“He’s still awake. I don’t know what’s going on with him. He’s all over the place.” My husband looked at me with a helpless, concerned look in his eyes. Tag, you’re it. I need help. You have to take this over for me.
I still don’t know if this manic-type OCD episode was my fault. After a long day in the office, I jetted over to a friend’s place to catch up and unwind. It was so nice to spend the time that I decided to stay through Wes’ bedtime. “Good night honey, I’ll see you in the morning,” I said when I called him to say good-night over the phone. He was so sweet on the phone and seemed A-OK.
He wasn’t OK. By the time I got home and walked into his room, he was in a fetal position in bed and writhing around as if in pain. It looked like he couldn’t stand to even be in his own skin. He avoided my touch and ignored my questions about what was making OCD mad. Not having a clue what to do, I suggested that we do some exposures in my office (even though it was already almost 2 hours past his bedtime!). He perked up at the idea and almost ran to my office. Inside the room, I pleaded for him to focus on me so I could talk to him. He ignored me as he ping-ponged from one object to another in my office touching and exploring things. “Sweetheart. Sweetheart, hey sweetheart. Come here, sit down.”
Finally, he settled into my wingback chair and brought his legs to his chest. Grimacing and moaning as if in pain he begged, “Mom it’s just SO hard. He (the OCD flea) wants to do math problems. He wants to do math problems. It’s so hard. Just let him do it. It’s so haaaaaard.” “Ok, let’s do it! We can do some of them wrong (to beat OCD)! Maybe one right then two wrong?” “I want to do it in a math book. It’s on the table. But mamma, can we get them correct? I just want them to be correct. It’s SO HAAARD. Just let them be correct!” he asked, wincing.
He raced to retrieve the math book and sat down with it in the chair. His body relaxed. He made eye contact. His big brown eyes sparkled at me. “Mom, four times four is sixteen.” It’s as if he’d forgotten what had just happened. And I felt guilty. Giving OCD what it wants is like giving an addict their choice of drug. The drug in this scenario was clearly the multiplication book. So, I encouraged him to write things incorrectly in the book. And finally, I was able to convince him to go back to his bedroom to try sleeping again.
At 12PM I laid in bed relieved that I finally got Wes to bed after another hour of coaxing. I was exhausted. And I was wide awake. The week had felt like a half marathon with only one day to go. Then, when I got home it was like someone had pulled me off course a mile before the finish and thrown me onto the blocks for a 400-meter sprint just as the gun was going off. No ‘ready, set’. Just GO. My chest tightened just thinking about how hard it was and how long it takes just to get an appointment to increase his Prozac; how OCD will impact his future; how hard it is to address this recent new trigger of counting and solving math problems on repeat in his head; how I can’t imagine having to get on the road for business travel again and leave my husband and son to figure these moments out on their own; how it’s so unfair. And how we’re so alone in this. No one understands it.
No one understands it because we’re in Holland and most everyone else is in Italy. It’s the best analogy for how I feel. I came across it in this book: Freeing Your Child from Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. I planned this amazing trip to Italy when I finally got pregnant through IVF after almost five years of trying. I bought the tickets to Rome. I bought all the clothes to wear to tour the Coliseum and explore the Italian Riviera. I planned all the sights to see and booked all the hotels. I brushed up on some basic Italian. I got on the plane.
Instead of landing in Rome, I ended up in Holland. Huh? “Um…excuse me? I’m supposed to meet up with my friends in Rome. We have plans!” This isn’t where I’m supposed to be. I don’t have any maps or plans for Holland. I don’t know the language and am completely ill-prepared. I have to get off the plane. I reluctantly get off and try to rebook for Italy.
No such luck sister. As it turns out, we’re supposed to be Dutch. We’re learning the language. We’re trying to stay connected to friends back home and in Italy. While well-intended, they’re not really interested in really learning Dutch culture. They don’t have to. We try to visit when we can but we wear funny clothes and have funny traditions they might not understand. However, Holland is our ‘Just right’ destination.
Holland has its own special beauty to offer.
JM
Peace & Victory
Defeating the OCD Flea 