We had a weekend in the trenches of Depakote side-effects. Side-effects should be called front-effects, back-effects, effects that have you holding onto your hat and your heart for dear life. We had public spitting, being told he hated us, public thrashing, kicking, hitting. Geoff and I had to wrestle Manny to the ground several times. Geoff wept because he loathes aggression. I wept because I can enjoy expressing aggression. But neither of us were prepared for these expressions toward our child.
I write here to document for later. But I also write here to document for now. To keep my head in the game, to not give up and to present myself for every new day resting on new strength, living out of a restored hope. I can help my kid through a bad cold, a night of fevers even but these light-switch temperament changes, the smirk of defiance followed by spitting, sends a deep existential chill to my very core.
This same kid, though, is capable of emerging bright and strong from the side effects, over a mercifully long weekend. Yesterday and today, we had grave apologies from Manny. We had him slamming the brakes on his anger and turn his heart around to calm himself down. We had him drink so much water you wouldn't believe it. Depakote has a period of like 17 hours where it stays in your system. The dose that was scheduled anticipated a quicker weight-gain. So we went from a glorious improvement of attentiveness and maturity to I guess too high a level for him to function normally. His affect equilibrium was off, his fuse was so short, and his first impulses were aggressive and verbally hyperbolic.
I can see the long journey ahead and I feel so tired. When I look at the small shaft of dappled sunlight in which I stand for one moment in the day when he is at play, happy and okay, I can rest there. This is enough for now. Enough for right now.
