Side Effects

I rarely discuss my kids here, because my older two generally guard their privacy to a degree I'll never comprehend, having been born without any semblance of a privacy gene.  Sometimes I admire my kids for this, and other times I wish they'd open up.  Earlier this year Jason, who turned 15 in June, was forced to turn his guts inside out, and let me tell you, the result was quite an explosion.  He's actually asked me to write about his past year, and I've been putting it off for a month while I made certain he honestly wants me to do this.  He does.  He wants me to write it, and he doesn't want an opportunity to read it before I publish it.  So Jason, I hope I can accomplish whatever is it you want from this post.  I also hope you'll respond by giving me the great honor of guest posting on this blog.  Also, Jason, I'm going to leave out Daddy, Allison, and Jonah in this post as much as possible.

Jason is a fascinating person on many levels.  He's always been extremely verbal and mature.  As a small child he was exceptionally serious, and would yell at us if we laughed at something funny he said or did.  He was easily frustrated, and wouldn't try anything new until he was confident he already knew how to do it.  One day I was keeping track of how many words he could say, getting close to that 100-word mark, and the next day he was speaking in full sentences using four-syllable words (his favorite was "appropriate" or in his case "apopiate").  Where Allison needed repeated reminders and often didn't listen to me anyway, Jason only needed me to speak softly to him once.  He was so sensitive, anything more than that would result in Spongebob-style tears, which he'd present to us anyway about 8 times a day throughout his childhood.  His first word was, "Noway!"  I called him Eeyore.

On the other hand, at the age of 6 he got up on a stage for the first time to perform a monologue.  I held my breath, figuring he'd probably memorized it nicely and would do an adequate job, as most of the other children had done.  Instead, Jason became a different person, acting out the monologue with expression and body language and his innate humor that normally caused me to surpress laughter.  Wild applause, and he liked it!  He still has this alterego that enjoys being on a stage.  Maybe that's how he can allow me to write this.  Maybe that's how we ended up in this situation in the first place.  I have an artistic, dramatic Eeyore going through puberty with uncertainty about the existence of his mother's future.

Jason's tumultuous teen years actually began when he was 12 and had his great growth spurt.  He grew his hair long and wore it completely covering his eyes.  To soothe himself, he took to constantly smoothing the hair down over his eyes and face.  I barely saw the kid for 7 months, even though we spent time together everyday.  I forced him to cut his hair short before his aunt's wedding and his own bar mitzvah, and he cried silently on the way home from Silver Scissors, grew the hair back at the first opportunity.  He became enamored of studying the human psyche, and as you'd guess, didn't relate to middle school boys at all.  He had a formspring page where some kids would tell him they were in love with him, and some kids would call him a fag.  Somehow they discovered he liked a girl, and tried to figure out who it was.  They know now, because Laura has been his girlfriend for nearly 14 months.

A couple times, Jason told me he'd tried to kill himself.  I'd figured all along we'd experience something like that, and didn't take him seriously enough.  How, as a parent, did I not take this seriously?  This was before the cancer resurfaced, so what could've been more important?  My great failure as a mother, and if something had happened to him it would've been my fault.  I still know that if something happens to him it will be my fault.

Around the time my recurrence was announced, Jason started having panic attacks.  I didn't know what to do or where to turn, and I was sick and didn't do enough to figure it out.  This was the same time in my life that I was sure I was dying, failed to pay bills, forgot to register my car, etc.  I spent as much time with Jason as I could, but he ended up feeling responsible for taking care of me.  He came to me, in my room, and offered to get me ginger ale or diet soda.  He introduced me to his favorite tv shows, and sometimes I stayed awake long enough to watch them.  He came with me to my first grade classroom and helped me set it up.  We experienced that earthquake together there.  He has always been there for me, and I never made a single phone call to find out what to do about panic attacks that were becoming more frequent and forceful.  You say I'm brave, and a hero, and this is why I tell you I am not.  I never made ONE SINGLE PHONE CALL for my own son in pain because I was so wrapped up in myself.

So he started high school last September and found himself unequipped to succeed.  He wasn't feeling well, he didn't understand algebra, and his science teacher was a miserable woman who shouldn't be teaching.  Jason was depressed, and school was hard.  He decided it didn't matter.  He weakly attempted suicide again, and stopped doing his school work altogether.  His Bs and Cs from the first marking period slipped quietly and effortlessly to Fs.  He nearly passed out in health class when the teacher brought in cancerous organs.  Testicular cancer landed him in the nurse's office and he came home.  I did take him to the pediatrician that night and got him a couple scripts.  He promptly took too many pills and landed in the principal's office, quite drugged.  We got the dosage straight and then he took too many pills, hoping to relieve the pain for once and for all.  That didn't work and finally, on January 17, he had a breakdown.

