Posts in month: May, 2009

How many of you have never been to the zoo?  That’s okay, you can raise your hand, I won’t tell anyone.  Hmm, I see at least once person hasn’t been to one.  I figured everyone had been to the zoo at least once in their lives.

Seriously though I know there are a lot of people that haven’t been.  But this was brought home to me recently when my son Max found a new best friend.  During school vacation week my wife and I decided to bring both boys there.  Bobby was surprised that we would take him because he had never been to a zoo.

On the day we went Bobby got in the car with his hair greased back, dark sunglasses, and a backpack full of lunch and snacks.  It was a look that prompted Max to insist on getting the same dark glasses later on.  The walk through the zoo turned out to be more peaceful than it usually is.  Max and I go all the time but he likes to speed through it.  Oh, there’s the monkey.  Here are the new black bears.  Why can’t I see any llamas?  It seems like this takes all of 5 minutes.

But Bobby had never been here.  He had only seen these animals on television.  It was enough for him to stroll along and stop at each exhibit.  He had to examine everything in minute detail.  Max wasn’t interested in the slow pace; he just wanted to move.  “Come ON Bobby.”  “Let’s go see the cougars!”  “Run Bobby, the wolves are this way!”

But nothing Max could do could get Bobby moving any faster.  Well, not quite true.  My wife and I talked about how Bobby seemed to be slowing Max down a little bit.  And Max seemed to be getting Bobby to move a little faster.  We’ve decided that both boys offset each other.

Bobby couldn’t get enough of the llamas.  I’m not sure he had ever seen anything like them.  He stared and stared and stared.  I don’t think he even knew Max was there even though he kept pulling on his arm.  He kept trying to find ways to get closer to them.  In fact, at the zoo there is a discovery center that abuts their area.  We went inside and downstairs.  On the side of the room is a window that runs from the floor to the ceiling.  Bobby was able to press his face against the glass and lucky for him the llamas were right outside.  And one of them decided to come up to the window to check him out!  He was in heaven.

Getting to the wolves was a little tough for Bobby.  The path is very steep and winds around a hill. At the end of the path you have to crane your neck to see the pack lounging way up at the top.  He was huffing and puffing as he struggled to get there.  “Max, wait for me.”  “Slow down!”  But Max would run to end and then run back down again.  He continued this until Bobby got all the way up.

At lunchtime we sat in the small food area that overlooked the goldfish pond.  As usual we couldn’t get Max to eat much; he did have a hotdog.  Bobby, on the other hand, had 2 hotdogs, a sandwich that his mom sent, applesauce, a brownie, several of those small yogurt drinks and…  Well, I’m not sure anymore if this was all he had.

For the first time we spent several hours at the zoo.  Usually Max and I can finish it in under an hour.  I love zoos and I’m glad I got the time to enjoy it today.  When we finally left, neither boy was ready.  But we did promise them that we would go again.

The zoo wasn’t the only first, or second, for Bobby.  Max and I took him hiking.  It was the first time he had ever been in the woods.  I cooked hamburgers and hotdogs on the grill one night.  It was only his second time grilling.  Bobby is the only child of a single mom.  She works 16 hours a day, 5 days a week and then 8 hours a day on the weekends.  They don’t have a car so she gets a ride to one job and walks to the second.  If they just want to go to the park they have to walk.  And they live in an apartment building that is surrounded by hundreds of parking spaces but nowhere for a kid to play.  When he is at home he watches television while mom works.  There is nothing else for him to do.

He and Max met when he started taking Max’s van to school.  They are the only ones on it that are in the same class and Bobby lives in our town.  It was a match and it is nice that Max has finally found a friend he can relate to.  I don’t know what Bobby’s disorder is; you must have one to go to Max’s school.  We’ve noticed that when Max is having tantrum after tantrum when he’s around, he pretty much ignores them.  Sure there are times that it can be upsetting to him but overall he shrugs his shoulder and asks us why Max is acting like that.  But these are the times that for whatever reason Max has been escalating and his bipolar disorder kicks on.  Or perhaps it’s when he is overly hyperactive, adhd time.

But whatever it is, Bobby seems to withstand the barrage and keeps coming back because for him our house is a happening place.  What’s a little tantrum when you can do so many fun things and not worry about that boring living room back home.

I’ve lived in a lot of places in my life.  In 53 years I’ve moved from the city to the country, from the ocean to Europe.  And I am constantly amazed on the different ways people treat each other.

In the city no one is going to talk to you.  They walk down the street and don’t even see you as they stare straight ahead, or look through you if they glance in your direction.  If you stop them to ask a question they look at you warily, scoping out the dangers, before answering you.

I grew up in the city.  I learned early on that you never look at someone else because they might take it as an invitation to talk to you.  And “you might not know what crazies may be approaching you”.  I was comfortable in this atmosphere.  Even though I used to chat to the man at the corner shop where I bought my comics and visit my barber I never knew their names or if they even had families.  If you asked me anything about a person that may have walked by me I wouldn’t be able to tell you because I didn’t see them.

