Shooting Rockstar

~This post includes some feelings that are difficult for me to admit to myself even, let alone to post for others to read. Yet I feel it will be very therapeutic for me to examine my thoughts thoroughly enough to post them here, so here goes.~

Some of you have been reading here since day one, and know how I got my teenager, others don't, so here's the Reader's Digest Condensed Version:

In the fall of 2003, we got a phone call that my SIL, the Cheese, had police at her house, and was being taken to jail. Phil, my FIL, called the Chief and asked him to come manage the situation, which he did. We took the Rockstar and her little sister home with us that day, and they stayed for about 2 weeks. At that point in things, CPS was notified of their home situation, and came on the scene in a very weak and pathetic display of impotence.

Upon her release from jail, the Cheese promptly dispatched her husband to our house to get the kids, against the wishes of CPS. They returned home, and stayed until January of the next year. At that time, the Cheese was nearly at death's door from the tolls of her addictions, and once again we took her kids home, and the Rockstar has been here ever since, but with her little sis having a different dad, little sis went back to her daddy after just several more days here.

At that point, CPS filed with the court, we were ordered to get our Foster License, which we did, and the proceedings began. After about 15 months, the Rockstar was ready to go home, even though we were nearly certain the Cheese was using again. Alas, that never happened, on June 14, 2005, the Cheese succombed to a heroin overdose, and the Rockstar settled in here to stay.

At that point both the Rockstar and I knew our relationship needed to change. She had resisted connecting with me, since she felt like that was betraying her mom, but that had changed, and my role needed to too.

I started off with a bang, I was nurturing, gentle, open and warm, but as Rockstar's feelings waxed and waned, I wondered if I was overstepping, and backed off a bit, only to "play mom" in fits and starts when the need was apparent.

Meanwhile, she was determined not to need me. She didn't want to lose someone she needed again, so once again, she kept her distance. Reading the cues, I backed off again until the next time she allowed herself to become vulnerable enough to want or need me. This is how it has gone since then.

This past few months, I had made a real effort, despite the stiff arm I sometimes got in return, despite the intermittent rejections, I just kept plugging. I was finally making real forward progress, and was so proud of myself. It's not easy to bond with a teen on that level. The cute antics, sweet hugs and kisses of childhood are long gone and have been replaced by moodiness and attitude, and the silliness that does come along often is more obnoxious than cute. But it was working, we were getting there, slowly, but getting there.

Then exams came. When the failing grades came home she was defensive, like a porcupine backed into a cave. She was not letting us near her without all her quills at full staff. I tried in my gentle way to help figure out what she needed to do differently in order to pass next time, and was shot down, so on cue the Chief popped in.

I will not pretend he was gentle, but he was on topic, and never unkind. She went off. She attacked him, and threw slurs about me, not knowing that I was near enough to hear every word.

Now, weeks later, I am not sure how to recollect and go there again. There is such a distance, such strain, but I don't know how to put myself out there again. To risk the rejection I knew would be there, was one thing, but this is a whole different level of resistance, emotions I never knew were there. I know what she said was in anger, but I also know that there's more than a morsel of true feeling there, and that it's likely what has been behind the resistance all along.

I know she will not take the first step, and I don't know how. My energy is drained. Bert is up most nights at least 2x, and often many more. Schmoozer has the ongoing hearing problems that I have come to realize need tackled, and that will be no small task. I have Beaner, who gets too little of my left over energy in the first place, and I just can't find anything left to regroup my emotions and get back on track with the Rockstar, which alone would be a monumental emotional effort.

There is so much of me that says she is nearly 18, off to college, and to just let it go, to just maintain for now, and try again to build a relationship once she is out of my house, not so omnipresent. I just don't know, maybe that's the right thing anyway, but maybe she needs me to, wants me to push some more. I just don't know.


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On another note, she has finally agreed to psychiatric treatment again, though resistantly. It seems that her mental illness is more far-reaching than I had realized. I hope and pray that with proper treatment, this will become easier, maybe she will be more willing, more able to connect back with me, maybe.

She is hesitant about treatment. I wonder if she just doesn't know who she is without the mental illness, and feels vulnerable to think of having that removed from her personality. Just a thought.

A Miserable Christmas and Dysfunctional New Year

Rockstar has always celebrated Christmas with her grandparents, Phil and Millie (the Chief's mom and dad).

Phil and Millie are alcoholics. Millie is a child of abuse who has never recovered, and Phil is your textbook enabler. For a brief period after Rockstar's mom died, they rallied and tried to get it together, but now, alas, they have fallen off the wagon and are back to their old tricks.

Rockstar's Christmas was filled with too much wine and beer, tears over silliness and arguments. I feel so sad for her. It has always been this way, but this if the first time she's really seen her grandparents for the broken people they are.

But I am so proud. She is healthy enough to see the dysfunction, call a spade a spade, and to know that she can still love them, and she can set limits. I am so proud of my Rockstar. What a huge step for a child of an addict, a child of dysfunction. She is becoming healthier, becoming whole, seeing the break and not caring to contribute to it or live with it. God love her, she's a survivor. Bless her sweet heart, I'm so proud of her!

