Fried Chicken Tizzy

Never knew that fried chicken could change your outlook and inspire hope did you?  Vale, out of the blue, told the family that for some reason he was craving fried chicken.  If you know anything about anorexic behavior, you know that they don’t crave *anything*.

Needless to say that the moment the family got home from church, Payne hopped on that computer to find the closest KFC.  A nearly mad scramble was made to obtain these nearly holy grail-esque poultry pieces.

Mom wasn’t home.  She’s in Rhode Island with Grey.

Vale reported… he ate like a boy. ;)

Little Triggers…

It was appointment day for Vale so we started off our 2.5 hour trip with a breakfast at Starbucks.  Vale, having an eating disorder, took a long time to decide what he wanted to eat.  He finally concluded on a cappuccino, an artesian sandwich and a slice of coffee cake for the road.  I knew he would drink the beverage right away, and as he is trying to work on eating better he would eat at least most of the sandwich since it was a hot food.  The counter person commented on Vale’s order, “My he must be hungry!  No wonder it took him so much time to order.”  gigantic sigh  My heart stopped.  My stomach flipped.  I shot a quick side glance at Vale and gave a little smile, he just sort of shook his head.

Now this woman didn’t know what she was doing.  It wasn’t her fault.  She wasn’t being insensitive, she was just feeling friendly.  If Vale wasn’t on an eating upswing that comment would have ended all cooperative eating for the entire day.  It’s so ironic to consider how much of our lives are dictated by an eating disorder.

Unhelpful friends

If a brother or sister be naked, and destitute of daily food, And one of you say unto them, Depart in peace, be ye warmed and filled; notwithstanding ye give them not those things which are needful to the body; what doth it profit?  James 2:15-16

I’ve been thinking a lot about this principle lately.  We’re having revival meetings.  I realize there isn’t going to be much revival in me, especially since I go to church ‘propped up’.  I ask for it anyway.  I ask for ears to hear.  I ask that God would bring someone along side me to strengthen my hand and help me not feel so alone.  He hasn’t provided that yet.  But I have received, and not at the Hand of God, well meaning yet hurtful friends.  

These are the people who say, “why don’t you just give it to God”, or (and this is just sweet) if Vale committed suicide it’s “not your fault”.  They admonish me to get some rest.  They just. don’t. get. it.  Now they claim they do, because after all they’ve gone through heartache themselves.  One friend tells me they understand a loosing a child to suicide because they’ve lost two pregnancies.  Ummm, loosing a pregnancy is difficult, I know, I lost one.  Lemme tell you it, it’s not close to equitable to nursing a damaged child recovering from rape.  These friends wrote to me the following

As our children became young adults, they desired to stretch their wings and adventure past the four walls of our house, and this corner of the world. The Lord gave them many opportunities to do so, and it was with great fear in my own heart that I put them into cars and planes to travel across this country and across the world. Lying awake at night and worrying did nothing to keep them safe as they ventured out on their own. I was forced to trust them to the Lord. At any time He can choose to take them to Him.



…. and that’s supposed to equate to my son taking his own life, which has nothing to do with God?  Does it come close to the panic I feel every morning when he takes a medication that might actually exacerbate his suicidal ideologies?  Are you kidding me?  I have a child who drives.  Oh my word, my child could choke on a cookie and go home to the Lord!  I sometimes wonder if God gives me so many hard things to carry because there are so many weak folk like the writer above, who can’t handle anything outside the ordinary.

We went through this quite a bit when Vale’s twin was having a lot of health issues.  People went as far as to state things like, “oh I know what you’re going through.. why just last week my dog got so sick..”  WHAT!?!?  How is that even similar?

But back to that verse on the top.  Another quote from the letter from my ‘friend’:

You are struggling mentally, physically and emotionally through this trial. Let me encourage you to step back for a moment and consider what is happening. What good will you be to any of your children if you can not think clearly to guide them to all Truth? How can you minister to them if you are exhausted and unwell, physically? How can you guide them into all truth if you are not drinking from the well yourself?

You know, they’re absolutely right.  But what they’re missing is that the level of vigilance and work that must be done 24 hours a day leaves no room for refreshment.  My children are so on edge that they’ve taken to finding me and reassuring themselves of my presence when I’m even in the bathroom!  So you’re telling me to find rest… when should that be?  hmmm?  How do I obtain that?  Where do I find that?  Or better yet, why not help provide that?  

