Tom and I just got home from six hours at the psychiatric hospital.  Not with our son, Tim, who I often write about in this blog, but with our daughter.

We adopted two of our three children – Tim and our daughter ('The Girl', I call her on my blog, as she prefers I not use her real name).  Tim’s mental health issues were a surprise, as we brought him home from the hospital 10 hours after birth, and we weren’t savvy enough to include mental health family history in the questions we asked of his birth parents.  The Girl is another story.  She came to us at age four from foster care, after being born severely premature, drug addicted, and cycling through approximately nine foster homes before ours, with a diagnosis of Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD). We knew there would be issues. She’s come a long way, thanks to therapy and a more stable environment, but the years that Tim was home and seriously unstable took their toll, and two years ago her therapist said she was showing signs of PTSD, as we all were. 

Fast forward to three months ago when she suddenly stopped eating.

I have experienced all of these symptoms after almost losing my daughter to the devastating effects of bipolar disorder during the initial years of diagnosis, medication trials and compliance. My husband and her dad pointed out to me just the other day that he thought we both had a case of “mild post-traumatic stress.” I have a good friend whose husband has severe PTSD. I do not suggest that the symptoms that we have experienced even compare to the disabling symptoms he experiences. But I do think that parents and caretakers should be aware and tend to the aftershocks of their child’s illness.

After an hour reviewing the recent issues with breakthrough psychosis, the extreme anxiety around the requisite blood draws to check white blood cell count, and the real issue of this being the least stable time of year, I heard Tim’s new psychiatrist say the words that I knew were the right decision, but vex me nonetheless: "let’s leave him on the Clozaril, add 100 mg at midday, and postpone any big medication changes until his impending move to an 18 and over facility in May."

I know these statistics well. I know that educators have a unique opportunity to recognize and support students struggling with depression yet often are either unaware or simply aren’t sure of the severity or need for intervention and therefore do nothing. Parents may well be in the same camp. Is it “teenage angst”? Growing pains? Typical of a child who may be in the middle of a family crisis? A young person having problems with friends, feeling left out or deserted?

In my last blog, I talked about the positives of being open with a child about his/her diagnosis. But just like "the birds and the bees," learning about bipolar disorder or depression is not about one big conversation. It involves many small conversations over years. It’s also about creating openness so that your child can feel free to come to you with questions.

“Will there be a time when I will ever stop worrying about my daughter?”

“Will my son ever be able to support himself? Will he find someone to love him? Will he ever be independent?”

“Will I ever be able to let go? If my daughter has children will I need to prepare to take care of them?”

My daughter and I recently had the honor of presenting at the Children’s Mental Health Conference, sponsored by Florida Gulf Coast University. There was an interesting question posed at the conference – "Did you tell your children everything the doctor said?" This question made me think about the first time I took my son to the psychiatrist. I asked if my son should leave the room for us to talk privately. The doctor’s reply set the stage for how we handled information disclosure in the future.

I’m tired. I’m not sure if it’s the weather changing or the days getting shorter, or the seemingly endless IEP triennial meetings lately, but I am flat out exhausted. What’s worse is I’m irritated and guilty about being exhausted, which is making me weepy and giddy and surly. It’s like I’m having my first hypomanic episode – 10 minutes ago I wanted to call up my friends and get them all together to go out to dinner tonight, and now I feel like crawling into my bed with a glass of milk and a book.

If you score 100 percent on a test, you get an A+. If you have 100% attendance, you receive an award. If a company has 100 percent on their safety record, management may reward employees. So, today I guess I get an A+. The speech therapist told my youngest, “Congratulations, you tried out for the team and made it!” I thought that was a clever and positive way to also say that my youngest is now on an IEP for speech as his older brother before him. Next, add in the additional two being on IEPs for bipolar disorder and learning disabilities.