A Few Minor Epiphanies

First, Beaner is gone. I feel like part of me is missing. I feel empty, lonely, lost and disoriented. While she's been gone, there are adoption discussions on a favorite forum about relinquishment grief, in various areas. I am sitting here feeling all sad and sorry about missing Beaner who will return tomorrow (Lord willing), and meanwhile posting alongside mommies who never get to hold their babies. My heart aches for them.

Second, I realized that if all kids with DS were like Bert, that there would not be summer picnics, holiday parties and outings for the Down syndrome associations because nobody would go. The parents wouldn't take their kids, because it would be so exhausting that it wouldn't be worth going to the party, just like it is for us. I have found an awesome forum where parents of kids with DS discuss these things. I have realized that my son is not a typical child with DS. I am so thankful that we are pursuing help. At the same time, I am thankful for the personality he has, it is a gift.

Third, talking with Rockstar yesterday, I realized that God has blessed us amazingly with harmony and unity in our family during all of the trials of the past few years. With the stress of Rockstar's mom's decline and death, the Chief's parents, Phil and Millie with their alcoholic troubles, Schmoozer coming along with his unforeseen health trouble, Bert and his behavior, and the Chief being away most of the time for 10 months, I am amazed that our family is not in shambles. God has blessed us with ties to bind us together. I am humbled, amazed and in awe of our Father in heaven who has blessed us so abundantly.

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." James 1:2-4 NIV

Phil & Millie

Phil and Millie are my FIL and MIL. If you're a bit slow just say it out loud until you get it. Phil, Millie and I have some inherent differences. Though no parent is perfect, they really blew it, especially with Cheese. They spoiled, indulged, tolerated and worst, enabled her to the point of death, literally. But worse than that, they continue the legacy with Cheesehead. They treat her just the same as they did her mom, and I truly fear for the results. That aside, they are really nice people. They are misguided and broken, but very nice and easy to get along with. I am very grateful that the Spirit has given me grace to love and accept them. I couldn't do it on my own. So now there is a new story, but allow me a few moments to lay out the background.

It started last July, just over a month after we brought Schmoozer home. He had a fever and vomitting and a subsequent bowel impaction. The running theory at the time was that he got dehydrated from a virus, and with the tendency toward constipation, got impacted. I now believe it was a case of entercolits, secondary to the Hirschsprung's Disease we now know he has. Anywho, we were just told to prune juice the crap out of him, and spent our July Fourth week camping at Phil and Millie's with a very sick baby. (Millie's birthday is the 4th of July, so we always have a big shindig.)

As time progressed, we were unable to increase Schmoozer's bottle feeds over 4-5 ounces, 4-5 times daily. He was getting 16-24 ounces daily, which just isn't enough to sustain growth. In January, when admitted for RSV, we realized that he had only gained 6 ounces since November. The hospital staff marveled at the girth of this skinny baby's belly, and repeatedly asked about it. Our pediatrician seemed non-plussed, and told us it was low-motility secondary to Down syndrome and not to worry. Schmoozer lost about 20 ounces during his illness, and was put on Pediasure to ensure that he would regain the lost weight. At my insistence, our pediatrician ordered a Barium enema to check for Hirschsprung's disease. When it came back without the typical tell-tale sign, but showing Schmoozer's bowel dilated to about 4x the normal size, I asked the pediatrician what to do next. We increased Miralax, got him on Synthroid for hypothyroidism, and figured that would clean him out. It didn't, and I got pushy. I called the office daily for help, and finally insisted on a consult with a GI doc. The appointment was set for June 24, and on the chief's recommendation, I called for a cancellation list, getting an appointment with the Nurse Practitioner in April. The NP got all kinds of tests ordered, got us in with the surgeon for the rectal biopsy, and told us that she'd dig to the bottom of Schmoozer's problem and get our baby healthy and growing again.

Long story short, the rectal biopsy came back positive for Hirschsprung's disease, and we have surgery scheduled. This is where Phil & Millie come back in. Knowing that I'm typically a laid back and mild-mannered person, they knew that it took a lot of gumption for me to advocate for Schmoozer. Well, when it comes to my kids, that's the one area where my gumption is in long supply. In this particular situation, being covered by much prayer of family, friends and church family, there were some particular spiritual nigglings that got me farther than I ever could have on my own. So Phil and Millie are pretty impressed with me. Phil, in his grand way, insists that God put Schmoozer with us for such a time as this, and goes on to say that if he had stayed with his natural family that he probably would have gone undiagnosed for much longer.

WHAT?! First of all, the only reason I had to fight so hard was that our pediatrician dropped the ball--the pediatrician that I chose to care for my kids. Second, say Schmoozer had stayed with his family of origin, and still had the impaction in July. Who is to say that the Hirschsprung's would not have been caught by the medical professionals that his parents would have accessed then. To add to that, Schmoozer's paternal grandfather of origin is a Pediatrician! He spent Schmoozer's initial stay in the NICU reviewing records and making sure Schmoozer's care was up to his very high standards, I would assume he would have continued the same throughout Schmoozer's life, had he been able to, and have recommended tests and advocated for excellent treatment. Last, I know that Schmoozer's mom is a smart, savvy, lovely woman, and am certain she would have given him at least as much gumption as I did. So Phil STICK IT IN YOUR ASS!

OK, so that's not a good attitude. He had the best of intentions, wanting me to know that he thinks I'm a good mom to his grandson etc. That's all fine and good, but just don't do it at his natural mother's expense. please.