

This morning he didn't want to go to school.  "I'm going to fail 3rd grade today," he said.

But big brother came to the rescue!  Elliot was able to convince him that today's test was not the real thing so Zach went off to school feeling okay.

I pray like crazy that he passes today's test!

And I pray that as he sat in the quiet classroom taking his test today, that Zachary heard my whispered words in his ear:  "You are smart and you will pass.  You are smart and you will pass."

Just What I've Always Wanted

One day this week, Zippy and I were in the van together -- you know, the van that I have driven for 5 or 6 years.

The question from the backseat:  "Mama, is this a minivan?"

"Yes, it is."  I replied.

"Oooooooo!  I've always wanted a minivan!!  Wow!  I didn't know this was one!"

And there you have it.  I granted a boy's dreams and wishes -- just. . . like . . . that!

New Year's Hope

New Year's Eve, Paul had to work so Zippy slept in Paul's spot in the bed beside me -- a privilege the boys often fight over.  (And Mom loves it, knowing that in a few short years they won't want to sleep with me anymore.)  Zippy and I did not stay up to welcome the new year.  Instead, we went to bed around 10 and cuddled up close so we could sharemy new electric blanket.

Just about the time I thought he'd be asleep, he spoke in a sleepy little voice, "I can't believe tomorrow is 2010."

"Me either," I whispered back.

"I can't wait," he said in his groggy, slurred voice.

"Me either," I whispered back, smiling.

And then his next words came in the same groggy slur but were delivered with such authority and truth that I almost sat right up in bed.  "It's gonna be a really good year, Mama."

I seriously missed a breath or two while those words repeated in my mind.  It was weird and surprising how it struck me.  I felt like it was a message -- a promise, even -- from God.  I silently thanked God for it.  And as I listened to Zippy's little snore beside me, I claimed that statement for my family for this year.

"It's gonna be a really good year!"

Zip's Theology

As Zippy was putting on his socks and shoes, he was chanting over and over, "God is everywhere.  God is everywhere.  God is everywhere."

Then he stopped, looked at his sock and added, "He's even in my sock!"

Update

I mentioned that Zach had an appointment with his psychiatrist in this post, but I never updated you on it.  At that appointment we told the psychiatrist about the big ol fits Zach was throwing several times a day.  After hearing all about our latest issues, the psychiatrist decided that the behaviors we were seeing were all caused by his anxieties.  He was feeling so anxious all the time that he was literally on the edge constantly, and any little thing that was unexpected or undesirable would push him over that edge into a big ol crazy fit.

She wanted to medicate for his anxieties and see if that helped him.  So she prescribed Zoloft, an antidepressant.  The kid is so medicated already, but if this medicine will give him some peace back in his life, then we were eager to do it!  We started him off on a low dose and then increased it after a week.  It didn't take long at all for his huge fits to subside.  Now, let me assure you, he was still throwing fits, but they were more like the normal fits that kids throw. Big improvement very quickly.  I was a happy Mama. . .  for a few days . . .

But then I started noticing some disturbing behaviors.  The doctor had warned me to watch out for any manic behaviors, and if I saw any then I was to take him to ER for inpatient care.  Sometimes starting a child on an antidepressant may bring out some mania that is there but hasn't been noticed before.  The doctor even mentioned Bipolar Disorder, which sounds like a very scary diagnosis that I hope we avoid.  Especially since we don't know Zach's birth family psych history, then she had no idea if we would see manic behaviors.  (In Bipolar Disorder or schizophrenia, the manic side is the happy, up-side as compared to the depressive side.)

Zach was very chatty, jumping randomly from one topic to another sometimes in mid-sentence.  He was having a hard time pronouncing some words or thinking of some words because his thoughts were coming so fast and his mouth (which already had some issues) was trying to keep up.

He was (and still is) nearly unbearably annoying.  Just literally out of control.  Yelling, chanting, hitting, bumping into everything, jumping on our backs.  He was very disrespectful, laughing or shouting, "NO!" when asked to do something.  But it was somehow obvious that he wasn't meaning to be disrespectful; it was literally out of his control.

And he talked about death several times.  The doctor had mentioned that as a possibility, but I honestly couldn't even imagine what that would look like in an 8 year old.  But Zach, in his chattyness in one conversation told me several different ways that you could die playing sports.  Most of those were hypothetical about just a person, but he did also make it a little more personal in one conversation explaining a scenario that could kill him.  And there were several other conversations about death that he had with me.  It just seemed weird and random.  It wasn't really even alarming or morbid or anything, but it did make me think about the doctor mentioning "talk of death."

