The Head Wound

Not too long ago, my oldest, the one with PTSD, had a meltdown. A really big meltdown where he was beyond reason and needed some space to calm down. At our house, we have practiced moving the whole family to a different area so D can have room to calm down safely - he gets a little like a Tasmanian devil at times. During this meltdown, for whatever reason, I decided that it just wasn't fair to always rearrange the whole family for one kiddo. I was walking D to his room, holding his hand, and he gave a big yank. He bumped his head, not very hard, on the door frame we were walking past. He said something like, "Ow," but that was it. When we got to his room, he sat down and was continuing his fit. At the same time, we both saw a drop of blood fall on the floor. Since neither one of us knew he had really injured himself, we were shocked. Well, blood, surprises, and heightened emotions don't mix well for a kid with PTSD. Immediately, he started hyperventilating. I calmly called for my husband and my friend who were both in the other room. The first priority was to get rid of the blood so D could calm down. Apparently he bonked his head right on the part of the door where the door where the lock is. You know, the only metal part of the door. Fortunately, it was in his hair, so we knew we wouldn't have to get stitches as long as we could get the bleeding stopped. Bringing my son to get stitches would be just as traumatic as the initial injury, so we definitely avoid those when possible. After stopping the bleeding and then calming him down, we were able to discuss the incident. When I asked what he learned from the head wound, he responded, "You should listen to your mom when she says take a break or you can crack your head open." Well, I guess he understood the main point....kind of. What did I learn? Our plan of moving the other people instead of him is probably not "fair," but it is the best plan - stick to the plan!

PTSD and Vacation

I am not an expert in trauma or PTSD. In fact, I really only started caring about it last spring when I discovered the depth of 6-year-old's trauma during a birthday party . We have been pretty 'incident free" since then. Yes, trauma affects my child's behaviors and thought processes, but we haven't had any major incidents since last June…until yesterday.

Spring break is here, and my in-laws offered to take my kiddos for for four days so I could pack the house for our upcoming move to the big house. The kids would get to see their uncle and have some special experiences with the in-laws while I pack the house and take care of some appointments that are difficult to schedule when I am working. Knowing the kids get nervous about "new things," we explained that they would be on vacation with the grandparents for four days, and then return home. Immediately my oldest said he didn't want to leave me because I might be lonely, and I shouldn't have to pack everything myself. This was a warning sign that I didn't pick up on.

Flash forward to yesterday. At lunch time, my phone had several messages on it from school and my husband. My son had an earache and needed to come home. My husband would pick him up and take him to work with him. Upon pickup, my son lost it. He sobbed and screamed, unable to explain the problem. His "earache" turned out to be a bleeding ear from him scratching it raw. My husband is very calm and patient, and he was able to get my son calmed down. They called me, and I asked some questions, discovering that he was very concerned about going away. In his mind, he was moving to his grandparents' house, and would no longer have any parents. He began hyperventilating and sobbing again, so my husband brought him home and called me again. I decided that, although my son wasn't sick, he really was sick. I went home for the day.

By the time I arrived home, my husband and son were settled nicely. He was ready to eat lunch and play. We decided he needed to go back to school….and he needed to stay with us. So, I did what any mother of a child with PTSD would do; I called the school to see if I could stay there the rest of the day with him. They made a nice table in the hallway for me to do work while he returned to his first-grade classroom. About every 15 minutes, he found a reason to come out and check in with me. This continued for three hours. I started to feel a bit paranoid, surely all of the paras and teachers thought I was overprotective and a bit crazy.

The day ended without incident, and my children and I got into our car to head home. I always drive with the windows down when we leave school so that I can hear what is going on around me in addition to looking out for little ones running around. As we got to the crosswalk, a teacher approached my window and said, "You are a wonderful mother." I was quite surprised and stammered something like, "I…I just felt he needed me here today." She nodded her head and repeated, "You are a wonderful mother." At that moment, I realized that my paranoia and worry about what others think will never keep me from supporting and comforting my son. Even if other people think PTSD is an excuse, I know that I am doing what is best.

Will he decide to go on vacation or to stay home with me? I don't know, but I am okay with whatever he decides.

A Birthday Bash(ed)

So today was a pretty great day overall. We took the kids to the library to try out the "literacy stations." It was pretty wonderful! They played very nicely, checked out some books, and then left without incident. We were impressed! Having had other kiddos before, we were sure someone would be disappointed when time was up on the computer. We just knew someone would have a major meltdown, but we were wrong! Then we came back, took a rest, and I got ready to take my 6 year old to his first friend birthday party. I figured this was destined to be a disaster, ending in tears over not getting presents, having to leave, or something of the like. I was prepared for a meltdown.

Did I mention it was a water themed birthday party? Squirt guns, water balloons, and hoses. How fun for a group of boys! Upon arrival, my kiddo was a bit slow to warm up. He was acting distant and sulky. I played with him a bit and tried to get him engaged with the others. This is a kid who is normally Mr. Gregarious! What was going on? He started to skirt the perimeter, and I know something was seriously wrong. Being a loving mother, I called him to sit on my lap. I talked with him calmly to try to figure out what the problem was.

And then it happened. Someone popped a huge water balloon right in our faces. BOOM! It was all over. Yep, I forgot that my child is terrified of balloons. Water balloons? Apparently. The balloons in the yard to mark the location? Yep. The balloons tied to the chair I was now sitting in? Yessireee. He went into a fetal position on my lap and covered his ears. I tried to talk to him. Not happening. I brought him in the house and coaxed his hands away from his ears. I talked calmly to him, explaining I was sad that he was scared and that I would be happy to take him home and do something else fun if he was scared. The birthday boy's mom offered for him to come back another time. We made it clear we were not angry; we just wanted him to be happy. But then she mentioned cake. What kid is going to leave when cake is an option? So he decided to stick it out.

As the other kids sang "Happy Birthday," my son was covering his face mumbling, "I am scared. I am angry. I am frustrated." He was clearly still very upset. So, I did what any good mother-of-a-foster-adopt-child-who-has-been-through-trauma-and-sensory-issues would do. I decided to make the choice for my son. I decided we were going to leave. I told him he was not in trouble, but that I wanted him to feel happy and safe, so we were going to go home. He lost it.

We went to the car, and I tried to reason with him. I asked if he wanted to calm down so he could try the cake again. Nope, still scared. I asked if he wanted to go home. Nope, want cake. I drove home. He screamed all the way home that I was being mean. I continued to ask if he wanted to go back to the balloon party. No way, but he didn't want to go home. He wanted an impossible solution. I wanted it all over. I drove the worst 10 minutes of my life, and arrived home frazzled. At one point, sadly, I yelled at him. Not a you-are-being-naughty-and-I've-had-enough-of-this kind of yell. A I-love-you-so-much-that-I-am-taking-you-home-so-you-are-safe-and-can-do-something-fun kind of yell. Does that make it any better???? No, I don't think it does.

When we arrived home, I yelled for back up. My husband spent several minutes calming him down from his near-hyperventilation state. He explained everything that I had tried to rationalize with him while he was freaking out, and my amazing son apologized for his behavior. I told him there was nothing for him to apologize for because he was scared and not thinking. I explained that my job as his mom is to keep him safe, and that I had to make a decision to keep him safe, even if he didn't like it. It was a rough experience for both of us, but I think we learned something from each other.

Then we went in the backyard and played in the pool. What else can you do? His behavior was irrational, as was his fear. I can't punish something that he couldn't control. I can try to help him learn. I can ask his therapist for advice. I can avoid balloons. I can apologize for yelling. I can love him even when his behavior is soooo different than other kids his age.There it is. His first birthday party - bashed.