Day Three…and we like it anti-climactic, thank you very much

As transitions go, this one is being smooth.  I would say “too smooth,” but I’ve come to realize there’s no such thing.  I don’t care who’s holding the other shoe, I’m just glad they don’t look like they’re going to drop it any time soon.

Did I just sort of jinx us?  Maybe???

I don’t want to spit in Fate’s (or anyone else’s) eye, but so far, so good.  Nothing that J has done since Monday, when the Risperidone started going from 1 mg a day to .75 mg a day, has been even remotely alarming.  There have been little shifts here and there, but none of them concern me much.  Yesterday’s quieter (when compared to Monday’s) demeanor was what I suspected: he was a little tired from not enough sleep.  When it was time for bed (which has been pushed back all the way to ten-thirty,) J complained but acquiesced.  TGG, cautious and observant to fit the current situation, walked into our room and asked why J was so whiny about going to bed.

Me:  How old is J?

TGG:  18

Me:  In general, what was your reaction when I told you not to stay up late at that age?

TGG:  Pissed off…

Me:  Precisely…

End of story.

I want to tell you my fear has abated.  I’d be lying.  I still worry that, when we least expected, the unnamed source of the unnamed shoe that is yet to drop will not only drop the shoe, but do it with force and defiantly.  I am stressing about this, but quietly.  It’s not fun.  It’s not good for me.  I’m working on not being so wired about it, but I can’t promise that my work will yield any results in the next 24 hours.  Being busy, being engaged in this process is important to me, and -I think- important to J, but I do need to rest and relax soon or I will be useless to him.

The whole point, though, is that I seem to be worrying for naught.  J is fine. J is easily dealing with that .25 mg that he’s not getting each day, and -unless something happens to prove otherwise within the next 108 hours, we’re in a lot better shape than I worried we might be.  I will have run myself down to the nub of my resistance for no good reason.

What am I doing?  I am giving room, and jumping in his path from time to time with tasks that he can complete.  I am teaching him new words, and making sure I slowly sign them so he can learn how to do it himself.  I am talking to him face-to-face, enunciating like Eliza Doolittle in front of the bunsen burner.  I am doing my best to keep him tethered to our calm, balanced existence while chemically egging him on to change.

I am doing my yoga every day.  I am taking deep breaths and not pricking up my ears if I hear a noise from wherever J is sitting.  I am walking, not running.  I am trying to be graceful in my reactions when I really feel like saying “oh, come ON!  If you’re going to blow a gasket, DO IT ALREADY!!!!”  By the time I climb into bed, it takes me a while to fall asleep because I need to go over the day to make sure that I didn’t miss any signs that might be important.

Do you want to hear about my med journal?  The weather is recorded there because I want to make sure I can catch if J is reacting to that or to the med.  The hours of his bath, bedtime and arising from bed are there…because I want to make sure that I’m not imagining how well he’s adjusting to his own new rhythm.  I record his moods, his reactions. I record what he ate and, one thing is certain, he is requesting less carbs and he’s being more accepting of NO when I issue it…

I am going to write myself a note, a reminder that this is not a hurricane one prepares for days ahead.  Coming down from being on red alert all the time is not easy, but I have to have faith that J can handle the little crises without going like Mt. Vesuvius on me…

We’ll see what tonight holds…



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