It was an ordinary night.  We were watching tv in my room when Jonah came in to take a shower.  He, being Jonah, put on a naked dance show for us before retreating into the bathroom (he, like me, does not value privacy).  I laughed, and then I saw Jason was crying.  Then screaming, and trying to pull out his hair.  Ken and I could not calm him at all, and so I called Civia, who is the most soothing person I know.  She got him to say a couple words, but I couldn't understand.  Ken took him to the hospital crisis center and I waited up all night, just as they waited up all night.  Jason was admitted, and spent a week there.  Ken and I were allowed to visit from 6-7 pm each night, that was it.  Jason needed the hospital, and the snack closet, and the kids, and the staff, and this one troubled girl who had no visitors, ever.  The whole thing was a break from his normal life, and something about the therapy made him understand his anger.  When we went to visit we represented his normal life and his anger, and he yelled at us the entire week.  He'd never blamed us or yelled at us.  It was progress.  They got his meds straight, and after a week they sent him home with a plan. 

Following the plan, I took him to a 3-hour group therapy session at the hospital the night after his discharge.  He lasted 10 minutes there before calling me to come get him.  The other kids were bad, bad juvies there by court order, and Jason was terrified.  He would never speak in front of them.  I talked to the coordinator, who pointed out that any group anywhere might be the same.  So I switched Jason straight to individual therapy.  Thank goodness, his first therapist has been the only one we've needed.  She's perfect for Jason, soft-spoken, soothing, firm when necessary.  Jason is always eager to see her.  Sometimes I go in and we all talk together, and I appreciate their dynamic.

Jason's meds help.  He has not had a panic attack in a long time.  He does not feel suicidal.  And yet he does still experience the anger.  He flies off the handle without any warning, and he can be brutal.  I try not to take it personally, but the truth is, I'm trying and trying.  I'm trying to make up for it all.  I'm not perfect, but I'm trying.

On April 7, I was cooking for the Passover seder that night, and Ken was dictating the cleaning orders to the kids.  It's always stressful on those occasions.  I left the kitchen for a few minutes, and when I returned I found Allison with ice on her jaw, and no Jason.  He'd punched his sister and then run for it.  I was babysitting the stove, the matzo balls were simmering, so I asked Ken to get out and find Jason.  Ken said it was a bad idea, as angry as they both were.  I forced him to go.

Within moments, Ken returned alone, and recounted the story that was later corroborated completely by Jason:  Ken had found Jason, barefoot, on the road near our house.  Ken pulled over his car and told Jason to get in.  Jason ran, so Ken parked and caught up with him.  They yelled at each other for a couple minutes as Jason backed up, finally backing into a pole and hitting his head.  It hurt, and as furious as Jason already was, he spit in Ken's face.  Ken responded by hitting Jason.  A woman passing in her minivan saw the whole thing and pulled over, screaming that she was calling the police.  Jason took advantage of the second's worth of confusion and fled.  Ken knew it was over and returned home. 

I don't remember what happened with the matzo balls, but I threw on shoes and left to find Jason myself.  Instead, I found the cop and the woman talking.  I pulled over and said they were talking about my son and I'd like to be involved.  The cop asked me to wait in my car, which I thought was foolish when Jason was running off barefoot, but whatever.  The cop followed me home before he would talk to me, but at least he sent a few cars out searching for Jason. 

Nobody could find Jason.  They knocked on Laura's door, and a few friends' doors, and couldn't find him.  For 45 minutes I sat in my living room with Ken and this cop, then another cop and another, while my mom and sisters arrived with their side dishes for dinner.  Finally, a car pulled up with Jason in the back.  We all converged in the driveway.  The officer who'd brought Jason home from 3 miles away and across the highway said he needed to be transported to the hospital by ambulance immediately.  The officer who'd been with us since the beginning thought this was unnecessary and negotiations began.  In the end, we were able to have dinner together and then Jill and I took Jason to the hospital, where he was not admitted.  Guess if that was a fun dinner.

Why does Jason want all of this told?  I'm a little uncomfortable typing it.  Anyway, that was the last major incident, knock wood.  We've spent the past few months trying to do some damage control.  Jason did pass Photography and Latin at the end of the school year.  He's currently at summer school taking English and Science.  In the fall he'll take Algebra and Geometry concurrently, and I'm already trying to get a tutoring plan in place.  With the assistance of the guidance counselors, he'll also have a special study hall, with just a couple other students and a teacher facilitator who will help Jason continue to work and stay organized.

Jason is doing fine in summer school.  He already has a great relationship with the English teacher, who noted almost immediately that Jason doesn't belong there.  Jason was showing off, quoting Walt Whitman and knowledgeably discussing Finnegan's Wake on the first day.  He says he learns better in this alternative environment, but it seems to me he already knows the material.  We'll see what happens in the fall.  Hopefully he'll have enough supports in place that he'll be able to get through and eventually achieve educational independence again.

Jason's hair is bright blue.  He bleached and dyed it himself.  As always, he is a non-conformist.  When he was little I predicted he would be a goth teen, but he's not.  That would be too much like conforming to something, maybe.  He does wear black jeans all summer, though.  Wouldn't it have been a shame to lose this person from the planet.  This quirky, thoughtful, thought-provoking, funny boy.  Jason, I hope you know how much I love you.  I just.  I love you.