A lot of people own or rent second homes by the ocean.  Quite a few of them are tourists.  They are friendly if you talk to them but they are in your life one minute and gone the next.  They have no reason to get to know you except as a casual acquaintance and when they are gone you never hear from them again.  I liked being close to the water and swimming with the girl next door.  But the girl left and it was time to look for new acquaintances.  I’d mow the lawns for the elderly folks down the street but then they moved on.  I rode bikes and lit firecrackers in the woods with the boy across the street but then he went home.  I enjoyed these people but if you asked me their names I can’t tell you.

I lived in England and France for several years and I enjoyed the people immensely.  They didn’t allow me to ignore them; they would approach me and just talk.  I found Paris interesting.  Wherever I went in the city if I asked for anything in English they did not want to speak to me and in some cases were even rude.  However, when I attempted to speak their language they welcomed me with open arms.  And I found in both countries the people would open their homes to me.  Whenever I go back for visits they won’t allow me to stay in hotels; they always find a room for me.

A few years ago I moved to the country here in the states.  I was pleasantly surprised to find that the “country folk” had a lot of the same characteristics as the English and French.  I cannot walk down a street without having a total stranger smile at me and ask me how I am.  They always seem interested in what I am doing.

Everyone seemed to be in a rush in the city.  When they drive they try to beat the traffic light and get through it before it turns red.  In the country everyone seems relaxed.  If they come to a traffic light while driving, if it turns yellow they slow down and are stopped by the time it is red.

I have certainly gotten used to this way of living and I find that I have taken my blinders off.  I like to smile at people and ask them how they are.

My son Max who is 8 years old now has lived all his life here.  To him it is natural to talk to people and I am convinced he knows everyone by name in our town.  And you know those family secrets a lot of people have?  We can’t have any; he will tell anyone who cares to listen.  “Guess what Daddy had for breakfast.”  “Mom is going for a pedicure this afternoon.”  “I skinned my butt when I fell off my bike today.”  This is a very comfortable way of like for Max.

But then there were a couple of incidents recently that bothered him.  Max already has major anxiety issues and one of them has made things worse for him.

Recently Max and I went on a hike by castle near where we live.  He brought his bike and I trailed along behind him as we traveled the paths up the hill to the castle.  It can take about an hour to reach the top by going through the woods.  It was a nice warm afternoon so there were a lot of people out enjoying the woods and the paths.  As we met people I attempted to smile and talk to them because that’s what everyone does here.

Guess what, Max and I were both ignored by the people we passed.  This was strange, I felt like I was back in the city.  But rather than finding that old comfortable place that I had known growing up there, I was bothered by the lack of communication.  And poor Max had never experienced this kind of reaction to his presence.  He was feeling anxious, why wouldn’t they look at him, why weren’t they talking?  I came to the conclusion that most of these people were tourists up from the city.  They were here to view the castle.

And then there was the Cub Scout issue.  When moving from one level to the next, in this case, from tiger to wolf, there is a time that cubs are required to learn about the pitfalls of talking to strangers.  “What do you do if a car pulls up beside you and a man offers you candy?”  “What if a woman in the park wants you to help her look for her lost dog, what do you do?”  “What if…”

This is a great way for kids to learn to be wary of strangers but what does it do to a young boy who has grown up in the country were everyone is friendly or like that Cheers bar in Boston “where everybody knows your name.”  What does it do to the same boy who has been diagnosed with high anxiety?

Max learned the lessons very well but he also lost something in the process.  He won’t play outside around the house anymore unless either my wife or I stand at the door and watch him.  He will not ride his bike down the street now without someone watching his back.  He cannot go up to his bedroom or down in the basement even in the day time without his parents close by.  And this boy who was always so independent will not walk through town without holding my hand.

Since Max has always been very friendly my wife and I had worried that he would be taken by someone he thought was friendly.  Now we worry that he will never be able to be alone.

Sometimes I wonder if my wife and I had stayed in the city if the antipathy that people have for one another would have been a better environment for him.

My son Max, who is 8 years old, goes to school like most kids. His school, however, has a half day every Wednesday. He is home by 1 pm and, until recently, we had to fill up every minute with things for him to do so the explosions would be averted. Parents, whose kids are bipolar, or adhd, or pdd/nos, or another disorder will understand what I mean.

His current Wednesday schedule is to come home and drop off his backpack. He then goes off with his Wednesday mentor for an hour. After that his play therapist spends another hour with him and then at 3 pm he is off to a 3 hour program in the next town. He and I usually top off the night by riding bikes before bedtime.

Max loves structure. When something happens to disrupt it we can be subjected to a major tirade. When he was younger we were very new at this. Okay, so is this upset due to his bipolar disorder or is it just a typical tantrum that all kids have. It took us a long time to figure out the difference. At that time we believed that we should be ignoring the disorder related explosion and coming down on him for the typical stuff.