Why do you think folks don’t actually help?  Do you think the situation is so messy they don’t want to get their hands dirty?  Do you think it’s because they don’t know how to help?  Admittedly I don’t know how to ask.  Is it because they’re so wrapped up in their lives that they can’t see past their own front door?  Then of course I have to end this posting by asking, how often do I do the same lazy, ignorant, selfish things myself?

Last Friday (the bad part)

What a relief… until Vale started shuffling the color communication cards that is.  He put the light blue one back in the stack and then handed nearly every single other card *besides* the ‘I’m feeling great!’ card:

  • Help!  Things are serious!
  • I want to cut
  • I want to purge
  • I’m remembering
  • I don’t know what to say
  • I feel blank
  • I just cut

You just cut?  How is that possible?  You haven’t been home 5 minutes and I’ve seen you every minute…(suck in breath) Did you cut at The ***** home?

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Vale, did you cut when you were at The ***** home!?!?

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Oh Vale, what happened??  And then he told me.  

Our youth pastor was talking about how we all are part of the body of Christ, and how each part of the body has to support an help the other parts.  All doctrinally correct, and I support that.  However, he then used an object lesson, and I didn’t support that.  The pastor said, “No one wakes up in the morning thinking, ‘I’m gunna hurt myself today’ and then goes and gets a hammer and smashes his hand..”  To which the other members of the youth group snickered and laughed. *sigh*  So insensitive, so foolish.  Vale was hurt and upset by that, and I can understand why.  I am not happy with this.  Vale and 3 of his siblings are in youth group, that means 4 people are there who have lives touched by self mutilation, 20% of the youth group.  He should have been more sensitive.  I’m trying to be more forgiving because after all, Pastors are only human too.  But I want to slap him!

Since this family is a hunting family, Vale easily found a hunting knife and cut deeper than I had ever seen before.  His arm was still bleeding when he got home.  I don’t know if it was the still bleeding arm, the depth of the cutting, the fact that he cut in someone else’s home or the humongous swing of the pendulum that set me off, but I freaked.  I got so scared.  So quickly.  I called Vale’s dad and asked him if he thought Vale should go to the hospital.  Fortunately Vale’s dad has a cooler head, and knew that it wasn’t necessary.  Looking at those gashes I thought of only 2 things, “How did we go from the light blue cards to this so quickly?” and “If he had cut with his arm flipped (meaning the underside of the arm instead of the top side) he could have been dead right now.”  It was all just too close..

We had such a good day.  So many positive things occurred, such progress.  And then to have such a huge shift, a wide swing in the opposite direction…  Why did that happen?  The instability… I think that’s the hardest of all to survive.  You can’t enjoy the good parts, savor the joy, because you’re always waiting for that shoe to drop.  That’s exhausting.

Last Friday (the good part)

I didn’t get to post since Friday because the weekend went by pretty quickly.  Vale was able to go to his first equine therapy session and he *loved* it.  We are trying to put in place different therapies that didn’t require talking.  He does have Biblical therapy once every other week (because we have to pay out of pocket for it) which is more of a talking therapy, but besides that he has art therapy twice a week and equine therapy once a week.

From what I gather from Vale, he spent his time with two different horses in an enclosed arena making obstacles and then trying to encourage the horses to go through it.  He worked with two different equine therapists who helped design and build the obstacles and instructed Vale as to what to do.  I believe this all was a trust building exercise.  One of the horses is afraid of water, so they simulated water with a blue tarp and Vale had to encourage the horse to trust him to lead her through the ‘water’.

Whatever went on there left Vale in a terrific and hungry mood.  As we got into our car he said, ‘I’m hungry!’  That’s a first in a long time.  Vale just doesn’t get hungry any more.  We stopped for some fast food and he ate really well.  Kinda twisted when we rejoice over our son eating chicken nuggets, huh?  Shows you where we’re truly at!

But above all of that, Vale really had a ‘break through’ (listen to me borrowing pop psychology).  Vale admitted out loud that he hated himself and blamed himself for his past abuse.  I asked him if he could tell me just one thing that he thought he may have done wrong and he replied that he couldn’t remember telling his abusers, ‘no’.  Of course I reassured him (or tried to) that it didn’t matter.  He was a little boy, and no one has a right for any reason to do to him what they did.  I don’t know how much of my assurance sunk in, but I was so proud of him for being able to admit to himself (and out loud even!) that he blamed himself for the rape.  In the past, Vale would have a very nonchalant attitude about the abuse, like it really didn’t matter to him.  That apathetic attitude will keep him imprisoned.

