The Problem With General Statements Spoken From A Place Of Privilege

My Lord, he's just precious.

I don't think a week goes by that I don't hear - or see - someone say - or post - that we over medicate kids.

"It's lazy parenting" seems to be a common refrain.  "Let kids be kids!" is one that is sure to rack up a lot of likes.  "We didn't have all these kids with ADHD and autism when I was a kid!" is another one (and yes, you did - they just grew up without support and self-medicated with drugs and alcohol and probably died young or went to jail but don't let that interfere with your worldview.)

And let me say that I think there is a lot to be said about the MEDICAL COMMUNITY and doctors prematurely prescribing  medications to children whom are scientifically classified as being too young for either a particular diagnosis, or for a particular medication.  There are instances of doctors diagnosing toddlers with ADHD and giving preschoolers anti-psychotics.  That's awful, and folks within the medical community who are engaging in that should be taken to task.

But instead of making statements like, "I think it's really unfortunate that a faction of doctors within the medical community have made a practice of medicating children before it is age-appropriate or when it is not medically necessary," people just say, "Kids are over-medicated!  Maybe a spanking and some time outdoors and some responsibility will clear that up!" and "Those kids don't have any medical problems - they are just badly behaved and need to be disciplined!"

Jesus save me from parenting experts.

The other day, we had (yet another) meeting at Junior's school.  It seems as though our son has some attention difficulties (not that his entire team of doctors at Children's Mercy hasn't been saying that for months, but whatever).  These issues are significantly impacting his learning and are classified as a disability.

Now, Junior is compliant.  If he is asked to sit on the carpet for carpet time, he sits on the carpet.  But, his teacher said, he may be facing the wall.  He may spend the entire time completely disengaged and focused completely inward, and even repeated redirection cannot keep him from what the staff at his school calls "Justin World."

Justin World.

I'm not a card-carrying citizen of Justin World, but I do have a visa.  I'm lucky, because I get to visit occasionally.  Justin World is sometimes lovely.  Or silly.  It's almost always curious and full of pressing questions about water depths and numbers and temperatures and electricity.  Sometimes, to me, it's overwhelming and intense.

But I understand that my son lives in Justin World because he finds much about this world to be overwhelming and intense.

My son has, among many other things, sensory processing disorder.  The very clothes on his back are a distraction to him, and noise?  It physically hurts, at times.  And lights, too - bright ones and flickering ones are just hard for him.  And maybe no one had that when you were a kid, but come talk to me about that when you see my child huddled in the bottom of a grocery cart with my coat placed over his head, giving him a dark, muffled space, tears rolling down his face because the lights in Walmart repeatedly dim and brighten.  Or watch the look of panic on his face when the Salvation Army bell ringers come out full-force during the holidays and he has to use headphones to block out the noise of their bells.  Come tell me then about how it's not a "real thing."

And my son has a brain that causes him to tic, and creates obsessions and compulsions.  He asks me 37,898 questions about frill sharks and light bulbs because his brain is sometimes like a record player whose needle gets stuck in a groove and he absolutely has to ask  these questions the same way a kid with allergies has to sneeze.

Guys, I think it has to be exhausting to him, sometimes.

I cannot imagine how hard it must be for Junior to try and process what he is supposed to be learning when he is assaulted by sensory input from without, and his mind is crowded with thoughts that he has no control over from within.  Add in a few vocal tics, such as incessant throat clearing that actually makes him hoarse at times, or the stuttering tic that viciously hamstrings his ability to speak (and just imagine having a complete, pressing need to ask a question or say a word and then not being able to ask it)...well, that he manages to accomplish as much as he does is remarkable and admirable and makes me weak-at-the-knees proud of him.

At his last therapy appointment, we went over all the "clinically significant" markers the staff at his school had given him on some observation tests that the doctor had asked them to fill out.  And my Lord, my kid is "clinically significant"on a number of levels.  When I asked a question, it became clear that I had misunderstood something rather major, and I teared up, fighting back panic because what else have I misunderstood?  Has there been some other key piece of information that I didn't grasp, and had that impacted my child?

"What else can we do?" I asked, and it was a desperate sort of plea.

But the doctor took it literally.

"We may consider medication down the road," he said.

And we will do just that - absolutely consider it.

Because we trust our child's doctor and his team at Children's Mercy.  It's not the first time medication to address Justin's attention and tics has been floated.  His pediatric neurologist, also at Children's Mercy, mentioned it as well.  But Children's Mercy does not like to medicate children before the age of 8 for tics or for attention issues.  It's one of the reasons we trust them, and one of the reasons they have such an amazing reputation.

By age 8, Justin will have had four years of various therapies, which include steady, consistent discipline and boundaries at home that are written into his plan at school.  He'll have two more years of experience in a school setting, two more years of social development, two more years of growth and learning, two more years of plans that provide him with positive feedback and hopefully help him succeed.

And if, at that time, Justin is still struggling, and the doctors think that medicine will help Justin focus, then okay.  Not because I want a magic string of straight As, or a potion that will somehow make my role as a parent somehow second place to a chemical, but because my son is living in a world that hurts him sometimes, and that pain makes it hard for him to learn and interact.

If my child had excruciating headaches that prevented him from focusing in class, I would not hesitate to give him Tylenol.

And no one would ever think about saying, "Oh my God, Tylenol?  Really?  They hand that out like candy these days.  Are you sure he really needs that?  Why don't you spank him and tell him to pay attention!"

Because that's asinine.

But guys, it's the same damned thing.

If we, as adults, were failing at our jobs because we had these very same problems, because when we tried to focus on a task we couldn't stop rolling our eyes, or contorting our face, and our minds could not stop thinking about one certain topic, obsessed about it for hours on end, and we couldn't stop ourselves from repeating a phrase no matter how much we knew it was annoying and confusing other people, socially isolating us and making our jobs even more difficult, and a doctor suggested medication, wouldn't we want it?  Would we not want to grant ourselves some sort of relief?  What in the world is noble about denying a child the same sort of relief?  And would we be lazy if we did?

I seriously do not understand it.

Just kidding.  I do understand it.  Not the actual thought process behind it, but I understand it because I don't think there is any thought process behind it, and I know that because I was that parent once, too.  Back when Junior was a fat baby, all roly-poly and fully breastfed and before I even had my first night of worry over whether or not something might be going on with my child beyond a runny nose or runny diaper, I was all smug in my amazing mothering abilities that really did not extend beyond feeding and keeping my child clean, for God's sake.

"Oh, we put a label on everything!  Sometimes a kid is just weird or active - do we have to label and medicate it?"

Ugh.

Sometimes a kid is just weird and active.

Sometimes, though, a child is physically and mentally incapable of focusing and learning without some sort of help.  Sometimes, even with early intervention and consistent parenting and therapies and support plans and everything else, sometimes a kid still doesn't leave Justin World, or Molly World, or Whoever World.  Sometimes it's not a matter of won't, but a matter of can't.  

These general statements about lazy parents over-medicating kids that now have so many parents in the special  needs community feeling as if there must be something wrong with them if they medicate their children -- and, in feeling that way, may be closing the door on a legitimate method that may help their child -- are spoken from a place of deep privilege.

I spoke from there once, too.  And I probably had no sense of irony when I took an asprin or an antibiotic, either.  I mean, obviously I needed that medicine.  LOL.  I wish I could go back and punch that version of me on behalf of now-me and every other mom who had to suffer through special needs parenting advice from people who have no idea, no clue, no common sense and, sometimes, very little common decency.