As a result he got away with a lot of things. Now we understand that we should not be overlooking any of the tantrums. Yes, some of them might be related to his disorders but just like any kid he has to learn that inappropriate behavior is still inappropriate no matter what the cause. Because he got away with so much when he was younger there are a lot of things he has to unlearn and relearn.

When Max was last in the hospital the doctors told us that added to his other diagnoses he also has Oppositional Defiant Disorder (ODD). This is a fancy way of saying he has temper tantrums, is easily annoyed, and refuses to comply with our rules and requests. They had two recommendations that surprised us…and woke us up. They told us to watch “The Dog Whisperer” and “SuperNanny”*.

“SuperNanny”* was to show us how to discipline Max. Having disorders does not give him a free pass to act badly; we still have to teach him that he cannot do these things.

Cesar Millan is successful in “The Dog Whisperer” because when training his animals he is “calm assertive”, he doesn’t raise his voice, he doesn’t get angry, quietly and assertively he teaches these dogs to behave.

Too many parents either yell and scream or, like me, get a stern hard edge to their voices. Whichever way we choose we are not being “calm assertive”. As a result things can get worse rather than better.

I can’t say that I have this “calm assertive” stuff always working yet though I’ve noticed that when I do act like this Max complies with fewer melt downs and is much happier,

Yesterday afternoon he and I went hiking with his friends and another dad. It started out okay, Max was enjoying himself. Then something changed and nothing seemed to go right for him. The toy gun he brought appeared to break which upset him. We were hiking in a different direction than he wanted to go. The older boys kept running ahead and he couldn’t keep up. Well, the tantrums kept coming fast and furious. Dad was having trouble keeping his cool. It was so tough we both wanted to go home! It wasn’t until the end of the hike that we were both calm and walking hand in hand back out of the forest. The rest of the gang had long since forged ahead and we didn’t catch up to them until we reached the car.

Thinking about it later I can see that there were better ways to handle this rather than being part of the problem.

Today was a different story. I mentioned earlier about the structure we have set up after his half day is over. His mentor generally comes first. However, this morning he called while Max was in school. He informed me that he had to go to an emergency meeting at his office so he wouldn’t be able to keep his appointment today.

I knew Max would be devastated and would probably explode and have a very tough time before his therapist arrived. I decided to take him to lunch. We went to the 99 restaurant where he wanted prime rib. Whoops, another tantrum possibility…what if they don’t have it for lunch. Before we went he agreed that if this happened he would have a cheeseburger.

It turns out prime rib is only served Thursday through Sunday after 4 pm. The meltdown almost started until I reminded him about our earlier discussion. He settled for pizza and Caesar salad. And didn’t the boy who rarely eats lunch devour the whole thing! We then got home in time to meet his therapist.

Meltdowns were averted and as I write this he is off to his 3 hour program where, I believe, for the next few sessions they are having drama classes. Perfect for the boy who loves costumes!

So now I have a question for parents with kids who, like Max, have bipolar disorder, adhd, pdd/nos, or another disorder. How do you handle the meltdown situations? Have you found a way that works best? Have you had any success in retraining your kids so that they have better control?

*”SuperNanny” was originally posted as “The Nanny”

I hope everyone had a nice Memorial Day holiday.  Did you have a chance to honor anyone?  As most of us know this is the day we commemorate the men and women from the United States who died while in the military.  It first became a holiday to honor both the Confederate and Union soldiers that died in the Civil War but after World War I it included American casualties in any war.

It is also the day that I celebrate the veterans.  I applaud them as they pass by during the parades.  I go to the cemeteries and watch the ceremonies.  This year my town honored a young soldier that had fought in Iraq and won many medals, but was actually killed while on leave back here in the States.

I also honor my Dad.  He was a veteran of World War II and died in the 1980s.  For many years now I have gone to clean his gravesite on the Saturday before the holiday.  He has two stones, one at his head, and one that was installed by the military at his feet.  I rake the area, clip the grass around the stones, and weed and edge the dirt and grass around them.  After that I wash the stones to make them shine for when my Mother arrives on Monday morning to place a single red rose on the plot.

This year my boy Max joined me.  He was fascinated by what I was doing and immediately joined in.  He is 8 years old and my Father never had the pleasure of meeting him.  This didn’t stop my boy from honoring his Grandfather.  Towards the end of our work I realized I had forgotten something to clean the stones with.  Without a second thought Max took off his tee shirt and rubbed them both down.  It amazes me sometimes the initiative he shows at such a young age.

As we worked I told Max stories about his Granddad.

Dad, his brother, and their father all were in World War II.  My grandfather served in the south pacific while his sons were in Europe.  Dad was a prisoner of war camp guard before joining the army air corps (the precursor to the air force).  He loved to fly and parachute.  When I was my son’s age he would take me out to Orange Massachusetts where there was an airfield.  We would sit on the side of the road and watch the jumpers falling out of the sky.

