Between the overcast sky and the long wait for our appointment, the whole thing did not bode well.  J, of course, wanted to leave and used his standard “go in the car!” request repeatedly, but we all managed to keep our cool.  I explained several times “this is the doctor we talk to…we don’t get poked, prodded or jostled here.”

It is with great relief that I announce it went well.  Obviously not an eco-van sort of guy, but very kind, interactive and soothing.  Of course, we had to tell the whole story, and we had to add a little more because he did ask questions (which was, in fact, refreshing and, until now, completely unheard of) and followed them up with more questions.

I always leave any social or medical interaction feeling I’ve said too much.  I always ask my husband if I embarrassed myself, us, J or the person I was talking to…he reassured me that I hadn’t, and the doctor didn’t seem like he wanted me to take a leap out the window either.  Of course, being a psychiatrist he wouldn’t want me to do that or he’d end up possibly having me as a patient.

We felt reassured.  We were asked about our support network, and we had to admit that WE are our support network.  The doctor expressed concern about our apparent isolation, but understood that we are OK with not having lots of people around, that we seem to be flourishing in spite of…well…everything.

The visit also served the purpose of keeping the med as is, and the doctor understood our reasons for wanting to keep it that way.  Furthermore, both doctors will be working together to monitor J’s weight and help us help him help himself.  (That’s a lot of “help.”)  We also learned that the road we live on is not the best during winter, so we discussed four-wheel drive…the doctor, you see, lived in a townhouse on the same row where ours is until a year ago…this is not a big city, is it?

We talked about the meds, the sign language, the behavioral problems, the boxing gloves (which I’m sure he’ll mention at his next psychiatrists’ conference because, admit it, that’s pretty cool,) the PECS, the chores…we even talked about J’s fear of dogs and how this factors into taking walks around the neighborhood.  This doctor wanted to know how we feel, how we cope, how we keep it together…and didn’t nod while going “hmmm” and typing.  This doctor actually took handwritten notes!!!  Egads, Brain!!!!

By mid-January we will go in for another round of medical appointments, and we will hopefully work our way through a few pounds by then.  I have been very, very, very lax in my exercising…J and I dance together, but I don’t think that’s enough for either one of us.

I woke up this morning feeling like I need to readjust some things.  I think it was the middle-of-the-night hot flashes…for some odd reason they made me think of my aunts and the huge bottle of Jean Naté they used to keep in the fridge.  I woke up thinking of cotton nightgowns and doing yoga.  I wanted to eat frozen fruit…while it is still frozen.  During our conversation with the doctor I had to say out loud that J will be seventeen in January.  Seventeen years old.  My son, my youngest child, my baby…seventeen years old…

So here’s the plan (I always have one, don’t I?)…

I am going to do some yoga (although my husband claims that with me it looks more like combat yoga) and stretch to release some of the tension I’ve been carrying around in anticipation of the holidays and this appointment.  I am going to drink a tall, tall glass of iced water and I’m going to stare intently at the menu board to see how I can pare down the not-so-good meals into something a little healthier.  And, on this cold, rainy day, I will briskly walk down the hill with the largest umbrella I can find to wait for J’s school bus to arrive at 3 P.M.  When we get home, I will put on some Katy Perry and I will get him to happily bounce around for about 20 minutes…

I am going to do this every single day until it’s time for the next weigh-in, and maybe a pound or two will melt away slowly by then.  I don’t know how heavy his shoes are…they’re from Lands’ End and they’re squall boots so they’re not light as feathers, but they’re also not heavy…and he was wearing cargo pants and two shirts when he got weighed.  I’m guessing we can subtract three pounds and still be at 248…

And out comes the brown paper bag again…

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