...the levee's going to break.
That's exactly how I feel.
The town I grew up in had a dam. I had a friend who used to live right next to it, and we would hang out in his backyard. I would always look and see the water rushing over the edge. I would think about that cement wall holding back all that water so in the grand scheme, just a little bit could pour over the edge.
I feel like my dam has a crack in it and the water is going to break out soon.
The past 5 days have been more than just a struggle. It has been a war zone. After the first breech in security, I pulled on my combat boots and went to work. Up every couple of hours comforting a screaming Catherine. Sometimes it was an all out temper tantrum that would pull me out of sleep and before I could vault out of bed, someone else was crying because it was scaring them. Sometimes she would only call for me, but if I didn't come quick enough, it escalated to the point where I could hardly calm her down. And our room is adjacent to hers - it takes me about 10 seconds to get there. But in that time, she would go from 0-meltdown and I would have to calm her down by loving on her. At one point, I brought her into bed with us and massaged her legs and arms, which seem to do the trick almost every time. Then I told her she needed to go back to bed. She did. It always seems like it's over as quickly as it started. But then, it begins as quickly as it ends. It's never ending. Kind of like the water over the dam. It just keeps coming.
James is suffering for it as well. He has been mean to her, most likely because his playmate is gone and in her place stands a raging, uncommunicative little girl who kicks and screams and hits and cries uncontrollably. There is no knowing what will set her off, how long it will go, or really what will calm her down. Usually, it's just good luck. I will distract her with something, ANYTHING, to get her to put her focus somewhere other than her brothers, or me, or the floor, or the wall. And then it's time to get back into bed.
And I am running on empty. Fumes. I am hoping for a miracle so I can refuel, only to strap on my combat boots again. Catherine left a hand print on Drew's face the other night. A bright red, ugly hand print. For no reason. One second they were playing, the next, she hauled off and hit him.
I discovered on Sunday that her new toothpaste had blue 1 in it (a dye), but could that LITTLE possibly do so much damage? And then here I am, back at square ZERO, which James tells me is LESS than one. And one would mean I have something. Right now, I have nothing.
I believe the Zyrtec was our main culprit. So we solved that issue. We were blissfully happy for a few months. Then it was the food dyes. We took those out. We were blissfully happy for a few months. Every time we figure something out, something else takes it's place.
I am now onto researching digestive health; particularly something called "leaky gut." I will spare the details, but essentially, large food particles and toxins are absorbed into the bloodstream from the intestine, putting your body on full attack. Now it knows how I feel. It was Eric's cousin who emailed me the information, as her son was diagnosed with Asperger's. She was able to reverse ALL symptoms with diet modification, and she said you would never know he would have a diagnosis like that. He is still missing social cues as he missed developing them when he was suffering, but now that he is healthy, he is able to function normally.
That's exactly what I want for Catherine. In her phone evaluation on Wednesday night, her SLP said that she was concerned that Catherine was cognitively delayed. I was floored. This had never been mentioned before. She was very careful to say that she wasn't sure if it was because Catherine was also delayed in her communication, or if it was a separate entity, but she would like to test for it. If the test comes back that Catherine is cognitively delayed, she will qualify for special education services through 3-year old preschool.
Every parent wants their child to be successful, and even if Catherine is in special education, she will still be successful because of who she is. It's not the end of the world if Catherine is special education. There are so many different levels, and I am a teacher. I have seen several students test out of the special education program. But as a parent, I can't help but wonder; is there anything I can do to help her? Did I do something wrong that led us to this point? What if I would have noticed sooner that she constipated at 4 weeks of age? What if I would have pushed harder, BEFORE she turned two, to get her in to see specialists. You can't help but wonder.
So here we are. Blow by blow by blow. Night after sleepless night. And in all of this, I just keep strapping on my combat boots because I don't know what else to do.
