Finding Hope

I just finished reading The Hour I First Believed by Wally Lamb.  It is a book that had long been on my "To Read" shelf on Goodreads, and I was excited to walk past it on the shelf at the library while I was stocking up on vacation reading . . . for my daughter.  (I'm not sure how looking for books in the Young Adult section led to me being in the adult fiction section, but those sorts of things happen to me.  Any time I'm around books.)

It's a long, long book.  Possibly the longest work of fiction I've ever read.  Some of the reviews on Goodreads point to the fact that Lamb touches on five or six plot lines in this book, and he certainly covers everything from the Civil War to Columbine to PTSD to women's prisons to the current war in Afghanistan and Iraq to infidelity to . . . nearly everything else.  At first glance it really is a disjointed conglomeration that makes the reader wonder why we have held on for so long.  And then he says it.  On page 685, Lamb has a character say, "Life is messy, violent, confusing, and hopeful."

And that's it.

That's what all these things have in common.

And that's what they have in common with me reading it right now, finishing it yesterday, the day a group of people accidentally shot down a plane full of innocent passengers.  Passengers who included three infants and a hundred men and women who had dedicated their lives to saving the lives of others through HIV/AIDS research.  And the day Israel sent ground troops into Gaza.  Shortly after a local Christian radio host was arrested and charged with the sexual trafficking of a young boy.

"Life is messy, violent, confusing, and hopeful."

I have two friends whose families endured terrible and violent shooting tragedies over the past several years.  The devastation has been horrible, and it has changed everything about their worlds.  But they have hope.

I also have a friend who died following his battle against PTSD.  He fought willingly in a war against bullies and tyrants, because that's who Zack was.  But he was baptized, and he loved God, and we have hope that he is finally at peace.

For some reason Columbine has always stayed with me.  It has been tucked in my mind since it happened, and I continue to be impacted by it.  Perhaps it was the timing--I was a senior in college, so I was aware and had the time to watch the coverage and read about it.  Perhaps it was the fact that I joined my friends in taking a group of high schoolers to Columbine just one year after the shootings.  Or maybe it was standing in a church there, worshiping with my friends and those high schoolers, just miles from Columbine High School.  We sang "Better Is One Day," there in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains alongside Columbine students who knew and loved the children who died.  And we sang, with all our hearts and voices, "Better is one day in Your courts than thousands elsewhere."  Because even in that mess, that violence, that confusion . . . there was hope.

As I wrote following our break in, I have friends and family members who have lost jobs, been betrayed by friends, been abandoned by spouses who vowed to always stand by them, and have their families continually ravaged by addiction.  And all I have to offer them is this.

Life is messy.

Life is violent.

Life is confusing.

But, at the end of all this, life is hopeful.

Oh, my God.  He will not delay.
My refuge and strength, always.
I will not fear, His promise is true.
My God will come through, always.  Always.

{"Always," Kristian Stanfill}

Processing a Processing Disorder

My pastor recently sent me an interesting article questioning whether Sensory Processing Disorders are a true medical diagnosis. It's a condition I have talked about before, and one that my husband and I are seeing in our middle daughter as well. The article is worth reading, even if it raises a point that ruffles some feathers, including mine. Sensory Processing Disorders are not widely recognized, and I have a friend who had to fight for a while to get her child diagnosed. Even then, insurance may do little or nothing to treat its symptoms, and there is no cure. 

Thankfully our doctor does recognize it and has worked with us on free or very inexpensive ways to cope with it--Meg "snuggles" with a medicine ball, I made a "sensory jar" she can stare at to calm herself down, I've learned deep tissue compressions, etc.--and we haven't needed to try to find therapy which is, indeed, not covered by insurance.  Gratefully, Meg's Kindergarten teacher also recognizes Sensory Processing Disorders and worked hard to make sure Meg transitioned well into full-time schooling. Meg was fine at school, but her teacher wanted to be sure we were coping at home, too. And she saved us. She really did. 

So, obviously, I disagreed with the title of the article. I believe Sensory Processing Disorders are real. And totally a medical condition. 

Right? 

Still, I found this interesting: 

In 2012, the American Academy of Pediatrics claimed it is unclear whether children with sensory problems have a distinct disorder or whether their challenges are linked with other disorders such as autism, ADHD, and anxiety. It urged doctors to caution parents that the effectiveness of sensory integration treatments are "limited and inconclusive."

While I do think it's apparent that I have something more than just normal reactions to things, and I can see that Meggie does too, I'm not prepared to say it's not linked to autism or ADHD.  I believe autism is a spectrum--ranging from ADD to savantism--and that spectrum includes a range of functioning.  It's all sensory processing difficulties--an inability to concentrate on any given task, an inability to control oneself to sit still, an inability to function in social settings, an inability to express oneself in any way other than playing the piano.  In fact, when I describe it to other people, I just say, "It's on the autism spectrum."  And Meg isn't as far down the spectrum as Asperger's, but she is closer to that than just ADHD or ADD.  So am I, though I'm also coming to terms with the fact that I might have ADD.  So do I have an extreme case of ADD manifested in a constant flight or fright state?  Or does a place on the spectrum closer to autism mean I have everything to the left as well, including the ADD?  And someone with Asperger's would have the ADD and the flight/fright state AND trouble in social settings/gathering social cues?  Hence the problem.

What I do know is that the therapies we've tried DO generally work, and it IS a matter of finding what works for yourself or your child.  But, boy oh boy, it's easy to be overstimulated in this fast-paced world.  I can't imagine trying to diagnose this or get insurance companies to determine what or how much to pay for it.  It's rather like diagnosing post-traumatic stress disorder.  Each of us is capable of handling different stressors . . . and we all have bad days.  So is someone with PTSD weak or depressed or just dramatic?  Or is it real and does it deserve disability payments and therapy?  How do you measure that degree and then assign a dollar value to treating it or compensating for it?

I understand why the psychiatric establishment isn't ready to rewrite the DSM just yet.  But I hope they're investing the time and the research dollars to explore it and helping families who haven't yet found what it takes to cope.