One week in

Well, it’s another exciting day in Isaac-land. Today started off with a weird conversation with his new psychiatrist. I say weird because it started out good, but soon she started saying things based on her observations that I completely disagreed with. That’s a new development. So far everything any of the medical professionals have said have felt spot-on. This was really unnerving. I tried to express my disagreement, but she told me I was misunderstanding her, and I probably was. We will have the chance to meet with her in person tomorrow and I’m optimistic that we can get ourselves onto the same page. Between the two of us, she is definitely the mental health expert. I am the Isaac expert, though. Then again, everything I’ve tried has failed, so maybe it would be good to give her ideas a fair shake.

Later this morning, Mads and I went to visit Isaac. We had been told that he was doing a lot better today than yesterday. Alas, that changed pretty much upon our arrival. He was eating his lunch with other kids and staff when we arrived, but across the hall from the room he was eating in was a room where a child was in “time out.” The child was screaming and thrashing around the room. We couldn’t see him but we could hear him. Isaac became obsessed with the situation across the hall and found it all completely hilarious. All while laughing, he kept asking questions about who was in that room and why they were there. He was told by a nurse over and over again to worry about himself and let the child in the time out room have their privacy. Isaac just couldn’t follow that direction and therefore got into trouble. He was excused to go to his room to finish his lunch with us in tow.
But the silly hysteria couldn’t be curbed. He couldn’t stop obsessing over what was happening in the time out room. He started to lose control all while laughing and shrieking. At some point, he spilled some of his milk (on accident, I think) and that too was so hilarious that he started intentionally dumping it all over himself and the chair and the floor. Screaming and laughing all the way. I pulled out a clean outfit for him to change into and a towel for him to clean the milk mess up, but he was too far gone to follow any of my directions at all.
A nurse (but not the same nurse from earlier) poked her head in to find out what the noise was and found the mess and the excessive silliness. That’s when bad turned to worse, because the well-meaning nurse threatened, “Isaac, do you need to go time out?” Oops, wrong thing to say. “YEESSSSSSS!!!!!!” He screamed. He was SO delighted! He really, really hoped she would put him into time out. He was bouncing off the walls and screaming with glee and was totally… gone. The nurse carefully asked me and Mads how long we were planning to visit. I told her that we could leave at any time, and she agreed that it would be best for us to go.
So… we left. When I checked out of the unit (I have to check in and check out–writing down our names and what time we arrive and what time we leave), we realized we had only been there for a grand total of 13 minutes.
As my wise Mads pointed out, the reason for our visits is not to have a “nice visit” so much as to make sure he knows we love him and we aren’t forgetting about him. I like to think all of that was conveyed, even through the milk mess!
Hubby went back to visit tonight after work and though Isaac reported several other unfortunate instances throughout the day, he was a lot more chill. They played Old Maid for a little while and had fun. Isaac struggled a bit with impulse control (there were cookies involved…) but was otherwise a lot better.
Again, I want his doctors and nurses to see the full range of Isaac‘s issues. And while it is certainly whiplash-inducing, I’m sure it’s also really helpful for them to see it all.
Today marks one week since he arrived, unconscious, at the PPH. Tonight likely marks the half-way point in his stay there. There have certainly been a lot of good moments since he arrived, but I’m not sure what real progress has been made. It’s just so hard to tell. He’s no longer running away, because he can’t. He’s no longer ripping things off the wall, because he can’t. So… is it progress? I guess that’s the big question for everyone, not just me. I’m not sure how such progress is even measured.
Tomorrow we’ll meet with the psychologist and psychiatrist. I’m praying for them to really see him and really see his troubles. I guess I’m praying for open-mindedness on my part too. This little boy needs and deserves all of us to be working together on his behalf.
Till then, all our love and gratitude for you and your ongoing love, kindness, interest, and prayers. xoxox

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