When I asked Zach's teacher what she was noticing, she reported that he couldn't pay attention or sit still at all.  "It's almost like he's nervous," she said.

So I called the doctor and told her what we were seeing.  After hearing the details, she decided to wean him off of the Zoloft -- it's not a good medicine for him.  Today is the last day he will take the medicine.  We will see the doctor tomorrow and see what she says and see which medicine we will try next.

She said the medicine will still be in his system for 3 or 4 days.  He is still out-of-control annoying, bless his heart!  And he has had a few big fits and is crying more easily than usual.  I suppose it's all part of coming off of the medicine.

<sigh>  It's all just part of the journey.  And Zach is totally worth whatever it takes!!

Brothers

I have to quick write this post before the situation changes . . . .   :)

Yesterday my boys played together beautifully!  They played together like the best of friends!  Their laughter filled the house and blessed the rest of us.

There was no fighting or whining or complaining or tattling.

They played a video game together in the morning, laughing and having a big ol time.  They rode bikes/scooters/skateboards in the afternoon.  They played ball together in the evening, laughing and cutting up.

Wowee!  It's as if someone came and changed their little sibling-rivalry hearts to best-friend hearts!  And the transformation is incredible!

I will not be hunting down that someone to find the old sibling-rivalry hearts, that's for sure!

What caused the change?  What makes the difference?  And what's the secret to making it last?

I don't know.  If I figure it out, I'll let you know.  I'm just hoping it sticks for at least a couple of days . . . . a few more hours. . . .  I can hope, right?!

A big BIG Day

Zachary met his birth mom for the first time this summer!!  What a big day!

We went on vacation to Michigan, and spent a couple of days in Detroit.  One of the days, we spent several hours at theHenry Ford Museum with Zach's birth mom, Miss C.

Over the course of the past 8 years, we have exchanged letters and photos with Miss C.  She has sent photos of her children -- Zach's birth brothers and sisters -- and updates on each of them.  We have sent letters every 9-12 months, updating Miss C on things that are going on here.

We talk about Miss C and pray for her all the time.  When Zach started showing interest in meeting her, we decided that it was time to go to Michigan.  We were all so excited for the day to come when Zach could meet Miss C for the first time!

When the day arrived, Zachary was surprisingly nervous.  I had never seen him like that at all.  He was quiet and awkward, where usually he is noisy and excited.  (Good noisy, usually!)  Miss C brought her two youngest children (16 and 17 years old) with her so Zach was able to meet two of his birth siblings, too!

When we first saw each other, there were introductions and hugs all around.  A sweet, sweet reunion.  Miss C would have been satisfied just to sit and hold Zippy on her lap, I think.  She would have been thrilled with hugs and hand-holding and major connecting, but Zach was SO nervous!  He did beautifully and was sweet and respectful, but he was quiet and a little bit distant.  He really felt the hugeness of meeting Miss C for the first time.

Several times during our time together, Miss C grabbed me in a strong embrace, whispering thanks in my ear.  How could she ever find words??  How could I ever find words to say back??  But where our words fell short, our physical touch, our eye contact, our amazing shared love for a precious, nervous 8-year-old filled in the gaps.

We had a lovely time.  We made some amazing memories.

When it was time to go, Zachary spontaneously went to Miss C with a hug and said goodbye.  Then he went to his birth brother and sister and did the same.  He wished the visit could go on and on, but he was so relieved it was over.

On the way to the car, Zach said he wished he would have asked Miss C what her favorite sport is.  And what she likes to watch on TV.  And what her favorite food is.

We hope to take another trip to Michigan this winter to hang out with Miss C again.  He'll still be nervous, I'm sure, but I'm hoping that each time will get easier and more comfortable.

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Did you know that November is National Adoption Month?  An astounding statistic: over 100,000 children in the United States are waiting to be adopted! More than 143 million orphans worldwide are waiting to be adopted!  What can we do? We can adopt!  And we can sponsor!  And we can pray!  Visit Bethany Christian Services or this site for more information.

Spilling the Beans

I told Zach about Mrs. K a couple of nights before our first appointment.  I told him that Mrs. K is a good person to talk to about anger and fears and feelings and that she would help him with all of that.  He, as usual, was totally fine with the idea of going to another "doctor."

