It's true that our "kingdom" at present doesn't amount to much, and as many odd things as I've encountered thus far, I really haven't gotten the impression from anyone involved that the offer of a deck badly in need of refinishing or a falling-down fence or even the pond full of peep-peep-peeping frogs would significantly improve our odds of being helped, but whatever we do have, I would happily offer it in exchange for the ability to: 1) Locate an appropriate child psychologist, 2) discover said professional takes our insurance, 3) admire said professional's extensive experience in dealing...
Things have been going along pretty well, post-Monkey-carving. Some might even say TOO well. (Please cue up the foreboding music of your choice right here. I'll wait.) Despite my fears that post-surgical Monkey would be a giant ball of pain and anguish and HULK ANGRY HULK SMASH misguided energy, for the most part, post-surgical Monkey has been calm and agreeable and positively robot-like in his apparent inability to recognize that he might be in any pain at all, most of the time. In fact, I was just reading Jean's post about Jack's recent dental work and laughing that slightly hysterical "Oh...
Monkey's recovery continues apace. Yesterday was briefly a bit rough---he woke up in pain, pain bad enough for him to recognize---but with enough drugs TLC we were able to smooth things out and have a pretty uneventful day. By bedtime he was looking kind of ragged again, though, and as I gave him his last dose of pain meds I said, "How ya doing, buddy?" and he crawled into bed saying, "Not so good, actually." So either I've already made him into a full-fledged drug addict who doesn't deal well with the monkey on his back (ha! a monkey on Monkey's back!), or it turns out that having a bunch...
The surgery was quick and his initial confusion and anger afterward was mercifully short-lived. He's talking, drinking, and absolutely loving that he can play as much Nintendo as he wants. (Puppy says he just LOVES Pokemon Ranger, and also that tonsils and adenoids and tubes are stupid. Now get him some more apple juice!) We'll go home in a few hours. I already feel better.
You may have noticed things are a bit... sparse... around here, lately. Ahem. There's only so many times and so many ways I can write "My child has LOST HIS FOOL MIND and life is WEARING ME DOWN" before I just back away from the computer and curl up in the corner for a while. There have been good days and bad days. Rather than building up a thicker skin and greater patience, I find that my ability to deal gracefully with Monkey's rough periods is eroding. This has been dragging on for months, now, and my reaction when he's busy morphing into Angry Delusional Hulkboy starts with about a...
Me, upon hearing that we are finally going to DO SOMETHING to rid Monkey of this insidious plague of yuck: Oh, THANK GOD. Monkey, upon hearing that he will be relieved of a few extra parts: Great, why don't you just remove ALL of my organs! Apparently you think I'm not USING THEM or anything! (Yes, Monkey is furious with me. I can live with that.) (Friday. Life begins again on Friday, I hope.)
One of the things I truly struggle with, when it comes to Monkey---still---is that he is pretty much a black belt master in rationalization. He has an answer, a justification, an explanation, for EVERYTHING. Most of the time his conclusions make no sense whatsoever. They come off as elaborate, implausible lies invented by someone who is the world's worst liar. I often look at him and wonder HOW someone so smart can think that what he's saying makes any sense at all. But then I (slowly, and with many internal "DUH!"s) realize that this is what life with Asperger's is like for him; so many...
I meant to come back yesterday and talk a little bit about what the ENT told us; we are reaching the end of the "first line" treatment plan for Monkey's infection, and while I adore the ENT, I think he was unprepared for Monkey's reaction when he said, "Well, if this doesn't work, we go to surgery. Oh, don't worry, we just drill a little hole in your ear and---" Yeah. Monkey---shockingly!---is not interested in letting the good doctor take a drill to his head! Go figure! He voiced his displeasure with this plan, yes indeed. Basically, we can't SEE the infection in the mastoid/sphenoid areas...
The holiday break is over, and we are back on the specialist merry-go-round in the continuing saga of Monkey And The Head Infection That Actually Isn't Just Autism, Thanks. More on that tomorrow, just as soon as I figure out what number chapter we're up to and I stop hitting my head against the desk. But yesterday we arrived at the ENT's office for a visit, and the doc was kind enough to offer Monkey the big glass jar of lollipops right at the main reception desk, before we even began. There was a moment there when I worried this was going to end badly---the doctor, being playful, was moving...
