It was the fourth pharmacy that finally accepted my prescription. “Yes, we have it,” the pharmacist informed me, “but it’s a controlled substance. You’ll need a handwritten prescription from your doctor each month for refills.” I nodded, trying to maintain my composure as I quickly turned away. As she filled the bottle with thirty seemingly harmless capsules, I felt a wave of emotion wash over me. “Do you have any questions?” she asked. Yes, I had countless questions, but I simply replied, “No, thank you,” rolled up my car window, and drove away, tears streaming down my face as I exited the parking lot.
When I was pregnant with my son, I adhered strictly to every guideline. I took my prenatal vitamins, avoided artificial sweeteners, stayed away from deli meats, and abstained from all alcohol. Even when cravings for Thai food and wasabi arose, I refused to eat raw sushi, opting instead for cooked options. I monitored my bathwater temperature, never daring to take so much as a Tylenol. I found comfort in the rules; they provided a sense of control during those nine months. The relief I felt when he was born healthy was immense.
Fast forward ten years, and I found myself in the battered passenger seat of my minivan, holding a bottle of amphetamines prescribed for my son. The parking lot of Starbucks felt like the last place I wanted to be as I read the accompanying literature, which warned of increased blood pressure, psychotic symptoms, addiction, and even sudden death. Overwhelmed, I rested my head on the steering wheel, allowing my emotions to flow freely.
My family has always been one that rarely keeps medications on hand. We often forget vitamins, and our medicine cabinet is littered with expired bottles. I seek the safest sunscreen, purchase aluminum-free deodorants, and choose organic produce and milk. In general, I tend to shy away from risk. The prospect of placing my child on a medication that essentially functions as speed is terrifying to me.
This is the same child I breastfed exclusively for over a year to avoid altering his gut’s “flora and fauna” by introducing formula. The irony of now considering medication to alter his brain chemistry feels absurd and naïve. Years of questions had built up to that moment: Is this normal? Why isn’t he happy? Why does he struggle with school? Why is he so frequently angry? Can we help him? Will things ever improve? Many sleepless nights were spent searching for answers, reading countless books and articles, consulting doctors, therapists, and psychiatrists. We explored cognitive behavioral therapy, breathing techniques, and various coping strategies. The complexity of the human brain became painfully evident; there are no simple solutions.
I read articles that both terrified and shamed me. While I contemplated alternative schooling or homeschooling, I recognized that wasn’t what my son wanted. His desire for stability and friendship kept him in his current environment, surrounded by those who uplift him. His teachers were dedicated, supportive, and communicative, working tirelessly to assist him. After exhausting every other option over three years, we reluctantly decided to explore medication.
This decision wasn’t made lightly. My heart felt heavy as I grappled with the thought of giving my child an addictive substance and pretending it was normal. No mother imagines she will resort to medicating her child, yet, at the same time, how could I not try everything possible to assist my son, who battles his internal struggles daily? He is a child who loves deeply, works hard, and still faces challenges. I felt compelled to act.
Parenting is a continuous leap of faith. From the moment we cradle our newborns to watching them grow into independent individuals, we gather whatever information we have and make the best decisions we can. Countless uncertainties loom ahead, but ultimately, we must trust our instincts. The scariest aspect of parenting is recognizing that no amount of research or adherence to rules can guarantee outcomes. We might make mistakes or we might make the right choices, but we can’t foresee the future; we can only forge ahead.
So we take our children’s hands and leap into the unknown.
I cannot yet confirm whether medication will be the solution for my son or if it will transform our family dynamics. I am hopeful it may lift some of the weight he carries and allow him to smile more, perhaps even enjoy school, where he excels academically but has often felt unhappy. Recently, I’ve glimpsed moments of joy and peace in our home that I hadn’t seen before. For the first time in a long while, I feel a sense of hope.
For more insights into home insemination and related topics, check out our guide on artificial insemination kits. If you’re exploring issues related to breastfeeding, this resource can provide valuable information. Additionally, this article on IVF offers an excellent overview of the process.
Summary:
Navigating the decision to medicate my son was fraught with anxiety and uncertainty. From a strict adherence to health guidelines during pregnancy to the weighty choice of introducing medication into his life, my journey reflects the challenges many parents face. Ultimately, it’s about seeking the best for our children, even when the path is unclear. In the end, parenting requires trust in our decisions and the courage to leap into the unknown.