A Little Background For You
Time Frame: May 2010
Lizzie had just turned 9 (and was a second grader) in May of 2010 when western medicine gave up and wanted to institutionalize her. We had been working with a psychologist, a psychiatrist, our regular pediatrician, a developmental pediatrician, and a pediatric neurologist. They were the local dream team and had been collaborating, but were out of ideas. I sat in the shrink's office listening to all her "explanations" while my child sat dazed from fatigue on the floor. The only next step was to experiment with different combinations of medications in an in-patient setting until they (hopefully) found some magical combination that helped.
Lizzie was circling the drain. If she had known about suicide, she would have tried it. There were regular night terrors. She was having multiple anxiety/panic attacks every day. She was sleep-deprived. She cried constantly. She was barely functional at school. She fell apart if you looked at her cross-wise. The sleep study revealed four different sleep disorders. We had tried many different medications and combinations of medications, all with no effect. It had been over a year of failed approaches. We were all desperate for relief.
I did not understand it at the time, but I had an overwhelming sense of knowing that I could never let my girl be admitted to the psych unit. I instinctively knew I'd never get her back. There had to be another solution.
A few days prior my husband had handed me a scrap of paper with a website scribbled on it. He explained that a colleague's son had a successful ADHD treatment with this "doctor" and was even off medication. I had devoured the site that very night and judged this guy a certifiable quack. And I knew what I was talking about. I had advanced degrees. I went to church. I knew things. This weirdo was scamming people and probably getting rich, guaranteed.
But when you're a desperate mom with a suffering child, dancing with the devil is a totally viable option.
The psychiatrist thought I was on my way to the ER to have Lizzie admitted. The hospital was expecting us. But instead I sat in the parking lot and called the crazy "doctor" from the website.
After 3 hours with him, my child was brand new. And an already complex journey as this girl's mom took a very interesting turn. . .
Lizzie had just turned 9 (and was a second grader) in May of 2010 when western medicine gave up and wanted to institutionalize her. We had been working with a psychologist, a psychiatrist, our regular pediatrician, a developmental pediatrician, and a pediatric neurologist. They were the local dream team and had been collaborating, but were out of ideas. I sat in the shrink's office listening to all her "explanations" while my child sat dazed from fatigue on the floor. The only next step was to experiment with different combinations of medications in an in-patient setting until they (hopefully) found some magical combination that helped.
Lizzie was circling the drain. If she had known about suicide, she would have tried it. There were regular night terrors. She was having multiple anxiety/panic attacks every day. She was sleep-deprived. She cried constantly. She was barely functional at school. She fell apart if you looked at her cross-wise. The sleep study revealed four different sleep disorders. We had tried many different medications and combinations of medications, all with no effect. It had been over a year of failed approaches. We were all desperate for relief.
I did not understand it at the time, but I had an overwhelming sense of knowing that I could never let my girl be admitted to the psych unit. I instinctively knew I'd never get her back. There had to be another solution.
A few days prior my husband had handed me a scrap of paper with a website scribbled on it. He explained that a colleague's son had a successful ADHD treatment with this "doctor" and was even off medication. I had devoured the site that very night and judged this guy a certifiable quack. And I knew what I was talking about. I had advanced degrees. I went to church. I knew things. This weirdo was scamming people and probably getting rich, guaranteed.
But when you're a desperate mom with a suffering child, dancing with the devil is a totally viable option.
The psychiatrist thought I was on my way to the ER to have Lizzie admitted. The hospital was expecting us. But instead I sat in the parking lot and called the crazy "doctor" from the website.
After 3 hours with him, my child was brand new. And an already complex journey as this girl's mom took a very interesting turn. . .
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