After the war he got married, worked, and played hard.  He was an extreme skier, parachutist, hunter, and boater.  He gave all of this up when a friend ended up in a body cast for a year from a skiing accident.  In those days there wasn’t any insurance and he wouldn’t be able to afford supporting a wife and a half a dozen kids if he got hurt.

He was a school teacher who also worked several part time jobs to keep food on the table.  And he loved kids.  If he could have, he would have had a dozen.  As it was he had 5 of us; and along with our mother, a couple of cousins, a grandmother, and a grandaunt he had his work cut out for him.

In 1980 he developed throat cancer.  He had been a heavy smoker for years so his doctors weren’t surprised.  To combat his illness they buried gold nuggets into his throat so that they could give him radiation and that seemed to work.

For 5 years he appeared to have recovered but at the same time he was unable to stop smoking.  And then in the end it was discovered that the cancer had spread throughout his body.  It was time for chemotherapy.  This time he lost his hair and wore a wig from then on.  He began to waste away and still he could not stop smoking.  He used to joke about losing his teeth.  He could actually take them out of his mouth with the root intact and then place them back in.  When questioned about the cigarettes he would shrug and say that he had lived a good long life.

In the spring of 1985 I found and put an offer on a house.  Dad cosigned the purchase and sales agreement with me.  I had to keep leaving the real estate office at the time because I kept coughing uncontrollably.  I later found I had walking pneumonia.  I recovered but Dad kept getting sicker and sicker.  At the final signing I went to the office alone and signed the papers.  My Dad was not able to travel then so the agent brought them to his house so he could sign them too.  She actually guided his hand as he wrote his name.

After she left he couldn’t even function.  My brother and I put him in a chair and carried him out to the car while my mother towed his oxygen tank behind us.  After we placed both him and the tank into the car we drove to the hospital down in Boston.  After putting him to bed my Mother placed on the table the usual bowl of M&Ms that my Dad always kept for the nurses during his stays here.  Not long afterward he was loaded up with morphine and entered a drug coma.  This was Saturday, on Tuesday the doctors recommended we take him off of life support.

The doctors were amazed that he fought to stay alive even in his coma.  On Wednesday morning I went to work.  I just couldn’t imagine there would ever be a time when my Dad wouldn’t be around.  But part way through the morning I left the office and went to see him.  I took the elevator up to his floor and waited for the door to open.  At the very moment the door opened my family was standing on the other side waiting to go home.  I missed his death.

The death certificate said “cause of death: pneumonia.”

It took two years for me to finally mourn his death.  In 1987 I was in Jamaica with my brother.  Late one night I was lying on the beach and it finally hit me that he was gone and I wept until the early morning.  I didn’t go to his grave for 9 years after he died.  I don’t know if I blamed him or me for his death but I had dreams constantly of the doctors finding a cure and using it to revive him.

In 1994 I finally visited him at his grave and I have been going several times a year ever since.  And on Saturday Max and I performed our yearly ritual of cleaning his grave as we honored my Dad for all that he did for his country and for his family.

“Why are you still wearing that thing?”

My wife was referring to the red band around my right wrist. My 8 year old, Max, and I had gone to Fall River, Massachusetts over the weekend. There they have a battleship museum. It consists of 3 ships and a submarine tied to the dock along with 2 PT boats, a WWII helicopter and plane, and a landing boat. Max’s Cub Scout pack had reserved Saturday night to actually sleep in one of the ships; the bands allowed us to stay after closing hours.

Many parents with children such as Max, that is, with bipolar disorder, adhd, pdd/nos, or another disorder will recognize this description. Max generally wakes up at 5 in the morning, 7 days a week. First thing he does is scream “Mummy, come in here!”

My wife dutifully climbs out of bed and joins him in his room. I stay in bed, not to get extra sleep because that never happens, but to stay out of the way. We have found that Max will stay much calmer if only 1 parent is present before 7 a.m. Some days his adhd kicks into higher gear and he runs screaming through the house, jumping on beds, and just being very exuberant. Other days he is belligerent, swearing at us for the smallest infraction. On rare occasions he may get physical which requires me to hop out of bed and hold him on the couch until he calms down. And then there are days when it is a combination of these.

He gets his medications soon after he gets up. We try to get some breakfast into him before that because we have learned that the meds kill his appetite. Once this task is completed we still have 20 minutes before he calms down and is ready to start the day. Between quarter of 7 and 7:30 he will get dressed, do his homework, and play outside until the van arrives. After that it’s back to bed for my wife and my day begins.

Do you know what I mean?

So my wife and I love days like last weekend. She gets to relax on Saturday and sleep in on Sunday morning. On this particular weekend after touring the ships and having dinner Max and his friends played on the battleship. This is the second year we’ve done this and I still get nervous. On a ship this size it is very easy to get lost. Max and I have stood on the deck in the evening with no one around and it still amazes me that there were 1500 scouts and parents on the ship with us…all below decks.

