Elizabeth has spent most of the last two years in the hospital, either UNC, Strategic Behavioral Health, or Central Regional. There was a brief stint when she was in an alternate family living home, but she wasn't ready to go and the foster parents were ill-prepared for her needs; unfortunately, funding issues made it imperative that she be discharged, even if she failed. Which she did, spectacularly. So back she went for another eight months.
I have liked most of her docs at Central Regional. The one during the last stay was a prize, as was the social worker and her psychologist. There is a drug of last resort and the doc felt it was time to try it. It's a high-risk, high-gain drug, dangerous enough that they had to convene a hospital board to approve it, and she has to have weekly blood draws. It's not ideal. But it sure has been a game changer.
She has been out four months, again in an alternate family living home, and there has been no act of aggression. Not one. She follows directions. She is making A's and B's in the occupational program at Wake County's Sanderson High. We are having trouble keeping her IEP accommodations because they have seen no misbehavior. They don't understand why I'm so adamant.
And she's not drugged out, either. The comment I get most about her is, "She's back." Or "There's someone behind the eyes again." Is she perfect? Not at all. But the problems are so different. They are more normal teen things, and we have to remember not to make everything pathological. When I take her back, she often goes to her room and cries. This freaked out her foster parents and me, until we remembered that homesick people do cry sometimes. In the past, she threw things or hit or pulled hair. We are readjusting our idea of normal Elizabeth behavior.
A lot of credit goes to the foster parents. They have three kids in their home, two of whom are nonverbal. Elizabeth loves helping with them. And she loves the fact that there are often four generations in the home, including what may be the world's cutest one-year-old. This is their full-time job. They don't yell. They are problem-solvers. And they tell her daily they love her.
While I'm being grateful, I have to say I'm thankful for where Claire is as well. She lives across the street from me with the boyfriend, whom I'm pretty crazy about, but don't tell him. We have a deal that we call before we drop by, and we've done well living so close. They hosted Thanksgiving dinner this year. It was a veritable feast, with both sets of parents, one grandparent, and all the siblings, good china, place cards, and silver.
Claire teaches for me as well. She swore she never wanted to be a teacher, that she wasn't a teacher. She was wrong. Autism is her thing and she is phenomenal. She is still recovering from a concussion a student gave her earlier in the year, but does well most days. I love working with her.
So there we were Thanksgiving, acting like a normal family. It's going to take some practice to get used to it, but I'm willing to put in the work.
So grateful.
