The Little Pill

It's been an emotionally draining couple of week.  Between never-ending illness for all of us, external job stresses, some expected and unexpected diagnosis for Little Bug, and having to fight for and then embrace some pretty big changes in our therapy approaches for Little Bug (most of which we had hoped not to have to embrace), I've become crippled with my own anxiety and pulled away from a lot, including blogging.

But this morning, I felt the plug pull, and I feel like I can write again.  In fact, I see the other side so clearly now, and it's a bright, happy, calm place.  It's a place our family is going to get to.

This blournal has really focused on late with Little Bug's needs, and that is because for about 9 months we've been working so hard and getting so sad and frustrated to see little to no results of the behavior therapies we have tried.  Desperation and insecurity are things I have had permanently weighing on my heart.  As a mother, I simply haven't know what best to do for my baby, and that insecurity when making choices is a poisonous feeling.

This morning I woke up and the first thing I thought about was the little blue pill that I needed to give to Little Bug.  The pill that I am terrified will steal the light out of my boy whose Korean name has "bright" in it for a reason.  The pill that Appa and I have tip-toed around for close to 9 months now, circling ever closer, but always hoping we could somehow avoid.

But we couldn't.  Little Bug's brain needs this blue pill.  And we'll be damned if Little Bug doesn't get exactly what he needs.

When I let a tear roll yesterday as the doctor wrote out the prescription, he told me that the first pill would be hard for me to give, but that it would be worth it for Little Bug and it would be okay.

Sure enough, my hands shook as I broke the capsule and sprinkled it over a small spoonful of apple sauce.  My voice wavered as I called him over to take him new "yummy" medicine.  And when I put the spoonful into his mouth, I actually buried my head in his glossy black hair and shed a couple tears.

I was scared I was killing his bright light.  I was sad he had to struggle daily.  I was sorry I couldn't help him enough on my own.

But I was also really hopeful and it felt liberating.  Having a good doctor and a rock solid diagnosis that includes months and months (and months) of rating forms from home, doctor, and school and 9 months of failed behavior therapy behind us gives me the peace of mind to know that this absolutely, 100% is what he needs.

And to know, as a mother, that I am making the very best choice possible for my child is a powerful, wonderful thing. A conviction that I think doesn't come along every day.

In the grand scheme of life, medicating a child isn't the end of the world, and I know that. In a few short days I won't even think of it other than to deal with the side effects (if there are any on this low dose) and watch my child start learning to help himself be his best.

But it's the start of a huge new chapter in our son's life, and although he is too young to understand the risks and benefits, Appa and I are keenly feeling them for him today.  But that's what we keep circling back to, the benefits that outweigh the risks.  This feeling of hope we both have.

Today we did the right thing for our son.