On a ship this size it is easy to get lost! In fact, on Sunday morning I helped a sobbing little boy I had never met find his dad. So I get nervous when Max disappears. Tonight however he wasn’t gone long; he wanted to play cards and have a snack in the mess hall. While he sat eating he put his head down on the table and started to doze off. I convinced him to go back to our ship to sleep. Surprise, he complied willingly.

In our sleeping quarters there were bunks stacked 3 high, 3 in a row, and 4 rows side by side. Max was on a top bunk and asleep by 9 p.m. I crawled into the bottom bunk to relax. The rest of the crew knocked off at 11 p.m. when Taps blew.

For me the morning was the amazing part. At 6 a.m. I heard a whispered “Daddy, can I get down?” No yelling this morning. I helped him down so he wouldn’t step on the boy sleeping on the second bunk. We went up on deck and enjoyed the early morning alone. There was no hyper activity or belligerence. It was warm and it started to lightly rain. The enjoyment didn’t last too long because reveille was blown at 6:30 and everyone was now up. Max found his friends and off they went again.

Sure, the missus was at home relaxing in bed but I got to wander around on a ship in a cove with my quiet subdued boy. This is a morning ritual I could really enjoy on a regular basis! And my wife wonders why I haven’t removed the red band yet?

I’m continuing my journey on completing the 40 tasks to fireproof my family. Am I close to finishing? Hardly, while some of the tasks are easy, I have found others to be very difficult. In my post on Fireproofing the Family I explained why I wanted to take this path and in the second installment I talked about how hard the first task had been for me.

Why did I want to do this in the first place? Parents who have at least one child with a disability have a divorce rate that is much higher than the national average. My son has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, adhd, ocd, odd, pdd/nos, and sensory issues. It has put a large strain on our marriage and I can see where it may go.

Starting this project came about from seeing the movie Fireproof. A man on the brink of divorce is given the book “The Love Dare“. He uses it in an attempt to save his marriage. The book’s purpose is to improve marital relationships and it has tasks to be completed for each of 40 days. In the movie it took the main character more than that to complete them all.

Even though the first task was difficult, the one I am working on now has stopped me cold. Different people may find other ones that they struggle with. This one has gotten my stomach in knots. I am supposed to sit down with my wife and ask her a question:

“What 3 things bother you the most about me?”

And then I am supposed to shut up and listen. It is all about her now. If I have comments I must keep them to myself. If I get angry, or frustrated, or have any other emotion I am supposed to stifle them. My only goal is to listen to her carefully and really hear what she is saying.

But this really bothers me. There are several reasons, among them:

1. This involves communicating. I don’t like to “communicate”. It’s true that I will just be listening and not saying anything. But listening is communication too. And starting the conversation is also communication. It is true that being in any marriage involves conversation; being in a marriage that contains disabilities requires much more talking and listening. I didn’t get married until I was in my midforties. I had lived all of my adult life alone until then. I didn’t mind talking to people but I wasn’t much for talking with people. And yes, it is something I have to learn if I want my marriage to succeed. This task is a step forward in that direction but it still bothers me.

2. I already know a lot of things she may tell me which I’m not sure how to address. For one thing I am currently unemployed as are a lot of people right now. In the beginning I looked hard for another job but then I started a couple of things on my own and I’m pushing to get those off the ground. In the interim I’ve picked up odd jobs here and there to bring some money in. I know she is bothered that there isn’t a steady income. There are things that also need to be done around the house that I haven’t been addressing because I’ve been concentrating on my businesses. Our relationship may be another one she would mention. And of course there is the unknown, that is, what else could be bothering her about me.

3. I don’t know if I can sit still and keep my mouth shut. I know I’ll want to address and maybe even contradict everything she says. That certainly would be detrimental to our conversation.

So I’ve been holding off on this task. I know I have to get through it not only for our sakes but our son’s as well. It is a very tense atmosphere around here sometimes and he reacts to it. The meltdowns are worse, the disobedience becomes rampant, and in these situations he wants new parents!

I finally opened up to my therapist about this issue. After I explained both the book and movie to him he saw a major benefit in me doing the steps. I talked about my problems with this task and he said something that I found very interesting.

“You can learn a lot from things that you don’t want to hear.”

I may hear the things I expect her to say but I’ll get her point of view and her feelings. I may hear something totally new, something that may shock me, or something that will give me one of those “aha” moments. But in any case I can learn from the things she tells me.

What happens when she finishes talking? Again, I don’t make excuses or contradict her. My job now is to think about what she has said. If I have really listened to her, not just daydreamed while she was talking, I can put a plan together to resolve her issues to her satisfaction.

What would be the benefits to doing this? Probably better communication and a better relationship. At the same time it will improve our relationship with our son. And if we can get this down, we can teach him how to communicate better himself without all of his explosions and destructive behavior.

The bottom line is am I going to do this task? Yes I am even though it still really bothers me but “I can learn a lot from things that I don’t want to hear”.

