Yes; weekend before last I began to cough a bit, then Monday night I was really feeling pretty puny. That was about the last of me for a week. Tuesday and Wednesday I did nothing but cough and sleep. Same on Thursday. We'd generously been given a pre-cooked Thanksgiving meal, but I was so sick, and Sergei was also so sick, that no one ate Thanksgiving dinner. On Wednesday Sergei had developed a rash - all over his body and so bad that his face and lips were swollen. He also felt terrible with chills and fever.
On Friday, Craig put both of us in the car and took us to Redi-Care. I clearly had bronchitis. They'd little clue what was wrong with Sergei, but gave us both prescriptions and sent us home. I hoped for quick relief and didn't get it. Now - four days later, I feel a bit better. The coughing isn't much relieved, but at least I don't ache all over, and I can think. I'm weak....but not so much as I was. Happily Sergei is also recovered from the mystery disease.
It was fortunate that I was sick over a vacation, as there was no panic and anxiety over work. Craig was here to take care of the kids, though I think that meant McDonalds nearly every day, to my horror.
Even downplayed, Thanksgiving was a big trigger for Anastasia. I got in about ten intense minutes with her a day. One day it was her bouncing on the bed above me and telling me she hoped I'd die. I didn't care; it was all like a dream to me at the time. Mama being sick is a trigger, too. Someone else getting attention; her not getting it from mama.
Saturday I said, "I think Thanksgiving is a hard time for you." Her response in her most sarcastic tone - "Ya think? I'm supposed to be thankful?! For WHAT! I didn't want to be adopted! I want my real family!" Oh, yes - I was sitting downstairs watching TV with her. The non-stop "happy-family" commericals and imagery must be a hideous abrasive for so many people.
Sunday night I was feeling enough better to cope with a particularly intense exchange. I was actually well enough to insist that Craig go to the store and get something else [other than McDonalds] for dinner (despite the fact that perversely, I really craved the half of a fish sandwich that I'd had for a couple of nights straight). He took "orders" for various sorts of ramen, etc. Anastasia ignored it all. He left; he returned; boys ate. She said, "I want something to eat. I want McDonalds." I explained, reasonably, that we weren't having McDonalds again. Things accellerated. She was not happy. "You don't feed me! I want food! I want McDonalds!" This build-up took longer than I can really describe in quotations, because I was [stupidly] responding with logic and reason to the things she said....or only scratching a tiny bit below the surface, with the ever-futile "Why are you acting like this!?" Once she threw a book across the room. Once she stood over me menacingly. Once she demanded the scissors (which I had hidden), and finding them, began a little foray into cutting (which I pretty much ignored). Maybe because it was getting physical and maybe because I realized I didn't have enough energy to expend, I finally made a solid leap into therapeutic parenting the last time she yelled, "I want McDonald's", I yelled back (or at least responded with similar intensity), "You know you can't have McDonalds! But I don't think that's it! What else is it that you want but can't have!?!" She didn't miss a beat, but continued as if this had been the subject all the time, "I want my real parents! I don't want to be adopted! I was a quiet little girl in Russia! I was nice! Why did you adopt me!" and the real conversation began..... (followed, an hour or so later, by Anastasia, without ado, getting up and making herself a little meal from food in the kitchen).
I heard her, and let her know that I understand how painful it must be for her. Same conversation we have almost daily, slightly different words, another little coloration, maybe a bit more understanding of some little piece of it. Poor little dear.
But, it had me thinking. As I often do. Sometimes I wonder that more parents don't kill and injure their children. The uninitiated parent. The adoptive parent expecting a thankful child, or at the very least, an obedient and respectful child. A step-parent coming into a situation with a hurt and damaged child...... A foster parent thinking "This kid should be grateful!" It is so darned easy to look at the surface. I think therapeutic parenting all.the.time! I am not unintelligent; I have imagiation. Yet, Sunday night, even I initially saw: a little brat who wants McDonalds, and when told she can't have it, becomes a defiant, violent little jerk.
Anastasia didn't know it wasn't about McDonald's either. She was just expressing a huge, deep feeling that slid into the most "convenent" package to deliver itself. If you think it is about McDonalds, of course you will scoff and scorn and get angry and punish. Having her deepest feelings rejected (without really understanding that this was what she was expressing) she will be crazed when further shame is heaped on the searing pain she is already trying to unburden. Of course it is an emotional beating ready to happen - if not a physical one. It is hard to hear communication expressed in code. Especially in the bustle of homelife [especially when you are sick], it is hard to stop and realize - It is not about McDonalds.
On Friday, Craig put both of us in the car and took us to Redi-Care. I clearly had bronchitis. They'd little clue what was wrong with Sergei, but gave us both prescriptions and sent us home. I hoped for quick relief and didn't get it. Now - four days later, I feel a bit better. The coughing isn't much relieved, but at least I don't ache all over, and I can think. I'm weak....but not so much as I was. Happily Sergei is also recovered from the mystery disease.
It was fortunate that I was sick over a vacation, as there was no panic and anxiety over work. Craig was here to take care of the kids, though I think that meant McDonalds nearly every day, to my horror.
Even downplayed, Thanksgiving was a big trigger for Anastasia. I got in about ten intense minutes with her a day. One day it was her bouncing on the bed above me and telling me she hoped I'd die. I didn't care; it was all like a dream to me at the time. Mama being sick is a trigger, too. Someone else getting attention; her not getting it from mama.
Saturday I said, "I think Thanksgiving is a hard time for you." Her response in her most sarcastic tone - "Ya think? I'm supposed to be thankful?! For WHAT! I didn't want to be adopted! I want my real family!" Oh, yes - I was sitting downstairs watching TV with her. The non-stop "happy-family" commericals and imagery must be a hideous abrasive for so many people.
I heard her, and let her know that I understand how painful it must be for her. Same conversation we have almost daily, slightly different words, another little coloration, maybe a bit more understanding of some little piece of it. Poor little dear.
But, it had me thinking. As I often do. Sometimes I wonder that more parents don't kill and injure their children. The uninitiated parent. The adoptive parent expecting a thankful child, or at the very least, an obedient and respectful child. A step-parent coming into a situation with a hurt and damaged child...... A foster parent thinking "This kid should be grateful!" It is so darned easy to look at the surface. I think therapeutic parenting all.the.time! I am not unintelligent; I have imagiation. Yet, Sunday night, even I initially saw: a little brat who wants McDonalds, and when told she can't have it, becomes a defiant, violent little jerk.
Anastasia didn't know it wasn't about McDonald's either. She was just expressing a huge, deep feeling that slid into the most "convenent" package to deliver itself. If you think it is about McDonalds, of course you will scoff and scorn and get angry and punish. Having her deepest feelings rejected (without really understanding that this was what she was expressing) she will be crazed when further shame is heaped on the searing pain she is already trying to unburden. Of course it is an emotional beating ready to happen - if not a physical one. It is hard to hear communication expressed in code. Especially in the bustle of homelife [especially when you are sick], it is hard to stop and realize - It is not about McDonalds.
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