The Wednesday before The Thursday that comes before The Friday…

Two “quick” medical appointments later, we are home.  By all accounts, judging by how long the actual face-to-face with the doctor took, we should have been home no later than 11 a.m.  At Pre-Admission everything went smoothly…in and out in less than half an hour, leaving us with an hour and a half before the next appointment.  Per J’s request, we took him to the store, and then to eat something.  We were back at the doctor’s office with the requested 15-minutes-before-your-scheduled-appointment leeway, and we waited five minutes before being shown into the examination room where we waited…

and waited…

and waited…

and waited…

until, after much I’M FINISHED, BYE, THANK YOU, GOOD MORNING, BATHROOM, and such from J, Dada rang the button to request service.  Rather non-chalantly, a male nurse popped in and asked if we needed anything.  Dada pointed to the timer by the door.  “We’ve been here over an hour.  When will the doctor see us?”  The sign by the light switch read “we want to serve you promptly.  If you’ve waited more than fifteen minutes, press the call button.”  We waited the fifteen minutes and then some; the doctor, the male nurse informed us, would be five more minutes.  I didn’t say a word.  If I had said a word, it’s very likely, security would have been called.  So I kept quiet, but continued to pace back and forth, physically expressing the same frustration J was using his Proloquo2Go to express.

During our breakfast, we had sat companionably, sipping our drinks and saying CHEERS! with as much enthusiasm as one can display in a fast food restaurant without attracting attention.  J liked this game.  He was soon lifting his cup and softly touching it to Dada’s while saying a hearty CHEERS!  This became the word he latched on to while we waited…every once in a while, he would say CHEERS! and -after about an hour of waiting- I was ready to ask for a drink.  On both sides of our exam room babies and toddlers were wailing in degrees that varied from “plaintive” to “downright hysterical.”  J tensed up several times during this waxing, waning, peaking and ebbing of sound, but held up fairly well.

When the doctor finally came in, we were all ready to go.  At best, J can sit through an hour of waiting and being seen…two appointments in one day, adding up to 2 and a half hours, and two of those hours in a confined space while children scream nearby, was a wee bit much for our friend.  Fifteen minutes after she walked in, she walked out and I told Dada to just wait for me outside.  J almost sprinted out the door…

We’re home now.  We have relaxed and changed into our “not going anywhere” clothes.  Tomorrow is the day when J says goodbye to this school year and starts his vacation.  If the appointments had not sucked the life out of our morning, we would be a little better prepared for the transition, but I’m sure with a little effort we’ll be 100% ready by tomorrow when the bus drops him off at 3 o’clock.  Today’s prolonged process was just a hiccup, and -as with every other case of hiccups- if some sort of wacky remedy doesn’t resolve it, time will.

We walked away with good news.  J’s blood pressure has improved.  He has also lost a bit of weight.  Mind you, not as much weight as he should lose, but a bit, and we know summer always makes him more active and the pounds slowly shed away.  Perhaps if the med starts being reduced little by little this will become a little easier.  This morning, over coffee, Dada, TGG and I discussed the main points to consider when it comes to agreeing to reduce the med.  I asked them both to carefully consider several things:

a)  Is the concern about J’s ability to handle the potential changes or OUR ability to handle the potential changes?

b) Considering that I will be bearing the bulk of the weight of the situation, how much support will Dada and TGG be able to give ME when they get home from work and during weekends?

c)  What, exactly, do we fear will happen?  Are we afraid we’re going to get Old Mean J back or are we afraid we won’t know the person that he is without the med?

The thing is we DO know J.  We’ve seen him at what we understand was his worst, and we know how hard he has worked to improve his coping skills and mechanisms.  We know that a lot of his anxiety over the past few months was a response to his dental issues (I’d have been HOWLING and breaking things if it had been me,) and because of Cabin Fever…no matter how much you love your couch, at one point or another, being inside will get to you.

All we want, deep inside, is to see J happy, and we know that every human being goes from happiness to worry to sadness to anxiety to enthusiasm to boredom to every other point in the scale of FEELING and then back again.  My father has always said that sadness is a way to know that you’ve been happy, and vice versa…  We don’t want unrealistically jolly J because that would just be weird and not at all like him.  Because he is a teenage boy, it IS normal that his life will, from time to time, seem to suck bricks through a cocktail straw.  That’s what life is, right?

So…the round table discussion continues, and this will all be resolved before June 4th…


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