"D" is for Dentist
Yesterday afternoon was the scheduled tooth-cleaning for my eldest/16 year-old son and my 12 year-old miso-son. Last week, during my appointment, I had alerted and educated the Dentist and his hygienist about my son's Misophonia. I was worried how the visit would go due to the many possible triggers within the office.
Around 4:00 p.m. I received a frantic call at work from my husband. As soon as Colin entered the Dentist's office building, he rushed to the restroom, closed the door and began to kick at it. Our son escaped back to the mini van and could not go through with his appointment. My husband decided to switch and go in his place. He asked me if I could get away and pick Colin up.
I explained that I was waiting for UPS to pick up today's shipment and could not come for a bit. I hung up, but called back after I had time to think. Why can't our eldest sit in the car and babysit when it is dad's turn for his cleaning? My husband agreed. I asked about his plan to pick up our middle son at his school around 5:00 p.m. My husband thought he could still do this, although originally he had planned to go after our 12 year old had his teeth cleaned first.
"D" is for Detonation
I arrived home just before 5:00, beating my husband and boys. After depositing my work-things by the side of the stairs, I proceeded to the refrigerator. The sign was flipped to "On" but upon further inspection the fridge was turned off. I could feel the anger building. Colin has gotten careless about turning the sign when he shuts off the fridge. He often gets belligerent when reminded. I am getting so tired of this.
A short while later, I hear the car pull up and commotion as the boys exited. Colin was storming toward the house, wearing just his headphones, underwear and a single sock (the other foot was bare) and using a blanket to shield him from the neighbors' view.
My rage was building.
My husband took off to fetch our 15 year old, leaving me with 2 angry boys. Only one of them was justified in their animosity. As my miso-son stormed past me, he gave me the laser-beam glare of hate. The bathroom door was slammed and the fit escalated.
I fired off a warning yell to keep it down. My son yelled back. After a short back and forth volley of threats, I had finally reached my limit. That. Was. It! Fasten your seat belts and put your trays in the upright position. Get ready for take-off.
My temper was ignited and I exploded into a screaming monster. I raged so hard, my son escaped to the basement. We exchanged "gunfire" with laser-beam shooting glances. Colin put his hands together and pointed them at me like he had a gun and fired off a few shots. I pulled my imaginary weapons from my holster and fired at him with both barrels. I think I saw a smirk on my son's face before I left him to cool off.
I am so glad my husband was not at home to witness any of this. I know what I did was childish and wrong. But it felt sooooo good!
I'm beginning to understand "The Rage".
"D" is for Desperate and Disaster and Devastation
When my husband came back with my middle-son, things had cooled down a bit. My 15 year old was not happy his dad arrived 45 minutes late to pick him up. There was just enough time for dinner and then onto piano lessons for my poor middle child. I opted to escape the house and take him.
This gave me some quality one-on-one time with my son. I feel bad for my non-miso children. Their quality of life is suffering. They are forced to make compromises without any consideration from their younger brother and are subjected to his fits at the slightest trigger.
My eldest son seems to keep the rages at bay by posing a threat of bodily harm to his miso-brother. Fear seems to help keep Misophonia at bay. The fear of public exposure, or an older brother that could (but has not yet) pulverize him, seems to help Colin control some of his trigger-attacks.
Last night was another rough one. Colin was up and restless for most of the night. After an extended bumping and thumping and shushing ( back & forth between me and my son), I opened the door to check what was happening. I was met with the angry glare of a naked, headphone-wearing child standing by the sink draped with his ever-present blanket. I surmised he was trying to sleep standing up.
This latest episode may have been triggered by my 16 year-old who was up late studying until after 1:00 a.m. I am not happy that my high school junior was up so late and ignored my request to get ready for bed before 10 p.m. or 11:00 p.m. at the latest. This chain-reaction caused me to have gotten less than 3 hours of sleep last night. Something has got to give. My nerves are shot!
"D" is for Doctor
Monday is our scheduled visit for a full exam at the pediatrician. We hope to hear back today from the Neurologist my husband contacted yesterday. Our pediatrician said he would be able to make a referral(s) next week after Colin's exam which might get us help quicker.
These days nothing seems to be happening quick enough.
Color me Desperate!
We are a work-in-progress!