Vale then went to a youth group meeting with our church and came home very excited about that as well.  He discovered there was someone in the church who is in the profession that he wishes to pursue.  He mentioned how much he enjoyed talking to another one of the adults from the church and even interacted with other young people.  Vale’s brother also reported that Vale had something to eat at the gathering which was great!  Vale also pulled out his communication color cards and laid light blue in my lap which means, “I feel great!”  That was the first time since we started using the cards that he has used that one.

Over all, it really was a terrific, progress making day for Vale.  What a relief!

Out of character.. in the flesh

Today is not a good day.  I’m angry.  At Vale.  He’s been making digging remarks about my weight but today was the worst.  I asked him to set the table for breakfast, I made some nice gingerbread pancakes.  He set me out a meat serving fork instead of a regular fork.  Because I “eat so much, and this way I could shovel it in faster”.

Really.

He thought he was being funny.  This from the boy who couldn’t complete his physically taxing jobs (that he agreed to do.  that he gets paid for) today because he’s too weak and wearies too quickly.

I want to slap him up side the head.  No, I didn’t whisper out loud: Foolish, scrawny, eating disordered, disrespectful punk.

I can’t say any of that.

Not only because it’s sinful to talk that way, and I would be ashamed at myself for being so unkind.  No, a mother shouldn’t ever let herself get in the way of doing right, but that’s not the only reason to watch what I say.  If I were to do so, he would go purge, or cut, or restrict…(and off he goes to the bathroom now.. )

He tried to apologize for what he did, tried to give me the whole, “it was only a joke” excuse.  No, you were being a jerk, Vale.  

Jaw sets

Anger

Walks away

Guess he wasn’t that sorry in the first place?  I’m so angry I don’t even care.  But really why.. because I’m that ashamed of myself.  I’m so ashamed of being this overweight.  Even more so now in contemplating that I may be a daily cause for his ED.  His self destruction is because I wanted a cheeseburger or an extra slice of chocolate cake far too many times?

He just came back from the bathroom… do I even ask?

  • Just stop eating as much ~ Just start eating more
  • Just start exercising ~ Just stop exercising
  • Just start controlling yourself more ~ Just start controlling yourself less
  • Just make better food choices ~ Just stop making so many food choices 

I’m going to sip my coffee (black, no sugar thankyouverymuch) and calm down.  I will not continue in this anger.  It’s wrong.  It’s not in the best interest of my son, who’s needs supersede my own right now.

I found another blog about a boy with eating disorders! Woo hoo!

Link: I found another blog about a boy with eating disorders! Woo hoo!

How anorexia has affected our family and why recovery from anorexia is possible. Our (then) 15 year old son developed anorexia in summer 2009. Following rapid weight loss and personality transformation (typical with anorexia), we got on the waiting list for UK treatment with CAMHS (Child & Adolescent Mental Health Services) which started in March 2010. After a rocky start, by Autumn 2010 our son finally turned a corner. Anorexiaboyrecovery blog is about his recovery from anorexia in 2011.

Not ready for ED humor..

This morning I served Vale a good breakfast because of some state required tests that are on his plate today (ha!).   I served more than I knew he would have wanted, but he would eat it, and because of the testling he wouldn’t really be able to purge, woo hoo!  Score one Mom.

After he ate, I gave him a hug and a kiss and mentioned he needed to brush his teeth.  He told me that he had already brushed his teeth, but I thought they could use a once over again.  He said, “I need to brush my teeth again because I just ate the oatmeal.  Too much oatmeal.  And now you want me to go upstairs.  And brush my teeth.”  All this said with a amused look in his eye.  Score one Vale.

Nah.. don’t go brush your teeth Vale.  You’ll be okay.

And no, it’s not funny.

It’s all about me..

