Hell Week

 Today marks Wesley’s third day of school and it has been unbelievably Hellish! 

I knew that once the novelty wore off and the first day of school finally approached, he’d regress back to all of his former panic-induced behaviors.  Mentally, I was prepared for it all.  Emotionally, I have been blind sided. 

Sunday night he was so anxious he couldn’t fall asleep until well after 1:00 AM. He woke up feeling crappy, scared and panicky.  He kept asking me to feel his forehead, he wouldn’t eat breakfast, he moped around in a daze and looked like he was continuously on the verge of tears.  Liz got up with him and tried her best to be his moral support; between the two of us, we managed to ease his mind enough to give him some courage.

I put on my reassuring, happy face, took his hand and walked him to his class.  I could feel him trembling under his seemingly calm resolve and I gave him a wink of encouragement with a smile.  He bravely greeted his two teachers, gave them a weak smile and hugged and kissed me goodbye.  As I walked down the hall, away from my son, I could feel the invisible strings that attached us, pull and tug at my heart. 

"He’ll be fine," I told myself over and over until I reached the truck and nervously drove back home.  I busied myself at the house with some laundry and reading to help keep my mind in a positive state but I couldn’t help but hurt for him, knowing how he felt.  I had to remind myself several times that I was doing the right thing. I wasn’t abandoning him to the wolves like I did two years ago and he was going to grow from this experience in spite of the difficulty.  Still, I was so completely in tuned with his feelings that I couldn’t help but ache and worry as I watched the clock tick by.

After I picked hubby up from work, we headed out to the school.  Liz and Cathy sat in the back seat, excited to find out how his first day went.  Wesley was waiting by the glass doors, next to his teacher, peering out the glass solemnly as we pulled up.  He gave his teacher an absent minded wave and climbed into the truck. We were barely back on the road when Liz and Cathy started interrogating him about his day.  He answered with a few quiet comments but then asked us to "quit asking so many boring questions." 

Later that night he barely touched his dinner.  Every few minutes he’d walk up, bend down to me and point to his forehead – an indication that he needed some reassurance and comfort.  While we were all relaxing in the livingroom, I looked up from my book to see that he’d wandered into the dining room to sit by his desk and stare off into space, rocking back and forth.  Our eyes met and he slowly walked over to me to cuddle up on the couch.  It didn’t take a lot of effort to get him to bed that night as the poor boy was so physically and emotionally exhaused. 

Wednesday morning, as I was fixing hubby’s lunch, I heard him yelling at Liz.  Since he and Liz share a room, it’s her job to wake him in the morning and he is not a morning person.  As soon as he finished dressing, he came to me to wrap his arms around me.  I looked down at him to see tears rolling down his face.  "Mommy, are you sure I’m going to like this school?  It’s scary."  We sat down in the livingroom while he expressed his insecurities and I did my best to reassure him again.  We spent a few minutes cuddling before we piled into the truck to drop Allie off at school and hubby at work.  He didn’t say a word the whole way to school.

Last night he preoccupied himself on the computer playing Mine-Craft until dinner time.  I noticed his right hand tick had gotten worse.  When he wasn’t totally engaged in gameplay, he’d absent-mindedly jerk his right hand, making a cracking sound.  He ate a little better than the previous night but as bed time came closer and closer, his anxiety climbed higher and higher.  Finally, he climbed up on the couch next to me and started balling.  "Mommy, I miss ECOT.  I don’t want to go to this school.  Can’t I please do ECOT again?"  My heart sunk as I had to try to explain to him why it was so important for him to start going back to a regular school.  I pointed out all of the positive aspects of the school that he’d be missing out on if he continued in ECOT and once again reassured him that once he got used to the routine, the teachers and students, and the newness of everything, he’ll find that it’s not so bad and he’ll learn to like it.  Not completely convinced, he lay his head down on my lap and quietly sobbed as I rubbed his back and calmed him down.  After about three attempts to calm him down again, he finally fell asleep in his bed. 
 
This morning I was woke up to the sounds of screaming in the next room.  My quiet, sullen boy turned into a wolf of rage, kicking and screaming to be left alone while Liz patiently but firmly coaxed him awake.  When he finally stomped off to the bathroom, Liz gave me that look, "here we go," and headed down stairs to fix him some tea while I packed his father’s lunch.  When he didn’t come down after five minutes we called after him.  He screamed down at us that he was not going to school!  His temper reached an all time high as Liz coaxed him down stairs, still not dressed and still exclaiming he wasn’t going to school.  Then the negotiating started.  "Mommy, I PROMISE I’ll be a good boy!  I PROMISE I’ll do everything you say if you let me back in ECOT!  PLEASE let me stay home today!  I’m tired, I didn’t sleep good, I don’t think I can go to school, Idon’tfeelgoodmyhearthurtsIwannastayhomepleasepleaseplease…!!! 

I wanted to hide in the bathroom and cry.  I wanted to snap my fingers and make him a well adjusted, mature 18 year old man with no phobias or anxieties.  I wanted to hug him fiercely and squish all his fear out of him.  I wanted to put him back into my womb – that’s no longer inside of me – to give him a place of peace, comfort and warmth.  I wanted everything unreasonable, irrational and unrealistic.

Hubby drove Allie to school while Liz and I worked on calming him down and getting him ready.  By the time hubby pulled back into the driveway, Wesley, resigned to his doom, sullenly walked out to the truck like an inmate walking to his execution.  I took a deep breath, said a silent prayer and handed him a cold wet washcloth to blot the red blotches around his eyes as we drove out to the school.  Once again, he put on his brave face and, holding my hand, walked into the school and his classroom. 

Walking away from him this morning was the hardest yet.  I KNOW he’ll adjust, but, it kills me inside to see him have such a hard time with it.  I just keep my mind focused on the long-term benefits. 

The good news in all of this is that he’s been given a 100% by his teachers — their grading scale on behavior and participation for the day.  He was also chosen as "Artist of the Day," which he was pretty proud of.   

It’s progress, and with time, I’m hoping he’ll learn to love – or at least like – the whole school experience.  Next week he’s supposed to start riding the bus, but, when I go in to see the IEP coordinator tomorrow, I’m going to ask him if we can delay that for a couple of weeks.  I can’t treat this like the removal of a band-aid: "the faster the better".  I have to ease him into this as it’s so much for him to deal with already. 

Aah!  What a week!

…Will you feel my forehead??