Signs

I had a dream last night--or early this morning, one of the two--I was in the kiddie psych ward, down at the end of the unit where the windows and vinyl-covered chairs are, next to the always-locked closet full of shitty toys and games and puzzles with half their pieces missing. I was sitting on one of the vinyl-covered loveseats, waiting for Bob. And here he came, in Spongebob pajamas, walking--yes, walking, not running, not skipping, not galloping, as he usually does--toward me. Big smile on his face. Big, happy greeting of "Hi, Mom!" right before he threw his arms around me and crushed his skinny little self into me in a hello hug.

That was it. At least, that's all I can remember. That's the image that stuck with me. Moreso the feeling that came over me, either in the dream itself or as I recalled it upon waking, that it's going to be okay. He's going to be okay.

I don't believe in God or Buddha or any other "higher power," and honestly, I've never felt cheated or lost or like I was somehow missing out due to the lack of an omnicient parent-type figure in my life to look up to and "give up to." But I occasionally look for signs. Not signs of a higher power's existence ("God, if you're there, send me a sign"), but signs that I'm on the right track, or the stars are aligning in my favor ("if the next car that drives by is red, I'll know it was the right thing to do to put an offer on that house"). Yes, it may merely be a sign (pun intended) of my own questionable sanity, but it's hope that keeps us all going, right? And hope may be all I fucking have left at this point.

So I woke up with that dream fragment still fresh in my head, and I thought, maybe it's a sign.

I also woke up to my alarm clock. I haven't set it in quite some time, because with our later departure time came a later wake-up time, and I've always been able to rely on Bob to wake me at the appropriate hour (or earlier). But with Bob gone, and Ben leaving the house a good half hour before I need to get up, I decided last night not to risk oversleeping, and flipped the switch. The clock radio has always been set to some news radio station, because it's less alarming to be woke up by some news drone rambling on about political bullshit than the assault of metal on one's slumbering ears. In the past couple of months, however, either the station has changed hands, or hands changed the station, because what I woke up to this morning was the unmistakeable joyful noise of black gospel Christian radio. If that won't get a white non-believer out of bed quicker than you can say "Can I get an Amen?!", nothing will. For some reason, I now have an uncontrollable urge to testify.

Maybe it's another sign.

And even though I left my cell phone sitting on the living room side table today, I did just happen to glance up at the top shelf of the bookcase and saw my missing glucose monitor sitting up there. (I don't see things that are over my head, which my husband has been using to his advantage lately.) I don't know who put it there (maybe the cleaning lady) or what possessed me to happen to look up there, but I did, and there it was.

Another sign?

I don't know. I still haven't heard from the psychiatrist yet today (it's still early in doctor hours), but I plan to suggest we re-try the Focalin (as he suggested), see what happens, and plan for discharge later this week. Because at this point, particularly if they're leaning in the residential direction, it seems all they're doing is providing containment for Bob while we all scratch our heads and keep trying different combinations of medication. I fail to see how that helps him at all. It may take the burden off the school (and ultimately, us), but I don't believe it's really doing him any favors. And although I'm nervous (to say the least) about what happens when he comes home and returns to school, I worry that keeping him out until he's "100% better" is much like waiting for Santa to come.

So I'm also researching day treatment programs (in the event school doesn't work out), and I'm planning to call a clinic in St. Louis. It may be worth the drive to get a fresh perspective. I'm willing to do anything at this point.

Including taking comfort in ridiculous signs.

Update: I talked to the Dr. Shrink after this post. With the slight increase in Risperdal and the Depakote, he's doing better this morning (so far). He's still bouncing off the walls, so he wanted to re-try Focalin, which I agreed to. Apparently, the residential suggestion was made because Dr. Shrink, like everyone BUT Ben and me, is concerned how we'll manage when Moosebaby arrives. I told Dr., "don't worry about us--we'll have plenty of help when baby's born, plus we're more than used to dealing with Bob at home. We've been doing it for the past 4 years. If we can get him able to handle a full day at school, we're golden." So cross your fingers and toes and everything else for us that today is better than yesterday, tomorrow is better than today, and Friday, I'll have my boy back.