If you would allow me, I’m going to indulge in a little self pity.  Today is exactly one month since we first discovered how much pain Vale is in.   I can’t get over how much I’ve aged this last month, how haggard I look, how drawn.  Now don’t get me wrong, I was no spring chicken to start with.  I’m over 40 and have an adult child.  My hair is rather grey, although I could really care less.  But my face was pretty line free.  I had some slight expression lines around my eyes, but I rather liked those because they reflect how much I smile.  But now I wake with this furrow between my eyebrows.  I can’t rub it away.  It’s because I find myself caring this concerned expression on my face all the time.  I find my forehead wrinkled and feel tense and I have to tell myself to relax it.  And as far as those fine lines around my eyes… I don’t smile as much.

I can’t believe how incredibly tired I feel, how much sleep I lost, how early I wake.  I wake at 4:30 or 5 and tell myself, what’s the point in going back to sleep.  Getting to bed is hard because that’s Vale’s most anxious time of the day.  To get him to deescalate takes time and if I don’t take the time then something is going to happen.  If we could start getting him to start with his deescalateion around 6-7 that would be awesome, but right now it’s not a reality.  The weight of the responsibility and vigilance is so heavy.  I can be worn down by 10:00 AM.

Please know that I express things things because I hope that one day other mothers will read my ramblings and find themselves in like company.  I don’t express them because I’m irritated with Vale or I resent the time or the lack of sleep or the aging process.  I am still very aware of what a privilege I have of caring for Vale and taking this journey with them.  But even if you’re a mom you’re still just a person.  You’re a person who wants to be able to go out for lunch and not worry about fallout from the absence.  You’re just a person who  wants to be able to go to bed early if necessary and not feeling like you’re leaving your children in a dangerous situation.  You’re just a person who wants to have date night with your husband, but know you can’t leave your fragile child in the care of others.  You want to take care of yourself but are so filled with worry and so tired that you can’t seem to do so.  You’re a person who wants to say, ‘hey!  what about me?’ and you feel so guilty for feeling this way.  This is your child, you pour your very self out for them and then willingly volunteer to do so over and again.  But it doesn’t negate the fact that you’re worn thin.  If you think about an airplane crashing, the first thing they tell you is to use the oxygen mask for yourself first before applying it to your child.  Because if you pass out you can’t take care of your little ones.  It’s impulse to care for the child first.  I guess, I’m waiting for my oxygen mask.

A Hard Line

Had to draw one tonight with Vale.  Supper came and, god forbid, we actually put some food on his plate.  He had made a deal with this psychiatrist that he would eat 3 meals and a snack.  This was his third meal, and I reminded him of that fact.  Couple this with the fact that he wanted to continue building his Lego city and I told him he needed to clean up and we started to get build up of anger in him.

After supper and with more insisting that he put his Lego pieces away, Vale started to become increasingly agitated with me.  He stopped speaking to me politely or respectfully.  He started shutting down.  I could see in his face that he wanted to cut and/or throw up so badly.  He would show me, he would cut and then I’d feel bad.  Well that was not going to happen.

I threw down the gauntlet.  He was throwing a temper tantrum, I told him under with no uncertain terms that if he made the choice to cut or vomit because he was angry with me that I would not comfort him.  I would not cry with him.  I would not deal with his cuts, or if they were bad enough I would take him to the hospital and leave him there.  I understand the release he receives from cutting.  I understand the urge.. the addiction.  However, it can not become a power play to ensure he gets what he wants in the home.  The fear of it exacerbating him and making his issues the absolutely center of the home mandates our firm stand.

Before he went to bed, I reassured him of how much we loved him, how I wanted him to sleep well, how I wanted to hug and kiss him good night.  But he was in control of what happened in the next few moments and we gave him some time to figure out how he wanted to play it out.  He decided to hug and kiss his father goodnight and ignore me and go to bed.

Okay, between all of you and me.  I am scared of what he’s going to do.  How much will he damage himself to assert himself.  I can’t even begin to guess.  It was be so incredibly easy to cave in and cater to him in order for him to not self harm.  But as his mother, I know that this would be a slippery slope, and the end of it would be grave.  I pray that we only have this ‘fight’ once, I prove my point, and he will know where we all stand.

We’ll see… we’ll see.

About the eating disorder

I wanted to write an entirely separate post on Vale’s eating disorder, even thought it truly fits in with everything else.  I guess I want to write about it separately, because there is so little out there about boys who have eating disorders.  I can’t find a term that defines the eating disorder that Vale seems to have.  I hate using the term have.. like it’s cooties or something.  Vale’s mind and heart are shattered… he chooses not to eat because he doesn’t feel like he deserves to.  That’s just not something you ‘have’.