My son Max, who is 8 years old, had needed a new bike for quite some time.  His previous bike is four years old and he had outgrown it.  We have wanted to get him one but money has been tight.   It seemed like a good time to suggest that he earn some of the money and we would pay half of the cost of the bike.

Max worked hard and the money he earned he pooled with birthday money ending up with a sizable chunk.  Before we went to the store we had one requirement: that he set aside some of that money for savings and then the rest we would take with us.  He fell in love with a mountain bike he found and happily discovered he had more than enough money to buy it.  This gave us room to buy him a new bicycle helmet to go along with it.

He is on that bike everyday, in the morning before he goes to school, in the afternoon when he gets home, and right after dinner.  He will even try to take it with him on outings.  On a recent cub scout overnight in a museum “Please Daddy pack it for me.”  Luckily there wasn’t any room.

Yesterday for whatever reason Max was going through my dresser drawers.  I found this out when he came running into the office all excited.  He had found my old pair of skin-tight bicycle shorts buried in the back of one of them.  Of course they were buried!  I haven’t worn them in 13 years.  Not only that I’m 53 years old now and have grown a couple more pounds since then.  But he convinced me to wear them for the big bike race he has planned.

When I put the shorts on my wife began to laugh uncontrollably, read ROFLMAO!!  Thanks a lot, not much support there.  It got worse when she decided that she needed pictures of the racers.  I tried to sneak off on the bike behind her back but both she and Max started yelling for me to come back.

After my biggest fan (um, yeah right) finished with the pictures Max and I were off to the races.  We headed to the track at the school down around the corner.  The plan was to have 12 separate heats and the one with the most wins gets this huge trophy.  How huge?  I don’t know; Max has kept it hidden.

Finally we were at the starting line.  There’s the count down.  And we’re off!  Down the track we go, around the bend, we were neck and neck.  We saw the finish line.  The closer we got Max got further ahead until he sailed across, winning with seconds to spare.  We raced again…and again…and again.  Max was exuberant because he kept winning.  He loved the feeling of the wind blowing through his hair as he shot down the track.  He was popping wheelies as he won the races.

But then disaster struck.  As we circled around one bend Max was leaning to the side and staying just ahead of me when he hit some sand on the track.  The bike slide sideways and down with him spread eagled on top of it and his arms spread out.  As I pulled up to him he lifted his head and said calmly “I’m not okay”.  This was not his usual “I’m okay” when he falls response so I knew something was up.

He held it together until he stood up.  When he pulled his long basketball shorts up there were quarter sized gouges on his knees and his calves were covered with cuts.  He exploded but he also started to cry.  Max doesn’t cry unless he is really hurt; the explosions happen hourly.  He does not want his bike anymore it’s an f’n this and f’n that bike, he will never ride a bike again!

I convinced him it was the sand, not the bike, which had caused the problem, in his words “the f’n sand”.  I’m told by doctors that swearing is one of the traits of a bipolar kid.  We have been working with him to tone this down and he is getting better but at a moment like this I let him get it out of his system.

He was ready to go home, he was walking stiff legged, and he wanted to leave his bike.  I convinced him to at least push it; he tried to ride it but it hurt too much.  He walked again for a bit then hopped on the bike again.  He informed me he was going to ride as fast as he could home; he needed a band-aid!

When he got home he cried as he went in the door.  I put the bikes away, took my helmet off, and headed up the stairs to go inside.  The door opened and Max came flying out, “Where’s my bike?”  The hurt was gone, he just needed a band-aid.  He was already to race again.

What parent hasn’t gone through this?  Parents with adhd and bipolar kids will understand when I say that these situations may be a little more over the top than for most other kids.  But we get through it and our kids get through it and hopefully as they grow they keep their exuberance as they move through all of life’s hurts.

I had lunch with a doctor friend of mine today.  He was in a venting mood.  He had just seen a commercial for a pain medication.  Listed as one of the side effects was…death!!!  Admittedly the possibility is very low, but it is still a possibility.  He wanted to know why people would even consider taking something like this for pain.

My answer is that people trust their doctors.  If he says that something will help they do what he suggests without reading the fine print.  Even worse if they are told that they need surgery they only get second opinions if their insurance company insists on it.

I’m not saying everyone is like this but a lot of times if you trust someone you don’t ask questions, you don’t do any research, and you don’t look for another opinion.  These are our bodies; we must do our homework!

The parents of a friend of mine both had cancer.  Her father was diagnosed first but they were too late and he died.  Her mom discovered she had it a month later, again too late; she died six months after her husband. Their daughter, my friend, eats healthy, exercises, and doesn’t smoke. But with two parents who had cancer she made sure she had regular testing done.  And guess what?  Two years ago she found two lumps in her breast, one large and one small.  Her doctor tested the larger one; it turned out to be benign.  But was the smaller one tested?  No, they told her it was too small to worry about.

