Monthly Archives: May 2014

Again with the Medication Refusal

After all the work I put in getting a new bottle  of “peach donut” pills for Mikey, he’s decided he will not be taking his medication. He tells me he can make good choices on his own, without the medication. He tells me this despite the mountain of evidence I provide to the contrary.

Ugh! I’m almost to the point where I’m considering taking him to the local relief nursery center. He’s so impulsive and aggressive! And utterly unable to focus on a thought.

In the span of 30 seconds, he ran around the kitchen saying, “I want to make ice cream. Have you seen my dude diary? I’m going to eat this fruit sauce. Why aren’t you helping me use my bouncy ball kit????”

I’m fairly certain we’ll need to be tweaking his medication this summer. I’m thinking the extended release medication is taking too long to kick in and then not lasting as long as it should. I’d like to see him on a regular dose, for many reasons, but mainly because if I need to I can then crush up his pill and hide it in something!

Of course, our pediatrician is out for an undetermined time dealing with a family emergency. So none of this is going to happen any time soon. Which is good, because I’m spending all my spare Mikey energy preparing for his transition to kindergarten meeting, where we’re bringing in an educational advocate. I even had Cody take off work to attend the meeting.

We’ll see what tomorrow brings. Perhaps Mikey will take his medicine right along with Cody tomorrow–sometimes Daddy has Mikey administer his “good choices medicine” and makes a big deal about asking for help and explaining how much he himself needs help making good choices and focusing on things.


I Hate Autism

We’re having “a week.” Most of my challenges relate to the fact that my kids get up at 5 each morning. Despite knowing this, I’ve been staying up until 11 just hanging out with my husband and trying to enjoy some time awake as a grownup. So I’m exhausted and tempers are short.

And Mikey is having some unnamed difficulty dealing with his life this week. His sensory needs are through the roof, he’s been impulsive, and he’s taken to telling Cody and I to “shut up, poopy-head.”

This morning, he had a 3-hour meltdown. At one point, he was screaming so hard that he made himself vomit. Which made him upset because he then couldn’t wear his last clean pair of jeans to school, which meant either “fluffy pants” or shorts. You can imagine how it all cycled round and round into a heap of exhausting shit.

Poor Alex just kept playing with trains throughout the whole thing. His normal is just watching his parents try to figure out how to help his big brother deal with overload.

We’re all ready for school to be over. We need a restart and some long days out in the woods. Everything goes better for Mikey out in the woods. He really needs to live in a yurt by a creek when he grows up.

Yellow Logs

So the medication Mikey takes usually arrives in my hands as peach-colored discs (or “peach cookies” per Mikey). The other day, I had this stroke of brilliance that I was going to combine grocery shopping with medicine pickup. So I went to the grocery store pharmacy instead of my regular, neighborhood pharmacy where, literally, everybody knows my name.

Not in any remote place in my brain did I ever imagine pills of the same type came in different colors, shapes and sizes, so I didn’t even glance at the medication. I took home the bottle, feeling smug that I’d done two errands in one store.

Next morning, I popped open the lid, went to hand Mikey his pills, and shit my pants. Because the medication was shaped like enormous, yellow logs. “Barrels” our pediatrician called the new pills. I read the label, verified that it was all the same contents, and proceeded to die, because I knew my son would not agree to ingest this. No.

My son with an autism diagnosis who can’t bear it when people put away their Halloween decorations was not going to just roll with a massive change in his medication’s physical appearance.

He. Would. Not. Take the pill. I approached the situation super cheerfully: “Mikey, isn’t this interesting?! Your pill is the same exact thing, but it just looks different! Like how sometimes we check out The Wizard of Oz with pictures and sometimes it doesn’t have pictures–from the library? It’s just like that?!!?!?!?!”

To be fair, he did at least appear to be making an effort to swallow the pill.

This was a Thursday, a school day for him. He spent the morning as per usual, naked and dashing through the house as if I lit his farts on fire. You can imagine my surprise and frustration when school called shortly after dropoff to report that he was claiming to feel ill and was sitting, nay–moping–around the classroom.

I happened to be in the middle of some bloodwork when I received the call and said I’d call back at 11am, the earliest I could possibly come get him. Two more calls in that time span, to emphasize the gravity of the situation. I began to feel concerned and rushed to school, where he was indeed moping.

Of course, by the time we were home, his farts were on fire again. We spent the long weekend with an unmedicated Mikey, whom even the pediatrician could not persuade to swallow the yellow log. The irony is that if he were medicated, Mikey would be totally game for swallowing something in a new color/shape.

Since his medication is such a controlled narcotic, we can’t just waltz in there and get replacement pills. Our ped needed approval from the insurance company and the pharmacy and who knows who else. It was a process, one he told us would take from Friday afternoon until Monday afternoon to complete.

I have never in my life made such a hasty trip to Rite Aid as I did when I got the green light call to go and pick up Mikey’s peach cookie-shaped pills. I even took a picture of the pills with my phone, one that I won’t share because it also has all our personal information on it. But trust me, dear reader, I feel excited about handing him the medicine come morning.

So, I’m hoping that’s our Mikey crisis of the week and we’ll get a respite from dealing with “things that go wrong” for him. Meanwhile, I’ve got 25 spare yellow log pills I have no idea how to dispose of.