It’s a hot summer day in Oklahoma. Over 100 degrees outside. The girls are at Kankauk Kamp – singing worship
songs and learning how much Jesus loves them.
HOTY is out of town all week. And
I’m sitting in a psychologists office.
“From the extensive
testing your family did, I believe your daughter is within the scale of being
clinically diagnosed with ADHD.”
****
When Molly was three, and we’d just moved to Kansas, we
registered for a program called Parents as Teachers, primarily for babies birth
to three years old. For over a year, a
sweet lady named Dorothy came to give us tips on sleep training, transitioning
to solids, and so on. But at each of her
visits, I spent the majority of time asking for advice on getting Molly to
follow directions, focusing on tasks or all-around parenting skills to cope
with my ever-challenging preschooler.
I remember calling a good friend when Molly as five, who was
also a reputable Nurse Practitioner, asking advice on if I should have Molly go
to counseling for difficult behavior and our daily struggles at home. She gave me a couple of names, but soothed my
worries telling me she was an absolute wonderful child and there was nothing
wrong with her. I never called any of
the names she suggested.
In Kindergarten, I remember a teacher pointing out that
Molly had a hard time with testing, especially when asked verbally in front of
the class. In First Grade, timed math
tests produced more tears and frustrations than any actual positive results. In Second Grade, I can’t count the times I
texted her teacher giving her a heads up that we’d had a horrible morning
getting Molly ready for school and that she might need some extra love that
day.
That same year, after having a rough time with her at Disney
World (yes, Disney World!), HOTY and I had a long discussion on the way home
and decided we needed to find some outside help. Upon the referral of a friend, I took her to
a local “ADHD specialist”. The man was
incredibly hard to get an appointment with, so after two months of waiting, we
finally sat in his office. My stomach
was a ball of nerves and I was doing my best to keep Molly sheltered from the
real reason we were there. The last
thing I wanted was to make her feel bad about herself. He came in for fifteen minutes, asked me some
questions that I answered only half-truthfully in fear that Molly might
overhear, and then told me that Molly was “borderline ADHD” and gave me some
medication samples. We were in and out
of there in less than 30 minutes.
The entire drive home I felt sick to my stomach. I’m not anti-medication, but giving my
daughter prescription drugs based on a “drive-through” diagnosis did not sit well
with me. Nonetheless, I went ahead and
took the prescription to the pharmacy to go ahead and have once the samples
were gone. When the pharmacist informed
me that the monthly dosage would be $300, I felt almost relieved. It gave me an easy out to not give Molly the
medication. So I went home and trashed
the samples.
Throughout the next year I continued my search to be a
better parent for my “not-as-easy-as-her-sister” child. I listened to podcasts, read more parenting
books, pinned more articles on Pinterest.
Some days were great. Some days
weren’t.
This summer, after the recommendation of our family counselor,
I took Molly to another psychologist.
Another “ADHD expert”. This time,
he sat with us for over an hour, asking questions to both of us, listening to
our answers and suggesting ways to make things easier at home. He sent us home with an array of questionnaire
tests and asked us to mail them back upon completion. Part of the tests were for Molly on her own,
so over a series of days, I asked her to complete them. I assured her that it was something that
would help her and when she asked if I wouldn’t look, I promised I wouldn’t. I answered the parent booklet and within a
week, I’d mailed it back to the doctor.
Six weeks later, there I was, confirming a diagnosis that I’d
known for years. While everyone else told
me that she was a completely normal kid, just like her peers, I knew she wasn’t. While everyone saw her generous heart, her
sweet nature, her love of little kids, I saw beyond to her inability to keep
track of time, her impulsive behavior, her anger and frustrations towards her
sister, her anxiety in social settings.
And yet, my world seemed to turn upside down with that
diagnosis.
Going forward, I don’t know what medications we’ll use or
how much help we’ll need from the school.
My heart hurts wondering how I’ll even tell her about the
diagnosis.
I lay awake at night reliving all the times that I handled
things wrongly and yelled at her for something I now know she couldn’t
help. I feel like I’m drowning in guilt.
But like all hard things in life, I focus on what has to be
done and start with one foot in front of the other. Doctors appointments have been made. ADHD books have been purchased. Articles and podcasts are downloaded to be
read and listened to. And all the while,
I’m hugging her closer to me and thanking the Lord for this chance to change things
in her life for the GOOD. I’m seeing her
through new eyes and that is a beautiful thing.
When she gets sidetracked when asked to do something, I find a new found
patience that wasn’t there before. I am
more empathetic to her struggles with her sister.
This is a new road for us.
One that I wanted documented. So
that one day I’ll look back and read how I felt when we first diverged onto the
path unknown.
Because one day, not so far away, it won’t feel like such a
scary thing.
