The Fits
While separated, I talked and talked and talked. To my mom, my sisters, my friends--anyone who would listen, really. I just tried to mix it up so I didn't burden any one person too often. Everyone kept asking the same question: "How are the children"? I didn't really know--I was anxious all the time, but truly, they seemed okay. Well, except for maybe one thing. I wasn't sure if it had any correlation...
When I left Greg, I went to Chicago for three months and stayed with my parents. During that time, Leo's "temper tantrums" reigned supreme. Leo's intensity level mirrored my own. The smallest favor sent him into a frenzy of delight; while the slightest disappointment threw him into a complete tailspin. It wasn't unusual behavior for me, so I didn't think it was a big deal. After all, he was still a toddler. My parents found it unusual, and weren't shy about their disappoval, but they both thought it was a reaction to the anxiety and anger within our household.
As time went on, the "fits" as we began to call them, increased in both length, intensity level, and frequency. In preschool, the teachers recommended I hold him back. "But he's so big" I countered. Although they agreed--he was a half a head taller than his peer group--they still thought he would "grow out of it". I hoped they were right, but I began to realize this was definitely NOT NORMAL. I held him back. Don't get me wrong, I know lots of kids and I've seen lots of tantrums. These were different. There was complete and utter rage. And, although it was outwardly visible, the rage itself was turned inward. The child truly looked like he was going to explode. First, his whole body went rigid. When you touched him, he was stone. Then, the redness would begin around his neck and rise through his face to the top of his head. Next, he'd begin to shake. Little shakes, like the ones people who have Lou Gehrigs disease. He held his breath. And held it, and held it. He would then hyperventilate. When he was a toddler, I could hold him until his little body couldn't take it anymore and he'd let it out. But as he grew, he was so heavy and rigid; I could no longer physically hold him.
I began the process of trying to figure out what was wrong. I thought it was all my fault. Or Greg's. Of course this little boy was angry. He lived in three different homes and he was not yet 4. His parents were fussing with one another--and now he only saw his dad on the weekends. I started with therapy. Every week, I took him to a family therapist and, together, we talked to him and tried to get to the root of the problem. He was incredibly articulate for a 4 and a half year old, and helped us both to understand his extreme sensitivitly--and she helped me find strategies to settle him down a bit.
Although they never went away, the fits did seem to lessen in frequency. For a while. The second year of preschool and kindergarten went by with only 3-4 incidents per year. I knew we'd be out of the woods by first grade.
WRONG. When Leo was six (end of kindergarten), Greg and i were back together and living in the same house again. This was a super slow process (another blog) and the kids were both thrilled. However, by the second week of first grade, the teacher was calling daily. This time, I took him for a full round of tests. Regular pediatrician (didn't know), Disability specialist pediatrician (unclear), Occupational therapist (no-very capable), back to family therapy (what else?). Basically, people who knew him just got used to the fact that--when something didn't go his way--he was going to lose it. His teacher worked really hard with us, and us with her. We just couldn't find anything classically wrong. Another year of angst.
Over the summer, it was always better. Less stress, more fun. Fewer fits. Every summer, I figured this was the year he would outgrow them.
Second grade, week one: Call from Teacher. "Is there something you want to tell me about Leo?" "Oh yeah--he has fits. Did n't the first grade teacher tell you? " We have taken him to many many doctors and we can't get a diagnosis. She clearly had an answer. She wanted him medicated. But quick.
To be continued.
When I left Greg, I went to Chicago for three months and stayed with my parents. During that time, Leo's "temper tantrums" reigned supreme. Leo's intensity level mirrored my own. The smallest favor sent him into a frenzy of delight; while the slightest disappointment threw him into a complete tailspin. It wasn't unusual behavior for me, so I didn't think it was a big deal. After all, he was still a toddler. My parents found it unusual, and weren't shy about their disappoval, but they both thought it was a reaction to the anxiety and anger within our household.