Sadly it doesn’t end there.  Over a year’s time the small lump grew and by the time it was tested it was found to be cancerous!  When the doctors went in to remove it they found that the cancer had spread to the lymph nodes under her left arm.  A second operation was required to remove them but she was informed that she would lose the use of 60% of her arm.  Could this have been prevented?  Maybe not but if she had gotten a second opinion a year earlier she might not have needed the follow-up operation.

Many years ago I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.  At the time the neurologist told me he wanted to inject drugs directly into my spine.  I asked him if this would cure me.  He said no, if I was getting better it might help; if I was getting worse it wouldn’t help me at all.  Great odds!!

To this day I don’t know why I asked that question, I had never questioned my doctors before.  I was on the fence however; should I allow him to inject me?  Back at work when I mentioned it to my boss he didn’t hesitate; he insisted I go for a second opinion.  I scheduled an appointment with another neurologist that he recommended.

On the day of my appointment I was having trouble walking and had to have a friend drive me.  After evaluating me the doctor told me he agreed that I had ms but he didn’t believe in treating it with drugs.  Okay, this was an answer I liked, no drugs.  He recommended, however, that I get a third opinion because there was a conflict in how to treat it.  I ended up seeing one of the top ms doctors in the country.  He agreed with the second doctor that I shouldn’t take the drugs.

But you’ll notice that if I hadn’t had people pushing for the second and third opinions I probably wouldn’t have done it myself.  I might even have allowed the first doctor to inject me.

Both my doctor friend and I have seen too many people that don’t ask questions and just do what they are told.  This in the end can lead to unneeded surgeries or medications.  There is also the possibility that someone may be told that nothing is wrong and therefore needed attention does not happen.

Remember, ask a lot of questions, do your research, and get second opinions.  Doctors, no matter how wonderful they are, are not infallible!

I suffered for years with headaches.  These were the kind that were so painful I just wanted to lock myself in my bedroom, turn off the lights, and bury myself under the covers.  I must admit that on more that one occasion I did just that.

It seemed like I was getting them from just about anything.  I read a book then get a headache.  I walk down the street; another headache.   I breathe and get a headache.  They weren’t all excruciating; most were just a dull pain.  But I seemed to have them daily.  Once they went away I would be exhausted.  I used to tell people that the fatigue was from fighting the pain all the time.

I went to doctors trying to find a cure.  They kept throwing up their hands because I always checked out fine.  Then I would mention that I have multiple sclerosis and ask if that could be a problem.  The common answer was no, that doesn’t have anything to do with it.

One doctor suggested that my apartment might be too dry.  As a result it would mean that my body was losing water into the air.  Without enough water I would get headaches.  He recommended I take some flat pans like cookie sheets with sides and fill them with water.  I should then place them under some of my radiators; at the time I had old fashioned steam ones.  His idea was that the heat from the radiators would evaporate the water and make the apartment more humid; in which case I wouldn’t lose so much water from my body.  This he believed would cut down on all of my headaches.

It didn’t work.

The second doctor wanted me to take aspirin or Tylenol every time I got a headache.  I wasn’t thrilled with this idea.  First of all it would mean taking the pills several times a day; that’s how often I can get them.  Second, I don’t like taking a lot of medication and this really seemed like too much.  Third, aspirin and Tylenol really never did anything for my headaches anyway.  I would take them for the major ones but I would still be suffering hours afterwards.  And fourth, the pills don’t address the problem of why I keep getting them, they just mask the pain.

When I told the doctor this he thought I was crazy.  He shrugged his shoulders and told me they probably weren’t as bad as I was claiming they were then.

The last doctor I spoke to about the headaches asked me how long since I had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.  This surprised me but I told him that it had been eight years.  He then told me that he had a lot of experience working with ms patients.  Quite a few of them, like me, would constantly get headaches.  He discovered that if they stopped eating or drinking dairy products the headaches would stop.  This meant even trace amounts because it appeared that it was the body’s reaction to the dairy in general not necessarily large quantities of it.

I didn’t want to believe him; besides I love my pizza, ice cream, and milk.  I couldn’t imagine not eating cake, or pancakes, or french toast anymore.  I left his office shaking my head.  That night I went to Bertucci’s and ordered a pizza…with extra mozzarella!

The next day I thought I was going to die!  The headache was terribly excruciating.  I wanted to have a lobotomy.  I felt like my eyes were going to pop out of my head.

I now believed!

For six months I watched everything I ate.  I made sure that nothing had any dairy in it.  At the end of this period I was amazed that I hadn’t had any headaches.  But was I satisfied?  No, I yearned for some ice cream.  I missed my pizza.  I decided to put the doctor to the test again.  I went back to Bertucci’s and had the exact same pizza with the double helping of mozzarella.

Guess what happened…

That was twelve years ago.  Today I watch everything that I eat.  I do my best not to ingest anything with dairy in it.  I still get minor headaches from time to time and maybe twice a year I’ll get one of the bad ones.  But generally speaking when this happens I look at the ingredients in the foods I ate the day before and in almost all cases I’ll find there is some dairy in them.

