The fourth pharmacy finally accepted my prescription. “We have it in stock,” the pharmacist said, “but just a heads-up, it’s classified as a controlled substance. You’ll need a handwritten prescription from your doctor each month for refills.” I nodded, quickly turning away to hide my emotions. She handed me a bottle filled with thirty small capsules, and I left the store while tears streamed down my face.
When I was pregnant with my son, I adhered to every guideline. I took my prenatal vitamins diligently, avoided artificial sweeteners, deli meats, and even abstained from alcohol entirely. Although I craved Thai food and wasabi, I only indulged in cooked sushi. I made sure my bathwater was lukewarm and didn’t take so much as a Tylenol. Following these “rules” gave me a sense of security during those nine months. When my baby arrived healthy and strong, I felt a wave of relief.
Fast forward ten years, and here I was, sitting in the well-worn passenger seat of my minivan, clutching a bottle of amphetamines meant for my son. As I read through the accompanying literature parked outside Starbucks, I hesitated to bring it home. The potential side effects were alarming: increased blood pressure, hallucinations, addiction, and even the risk of sudden death. I rested my head on the steering wheel, overwhelmed with emotion.
Our family is one that rarely keeps over-the-counter medication on hand; we don’t even take vitamins. While we’re not against medication, we only resort to it in rare circumstances, often tossing out expired bottles. I strive to find the safest sunscreens, choose aluminum-free deodorants, and buy organic produce. Generally, I lean towards being risk-averse. The thought of putting my child on what essentially amounts to speed is terrifying.
This was the same child I breastfed exclusively for over a year to maintain his gut health. The notion of introducing formula seems ludicrous now, as I intentionally alter his brain chemistry with medication.
Years of questions led to that moment in my car: Is this normal? Why isn’t he happy? Why does he struggle with school? Why is he often angry? Can we help him? Will he always feel this way? There were countless nights filled with tears and desperation for answers. I devoured books and websites, consulted doctors, therapists, and psychiatrists. We experimented with cognitive behavioral therapy, breathing exercises, and coping strategies. Ultimately, I learned that the human brain is complex, with no simple solutions.
Articles I encountered were both terrifying and shaming. I considered alternative schooling or homeschooling, but my son wanted to stay with his friends. His issues extended beyond school, and I couldn’t uproot him from his support system. His teachers were dedicated and supportive, communicating with me regularly. After exhausting all other avenues, we reached a crossroads: it was time to consider medication.
However, I approached this decision with immense reluctance and hesitation. How could I give my child a controlled, potentially addictive substance and pretend it was normal? No mother envisions medicating her child, yet how could I stand by while he faced daily struggles with challenges that therapy alone couldn’t resolve? I promised to do everything in my power to make life easier for my little boy, who loves deeply and works tirelessly, despite his struggles. I had to explore this path.
Parenting is an immense leap of faith. From the moment we cradle our newborns to when we watch them embark on their own journeys, we gather information and make the best decisions we can based on that knowledge. With countless unknowns and possibilities, we must trust ourselves, knowing we can never have complete control or certainty. We might make mistakes, or we might make the right call. Yet, we must forge ahead.
So, we hold our children’s hands and leap into the unknown.
I can’t say yet if medication is the solution or if it will transform my son’s life or our family dynamics. I can’t predict whether it will lift the weight he carries and bring him joy at home or in school, where he excels academically but has felt deeply unhappy. However, I have witnessed glimmers of joy, smiles that were previously absent, and a newfound calm in our home over the past few weeks. For the first time in a long while, I feel hope.
For more on related topics, check out this post on intracervical insemination or learn about the home insemination kit from a trusted source. If you’re looking for guidance during pregnancy, the CDC’s pregnancy resource is an excellent place to start.
Summary:
This article reflects a mother’s poignant journey as she grapples with the decision to medicate her son, who has struggled with emotional and behavioral challenges. From her initial commitment to strict prenatal guidelines to her current feelings of hope amidst uncertainty, the narrative captures the complexities of parenting and the difficult choices that come with it.