A couple of months ago, we noticed that Vale was eating less.  Honestly we didn’t think anything of it.  Children’s appetites naturally ebb and flow.  We thought that perhaps Vale was at the bottom of a growth spurt and was simply eating less.  It is winter, he wasn’t as active.  But most importantly, we had no clue about his state of mind or his cutting.  When things came to light we started looking at his eating in a whole new way.

You can’t say that Vale is bulimic, because he don’t binge.  He doesn’t fit the classic definition of anorexia because he doesn’t have a negative body image.  He doesn’t think he’s fat.  He doesn’t want to loose weight, get more ‘buff’ or slim down.  He doesn’t think he’s too thin either.  He stopped eating because he felt he wasn’t worthy of it.  Now, it’s just too uncomfortable to put food in his stomach.  When he feels full he doesn’t like the feeling and he has tried for a while to throw up.  I really credit the grace of God that he hadn’t been able to do it.  However, he learned that if he puts his toothbrush down his throat, he can stimulate the gag reflex and thus vomit.  He revealed this to us last night.  I am so devestated.

Please don’t get me wrong, when you see your son’s arms criss crossed with angry frowns drawn by the edge of scissors or kitchen knife, it’s horrible anguish.  But to know the life threatening severity of restriction and purging… the possibility of having to bury your child becomes ever so real, so vivid.  To know he feels so much triumph in being able to vomit the food you so carefully ensure he puts down his throat… knowing you can’t lock up his gag reflex, you can’t watch him 24/7.  Really, you’re absolutely powerless.  Even now, as I type this post I’m sitting in the living room quietly, not daring to turn on the television, because if I listen I can hear the hinges on my upstairs bathroom.  But this is no way to live.. starving, is no way to die.

Today’s biggest task…

„,is dealing with the fact that company is coming tomorrow.  I have to deal with people coming into my house, and I have to cook them food.  I know, what’s the big deal right?  People do this everyday.  But for some reason, one I can’t quite ascertain, this is a monumentally daunting task for me.  I’m turning quite agoraphobic these days, and that can’t be healthy for anyone.

I want to cancel in the worst way.  I think about it every few minutes.  But I know that once the preparations are made and the visitors are actually here, I will enjoy the company.  Also it’s best for the family to engage in more ‘normal’ activities.  I also have the bonus of the fact that this family understands what we’re going through and are supportive, especially my fellow mom Karen.  And we are celebrating my oldest’s birthday…. so it’s all good and when I end this blog entry I will force myself to think on those positive things.

I have to do some food shopping.  Ordinarily I wouldn’t bring Vale, because that is *not* his thing.  But in light of what happened yesterday, do I bring him?  I’ll definitely lock up the tool boxes while I’m gone.  Maybe that will be good enough?  It’s a thin line (razor thin? cutting pun?)  between doing what you can to keep him safe and allowing him his very necessary autonomy.  Tough call.

For our sons…

I have a son.  I have 4 actually, but this blog centers around just one.  He is beautiful.  He is 14.  He’s artistic and funny.  He’s athletic and intelligent.  He’s an overcomer and strong.  He was formerly in foster care.  He is adopted.  He is also a cutter.  He is trying to starve himself.  He is depressed and suffering from post traumatic stress disorder.  He is a victim of sexual abuse.  He is in crisis.

About 4 weeks ago, much of this broke.  I didn’t know about the cutting.  I saw him being less hungry, but I thought it was just a natural ebb and flow of eating that children had.  I had no idea he had lost so much weight.  The realization hits like sucker punch to the solar plexus.  Don’t think I still have my air back.  I dealt with it initially by breaking some plates, however over time, another way of coping had to come because we can’t afford new plates every week.

So I did some web searches for blogs of moms of sons in this dilemma, and I found nothing.  What I did find is some outdated statistics and erroneous information such as the notion that these issues are only girl issues.  I found that boys are notoriously underreported when it comes to eating disorders or self harming.  I learned that boys who are sexually brutalized are actually shamed into silence. Well we just can’t have this now can we.  Hence this blog.



No, I won’t share my son’s name, or his image.  There is still far too much stigma in the world for that much honesty.  I’m not going to have him thrown on a proverbial sword in order to break out of some of these taboos.  Maybe one day, when he’s older and has gone from victim to survivor he’ll write a blog of his own.  But until then, we’ll call him Vale.