A Small Victory

doctors and hookers

I had an appointment with DJ's Dr. last night, just me and him. I went into that office frustrated, defeated and confused. When I came out, I was a different person. Twenty minutes with the kindest pediatrician in the history of the world, and my life has changed.

DJ has been suffering from a medical problem for some time now. We were told, about a year ago, that the medical problem was really a mental health problem. That all he needed was some psychiatry to fix him up. Three therapists and no change later, I was only left feeling that the problem was my fault, that somehow I manifested this thing in his head to the point where it became physical. Bad parenting, divorce, etc. somehow all played a role in this.

We had seen a different pediatrician, who suggested a specialist, who gave me three whole minutes of his time, wrote some instructions down on a piece of paper and told me to call him back in 6 months and let him know how we were doing. He barely even looked at DJ. So I decided to try one more time. This time I struck gold.

DJ's condition has a name and course of treatment. It is not as uncommon as I thought, it is certainly not psychological, and the doctor was furious at whoever told me it was, and he can recover nicely from in in due time. It will take a lot of work and discipline, but we will be ok.

The nice thing about putting a name to it is that it opens up a whole new world for me. I can read about it, I can talk to others about. There is a whole network of support out there waiting for me now that I know where we stand.

The bad thing is the guilt. I feel bad for assuming this whole time that it was something he could help, that it really was in his head and it didn't have to be that way and he was causing his own problems. I yelled at him too much and made him feel bad for something he couldn't help.

Years from now, when DJ is in therapy, I am sure he will blame me for his cross-dressing habit and the hookers in his trunk. But, hey.....don't we all blame our parents for those dead bodies?