I’m almost afraid to say this out loud…
I’m nervous that I’ll jinx it, or that by speaking it out loud, events will make me a liar.
So… come in close, will you? Bring your ear to me… closer. Touch some wood, will you? Shhh..
I think that Ray’s medication is working.
He’s still Ray, and still essentially contrary, but the scenes- the screaming, the glowering looks, the yelling at us- those have all decreased dramatically. He’s eating more. He’s sleeping better. I’m having a glimpse of the “real” Ray. And you know what? I kindof really, really like him.
He’s funny. He’s doing his homework with only mild protest. He’s enjoying school. He handles transitions better. He still has tics. He still sulks. He’s still “deaf” when it comes to setting the table and getting ready, his room is still a mess, and he still doesn’t wear underwear if he can get away with it, but the fights to change those things are less. The intensity of our interventions are less, but more effective. The essential contrariness and irritability patterns haven’t been changed- but it’s muted. It’s manageable. He’s still Ray- but less so.
He’s on Daytrana during the day- 5mg- and Clonidine at night- 5 mg, and I’m grateful that the medications allow him clarity to respond to us, rather than losing him to the clouds of emotion, tiredness, and anxiety. I’m grateful that the medications allow me the clarity to be able to reach him, rather than being lost in my own clouds of reaction, tiredness, and anxiety.
I’m afraid to trust this. I’m afraid to depend on this. I know that things- tests, events, weather, illness- can undo it all in a moment.
But for right now, we’re reaching him, and for that, I’m grateful. I’m deeply, deeply grateful.