As time went on, the "fits" as we began to call them, increased in both length, intensity level, and frequency. In preschool, the teachers recommended I hold him back. "But he's so big" I countered. Although they agreed--he was a half a head taller than his peer group--they still thought he would "grow out of it". I hoped they were right, but I began to realize this was definitely NOT NORMAL. I held him back. Don't get me wrong, I know lots of kids and I've seen lots of tantrums. These were different. There was complete and utter rage. And, although it was outwardly visible, the rage itself was turned inward. The child truly looked like he was going to explode. First, his whole body went rigid. When you touched him, he was stone. Then, the redness would begin around his neck and rise through his face to the top of his head. Next, he'd begin to shake. Little shakes, like the ones people who have Lou Gehrigs disease. He held his breath. And held it, and held it. He would then hyperventilate. When he was a toddler, I could hold him until his little body couldn't take it anymore and he'd let it out. But as he grew, he was so heavy and rigid; I could no longer physically hold him.
I began the process of trying to figure out what was wrong. I thought it was all my fault. Or Greg's. Of course this little boy was angry. He lived in three different homes and he was not yet 4. His parents were fussing with one another--and now he only saw his dad on the weekends. I started with therapy. Every week, I took him to a family therapist and, together, we talked to him and tried to get to the root of the problem. He was incredibly articulate for a 4 and a half year old, and helped us both to understand his extreme sensitivitly--and she helped me find strategies to settle him down a bit.
Although they never went away, the fits did seem to lessen in frequency. For a while. The second year of preschool and kindergarten went by with only 3-4 incidents per year. I knew we'd be out of the woods by first grade.
WRONG. When Leo was six (end of kindergarten), Greg and i were back together and living in the same house again. This was a super slow process (another blog) and the kids were both thrilled. However, by the second week of first grade, the teacher was calling daily. This time, I took him for a full round of tests. Regular pediatrician (didn't know), Disability specialist pediatrician (unclear), Occupational therapist (no-very capable), back to family therapy (what else?). Basically, people who knew him just got used to the fact that--when something didn't go his way--he was going to lose it. His teacher worked really hard with us, and us with her. We just couldn't find anything classically wrong. Another year of angst.
Over the summer, it was always better. Less stress, more fun. Fewer fits. Every summer, I figured this was the year he would outgrow them.
Second grade, week one: Call from Teacher. "Is there something you want to tell me about Leo?" "Oh yeah--he has fits. Did n't the first grade teacher tell you? " We have taken him to many many doctors and we can't get a diagnosis. She clearly had an answer. She wanted him medicated. But quick.
To be continued.
posted by Ask Me Anything at Sunday, April 29, 2007
11 Comments:
Not enough has been made how your writing sounds just like your talking, and that is a HUGE compliment! I'm glad you're telling this part of the story. Other parents of explosive children SO need to hear it!
love.
I'm curious to know what unfolds.
P.S. I'm with Leo - summer's great and I'm glad it's almost here!
How utterly frustrating and exhausting! My oldest had similar episodes, although not quite as intense, and we found we could make great strides with a certified play therapist (versus one she talked to).
Kario, This therapist was actually a "play" one, as well, and we love her.
Hey Terry -- great to read another chapter . . . hope all is well with you
I love the tone of your writing, how accessible it is. How serious and honest and witty at the same time.
I look forward to the rest of this story and also the to the post about the super slow process of you and Greg getting back together.
Your honesty about yourself and Greg and your relationship is absolutely amazing. Your honesty as a human being is enviable, and so is your writing. You describe the "fits" so well, it's as if we're standing there watching this poor kid unable to tell you what's going on.
You are that person that is always going for the answers, no matter how difficult.
Fantastic post Terry.
Please continue this one soon.
As the mother of an explosive child, I know how difficult it can be, and I know how much it can feel like you're chasing your tail while looking for help.
My son is now 24 and sometimes still has issues with anger management.
Seriously looking forward to more of this story.
Your honesty is a gift to others. We learn so much as we journey through motherhood and I'm grateful for your sharing. Looking forward to hearing more.
Terry, I get it.
Totally.
I hope your Leo is doing well.
(Are fits are fewer and further in between these days).
Oh...and anyone reading, Ross Green's "The Explosive Child" is the best book out there for kids with low frustration tolerance!
Have I mentioned that I draw enormous strength every time I read you? Geez, I so wish you were going to be in Sisters!
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