February 7, 2002 The office was way cool. The room was decorated in kid colors: upholstery that was red, green and blue vinyl, a door to the bathroom marked,"Potty," child designs on the floor, and free video games. Despite all of this, I was feeling a bit overwhelmed. I'd just driven an hour to be there through terrible wind. The wind in the desert is a bad thing because it blows rocks and sand onto your car and it's freaky driving with all that crap hitting your car and dodging periodic tumbleweeds. On top of the driving, I knew I had to drive back in it and that a big storm was coming, chock full of rain and lots more wind. The driving part and knowing that there was a good chance I was going to have to sit there and have them examine Russell after all that driving and do absolutely nothing for him were aggravating. When I walked into the examination room with Russell, I argued with them a bit about taking more x-rays because I knew the other dentist had just taken them and I'd taken special pains to make sure I'd brought the two week old set with me. They assured me that these x-rays I'd brought were crap, but then said they wouldn't charge me if insurance wouldn't cover the second set. I was a bit irritated about all of these things when the doctor walked in. He saw in Russell's chart that he is taking ritalin and handed me two pamphlets on the overmedication of children, while he told me that it was just his own personal campaign. *sigh* At that point, I was about ready to grab Russell and walk the FUCK out the door. I'm sorry, but what gives you the right, you high and mighty son of a bitch to fucking tell me whether I'm doing the right thing when you don't know me or my son!!!? I was at the point of considering institutionalizing my son because he posed a danger to himself and his family with his obsession with fire starting and his inability to manage his behavior. He'd done things that threatened the safety of his sister!! I was afraid I would hurt my son because I'd spent EIGHT AND A HALF YEARS working with him, trying to parent him with little success. I was frustrated beyond any point I thought I was capable of being frustrated past. HE was frustrated and angry and losing self esteem! My family's lives were impossible when this child was around. When Russell was gone out of the house, every single one of us sighed in relief that he was GONE! This child has hardly been off grounding for YEARS now and some STUPID son of a bitch tooth doctor has the NADS to tell me, the ADHD crowned PRINCESS, that I don't know ADHD when I see it and that I'm overmedicating my son. EAT SHIT AND DIE, Toothboy! I got beaten as a child and a young adult because girls didn't get ADHD and my parents HAD lost it and had taken to beating the crap out of me in response to undesirable behavior. By the time I graduated high school, I'd have just about dated anyone because I knew I was a piece of shit for a human being and that I deserved nothing but the lowest piece of scum for a partner. I was so sure I was a human piece of refuse that I didn't even deserve a partner. Whenever boys presented themselves as partners, I didn't feel I had option to choose, I grabbed the first one to offer himself up and hung on. The first few times it worked out fine. The next few times got progressively worse. Finally, I met a guy who'd made a hobby out of taking nice girls, beating the shit out of them, and turning them into prostitutes. Before I knew anything about him and his past, he convinced me to join him on another coast far from my family, friends, and any support system I had and beat me. While I was covered in bruises and he threatened more, he took naked pictures of me and threatened to send them to my parents if I didn't do everything he told me to. I was a good girl. I did what I was told. Of all the options I could have picked, I thought so little of myself, that I did what I was told. I'd learned to get beaten and do what I was told, so I followed what I knew. I'd work until the wee hours on weekends, and get up at 7AM on Sundays before he could get up, beat me, and take all my money, and I'd go to church begging God to forgive me for being such a bad person. I begged God to show me the way out. I begged God to kill me. I never ever want to see my children lose who they are. I never want my children to suffer like I did. I never want to lose it and beat my children. I want a better life for them. What parent doesn't? Caffeine helps me. Ritalin helps my son. Some stupid dumbass hippy dentist ought to stick to teeth. Toothboy finally determined that Russell has to have 4 teeth extracted. They are going to remove 2 permanent molars and two of the baby teeth that are hooked over them. Later, his 12 year molars and wisdom teeth will fill in the empty spaces. God fills my empty spaces -- my higher power. My weight protected me from men for a long time and now, I'm walking and eating that flimsy protection away. I know that in those wee hours of the weekends, that God protected me. Mostly, I know that because I'm not dead, hooked on drugs, or dying of AIDS. I know because I have an incredible loving husband who treats me like a princess. I know because I have gorgeous smart funny children. I know because I have a job I LOVE. I can protect my son, so I am. We tell him that his medication may not be forever. We explain that it's so he knows what "normal" feels like. We explain that we'll teach him to know when he's not functioning well, so he can get help if he needs it, if he chooses to go off the meds. I like my child right now because he is easy and fun to be around. More importantly, Russell likes himself right now because he finds the medication helps him. I never had a "normal" childhood because I was causing so much uproar in my family's lives. I understand the place my parents got to emotionally where smacking the snot out of me seemed reasonable. I drove by that a few times myself on the road to parenthood. Learning to get help and use medication judiciously took me years of abusive relationships, followed by years of therapy and occasional medication. Remember? 40 years ago, girls didn't get ADHD. Well, genetics still work after 40 years and so does ritalin. Bite my ass, Toothboy.
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