I need to write. I need it to soothe my soul.
Yet what I need to write about is so difficult, so emotional, so painful for me, that I find myself doing everything but writing.
We have been seeing a new psychiatrist since mid-June. She is horrified by the amount of medication Noah is on. She wants to try and pull him off everything so she can see what his baseline is. She says it will be a long process; six months or more. He may end up hospitalized at some point. And she acknowledges that we may not be able to get him off everything.
Rich and I agree with her. We have been questioning the medications for a long time. Yet we trusted the previous psychiatrist. We needed to trust him. We had no reason not to trust him.
Now we need to trust the new psychiatrist (TNP).
TNP makes me uncomfortable sometimes. It was a rocky start between us. I was convinced after the first appointment that she doesn't like me and that she thinks I am the reason Noah is so messed up. I don't think she believes that now.
Now I think she has had a chance to see just how bad things are with Noah. How disconnected he can be. How disorganized his thinking is. How worried we are about him. How much we love him.
She indicated the disorganized thinking could be an indication of future psychosis.Or not.
Today she was concerned about how disconnected he seemed. That sometimes he just isn't "there."
I wanted to be a smart ass and say "uh, yeah, why do you think we are here?" But I didn't. I just nodded my head and said "yes, I know."
She told me last week that Noah is the extreme of the extreme of the outliers. He isn't a single diagnosis, or even two. He's multiple. And we don't even know all of them yet. Or what may spring up as he grows older.
My child is complex. My child is difficult. My child's future is unknown.
I haven't told you everything though. I can't tonight. I've cried enough for one day. Maybe tomorrow.