When I tell people I can’t have dairy they automatically assume that I must be lactose intolerant.  I always respond it is true in a way, and then I mention the headaches.  A couple of years ago I was talking to a man whose son was getting a lot of them.  I told him my story and he took it to heart.  He later told me his son cut dairy out of his diet and has not been bothered by them since.

I have even mentioned it to parents when I find their babies have ear infections.  Often taking milk out of their diets has reduced or even eliminated the problem.

I am not advocating people stop drinking milk or eating pizza.  My son Max has a bowl of ice cream every night before going to bed but he doesn’t get headaches.  Both he and my wife eat pizza and haven’t had any problems.

But based on my experience and that of others I have met I would suggest that if you suffer like I suffered this is one possibility that shouldn’t be overlooked.

I met Rob about 11 years ago.  He is a big man and very powerful.  This wasn’t surprising, his dad is built the same way and reportedly his grandfather was as well.  When I met him he had several restraining orders against him.  They had been taken out by his siblings and by his parents.  He was not allowed anywhere near their homes.

You see, Rob is a mean drunk.  When he is sober he will give you the shirt off his back.  He will help you in anyway he can.  He will give you twice what you have asked for.  But when he has been drinking you don’t want to be within a mile of him.  In those days there were bets on when he would be found dead in a gutter somewhere.  It was always believed he would be killed by someone who had taken offense to his anger.  And he was well known to the police; he spent many a time in a holding cell.

Rob started drinking when he was 12 years old.  I don’t know the reasons why he picked up that first drink.  I do know that his dad was a heavy drinker; he had been one for over 30 years.  Ron started drinking the year his father quit; dad had been sober for 26 years when I met them.  Rob spent his first 12 years experiencing the drunkenness, the absenteeism (dad was always in bars), and lack of money (it all went to booze).  And dad was always angry but apparently never violent.

Why did his dad drink?  Well, all his brothers and friends drank.  It seemed to be something to pass the time.  I have not asked Rob why he drinks.

As he grew older he drank, served in the army, and drank.  He held countless jobs but lost them all through drinking.  He has been thrown out of many apartments and has been in and out of hospitals and halfway houses.  When we met he had just spent a period being homeless before going into yet another hospital.  I started hearing stories about him at that time but I got to know him through visiting him in the next halfway house.  When his stay in the house ended he tried again to make it on his own.  I don’t think he lasted a year before he was back in the hospital.

I can see a little of the pain in his life.  I started drinking when I was 9 years old; it made me forget that I was depressed.  In my late teens I discovered that I could get rid of the terrible hangovers by drinking more.  I missed many high school and college classes, and I was forever convincing teachers that there were problems at home and that’s why I missed their midterms.

But I really haven’t experienced the alcoholic’s pain and suffering.  When I stopped drinking it was more a conscious decision, it wasn’t the struggle that Rob and others go through.  I have been to both Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) and Alanon meetings to support Rob and his family but it has only shown me a small part of their lives.

I have another friend who is also a recovering alcoholic.  He has never been to AA meetings and has never been in a hospital.  He was able to quit on his own but he says he eventually found out he could have a glass of wine with dinner without ending up going on binges.  He has been sober and doing this for at least 20 years.  He doesn’t believe in AA and he doesn’t believe alcoholism is a disease.  He sees it as an excuse and that anyone can stop if they really want to.

Do I believe him?  No, I don’t.  I have multiple sclerosis, this is real.  My son has Bi-Polar Disorder, which is real.  Addictions are real too!  I cannot stop my MS, Max cannot stop his BP, and addicts cannot just stop their addictions.

Interestingly enough when Rob was in the last hospital the doctor saw his file; it was fat from 30 years of use.  Unlike other doctors who had just treated the alcoholism, he realized that here was a man that was struggling very hard to quit drinking but couldn’t do it.  He decided to do some testing to find out if there was a different problem.    He discovered that Rob has Bi-Polar Disorder and has been using alcohol to self-medicate all of these years.

Okay, now we are seeing some light.  Rob is now on medication to treat the disorder.  It was enough to stop him from drinking.  He moved into an apartment and enrolled in college.  His goal is to get his masters in counseling so he can help other people like himself.  He has worked hard and stayed on the honor roll.  He bikes every day and still goes to his AA meetings regularly.  And he has been sober for over 4 years.  The restraining orders have since lapsed and he has made amends with his family.

I would like to say he has met his goals.  This June he planned to graduate with his bachelor’s degree and he wanted to move on to the master’s program in the Fall.  This past Christmas he had a slight set back which almost kept him out of school for the Spring semester.  It turned out he needed a medication change; once this was taken care of he was back on track.  And then 2 weeks ago I got a call from him.  His words were slurred and I knew he was gone again.  He had been trying to call another friend of his, maybe it was his AA sponsor, but got me instead.

He’s in the hospital again.  I don’t know when he is coming out; I would love to see him accomplish his goals.  Do I judge him?  I think not.  All I can do is help him as much as I can and pray.  I have too many issues of my own to worry about judging him.