But the night before the appointment as we were sitting at the table eating dinner, the boys started talking about the Thanksgiving lunch that the school cafeteria makes.  They both ranted and raved about it:  pumpkin pie!  stuffing!  turkey! gravy!  It is November so they knew it must be coming up soon.  Zachary informed us with lots of emotion that he had missed the Thanksgiving lunch last year because of a doctor appointment.  "I sure hope I don't miss it this year!" he exclaimed.

I was amazed that he remembered he had missed the special lunch last year and was sure he wouldn't miss this year's since we don't have many appointments scheduled.  To reassure him that he wouldn't miss the lunch, I said, "Well, as long as it's not tomorrow or next Tuesday or next Thursday, then you'll be there for the lunch."

Both boys immediately got up from the table and ran to the fridge to check the school lunch calendar.  A few seconds later, I knew that the special lunch must be scheduled for one of the three days I just mentioned because Elliot let out a heavy, "Oh, no!!" and Zippy started freaking out.

"It's tomorrow . . .," Elliot said.

I quickly realized that this appointment with a lady who is supposed to help Zach with his emotions and anxieties was turning out to be adding to his troubles.  If the Thanksgiving lunch was really that important to him, then I wanted him to be able to eat it.  And I mostly was feeling desperate to help calm him.  So I told him he didn't have to go to the appointment. Mrs. K had given me the choice of coming alone the first time or coming with Zach the first time.  I had thought we would come together, but I would be going alone after all.

So on Thursday at noon, while Zippy was thoroughly enjoying the Thanksgiving lunch at school, I met with Mrs. K to talk about him.  I liked Mrs. K.  We talked for about 45 minutes -- her asking questions and me answering them.

It is an amazing thing to put Zachary's issues and history into a nutshell.  It is amazing to stop and listen to myself list off the things that that child deals with . . . the things he "was dealt."  And it was amazing to watch Mrs. K, someone who knows the seriousness of the issues, to react to one, after another, after another, after another thing as it was revealed.

"Oh, and he has a seizure disorder," I said.

And we  continued to talk.  And Mrs. K's sympathy and surprise was obvious as I told her more and more things.  Things that are "old hat" to us.  They are life for us.

"Oh, and he has asthma."

Mrs. K flipped to a new page and  continued writing, shaking her head in amazement.

Listing all the details in one sitting like this feels a little overwhelming.  Even a little embarrassing for some reason.  I think it is embarrassing because it just seems so exaggerated and ridiculous.

"Oh, and he has an anaphylactic allergy to peanuts.  It is one of his biggest anxieties."

Mrs. K tells me that she has peanut butter crackers in her office today, but that next time we're there she will not have peanut butter.  She even decides that bringing peanut butter crackers in her office was a very bad idea to begin with.  I thought that was funny and cute and sweet.

"Oh, and he has ADHD."

Jeez, how did I forget to say that earlier?  This part is also embarrassing.  That I forgot to say he had ADHD.  Forgot?  How can a mom forget something like that?  That's one of the reasons we called Mrs. K to begin with.  Jeez.  What else had I forgotten to tell her?

"Oh, yeah.  He's black, and the rest of us are white."

Mrs. K put down her pen and looked at me.  Had she heard enough?  Had she decided that this mama sitting on her couch was making all this stuff up?  Was she mad that I was spilling the beans in a random order and messing up her note-taking?

But she answered with much sympathy, "Bless his heart.  He has so much to deal with."  And shaking her head again, she picked up her pen and continued writing.

She asked about Zach's sibling relationships.  I told her I thought they were pretty normal.  He and Elliot play and are friends, but they also fight a lot like brothers do.  And he adores Chloe. . . .

"He enjoys Chloe," I said.  "He likes to play with her.  But he sometimes gets so angry with her. . . .  Did I tell you that Chloe has special needs?"

Mrs. K froze.  She put her pen down.  Uh-oh.   I guess I hadn't mentioned that before.  Then she looked at me.  "How do you do it?  Are you so overwhelmed?" she asked.

"Sometimes," I replied.  "But usually not. . . .  We just carry on.  It's just life."

"It's YOUR life," she corrected, reminding me that our ordinary days are not really ordinary days at all.

"Yes, it's my life."

And it's Zach's life.

And Mrs. K is going to help him deal with it.  She will meet him in a couple of weeks.  I think she's going to like him.