School Firsts

We've had two school firsts in the last two weeks, one good, one not so good.  I've been wanting to write about the not so good one for the last day now, but it wasn't until right now, when I found this picture of

David's first homework

that I felt like I had found a way of saying everything I want to say.
Yesterday, when I arrived to pick David up at preschool, his teacher, Miss Y, found me before I got to David.  She said that the hives David had when he arrived were getting worse. 
When I dropped David off that morning I had told Miss Y that David had some hives on his forehead.  Timmy spit up some dairy based formula while David and Timmy were playing together and David got three or four hives from it.  This level of reaction occurs about once or twice a week just during the course of an ordinary day at home.  I just wanted her to know that the hives had occurred at home, that I was aware of them and that I believed them to be a minor allergic reaction that didn't merit concern.
So, when Miss Y said the hives were getting worse, immediately an alarm went off in my head.  It had been over two hours since I had last seen David.  Allergic reactions, typically, don't get worse over that length of time without continued exposure.
David ran over; his face was breaking out in hives.  All around his mouth.  The teacher explained that David had been exposed to dairy during snack time.  They serve the children that aren't allergic or intolerant milk during snack time (there's at least one other child in the class that doesn't drink milk).  She said that David had, without her knowledge, gone to the snack cart and poured a cup of milk.  She learned of it when David called to her and told and showed her what he had done.  Miss Y told me she didn't think David had drank any milk.  I bent down and asked David, "Did you drink any milk?"  He said no and I believed him.  But looking into his face again I could see that the hives were growing and new ones appearing just in this brief conversation. 
His whole face was turning red.
I half listened to Miss Y, who had moved on to talk about other things David had done in class.  My mind ran to the car where my first line of defense was waiting in the diaper bag - a premeasured plastic spoon of benadryl.  I asked David again about the milk.  He said no, he didn't drink any milk.  I still believed him.  I told him that he had to be careful.  He's allergic to milk, I told him.  He can't touch the milk, he can't pour it, he can't drink it.
David started crying.
I hugged him to me and told him it was okay.  He just needed to be careful.  Miss Y also helped encourage.  We told him not to cry, he hadn't been a bad boy, we weren't mad at him.
Then he coughed.  And that's when I said a quick good-bye to his teacher and walked him quickly to the car.
First, I found the benadryl.  But David was coughing and upset.  He didn't want to take the medicine.  That was odd.  David never complains about taking medicine.  So that made me nervous.  My first thought was that his breathing must be bad enough that he doesn't want to take the medicine because he's too busy working to breathe.
After a few soothing words he took the benadryl.  Buckle us all in.  Go as fast as the speed limit will let me the less than five minutes home.  Unbuckle us.  I tell David to get inside the house, go to his puffer machine and sit down.  I'll get Timmy and be right there.  David stands there and cries.  He doesn't want to walk to the couch.  Now I'm very nervous.  He's very stressed out.  He doesn't want to talk medicine or walk. 
I encourage him while I grab Timmy, my cell phone and the diaper bag where the epi-pen is.  At this point I'm as aware of the epi-pen's presence as I am of my own or David's or Timmy's. 
We all get inside.  David finds his spot.  He's had several breathing treatments recently, so he knows the drill.  He knows where the nebulizer, which we call his puffer machine, is and where he needs to sit so that I can reach the nebulizer and bring a mask to his face.  I plop Timmy down with some toys, grab the albuterol capsule for the machine, and pour it into the well as I walk to David. 
I sat with him and helped him take big deep breaths.  He said he couldn't.  By a combination of pointing and words he made me aware that his nose was completely stuffed.  So he couldn't take deep breaths through his nose the way I've taught him.  I told him and showed him how to take breaths with his mouth.  He did it.  His crying slowed.
I called Chris, told him the basics.  He said he'd be home as soon as he could.
I checked on David again and it's obvious that he's getting better.  His face isn't as red, he isn't crying, he isn't coughing.  No epi-pen needed today.  He's feeling better after the albuterol, so I do the only other thing I can think to do to make sure that he's done with reaction - we wash our hands.  After that we sat and talked about why he had been sick and what he needed to be careful of so that it didn't happen again.  He seemed to understand as well as he can, definitely better than he's understood after previous reactions. 
Over the next hour, David cuddled for a while with his mimi (his special lovey), and his blankie while watching cartoons.  I offered him lunch, thinking that he wouldn't want any after the ordeal, but he requested a waffle and wolfed it down.  That reassured me a lot.  During that time I got Timmy fed.  Thank God he's able to feed himself Cheerios, so that took very little energy while I focused mostly on David.  Chris came home.  We all exchanged hugs and I decompressed a little, identifying and elaborating on the emotions I was feeling.
As I said in my first post about preschool earlier this month, this is something we were prepared for.  Mentally we've prepared for years for this moment.  We've made the choices and acknowledged that it would probably have this outcome.  Physically we've prepared too.  We've made sure that an epi-pen goes with David wherever he goes.  We have an emergency inhaler with albuterol that goes with David to preschool.  At home with have a nebulizer.  We keep the epi-pen updated and keep enough albuterol on hand.  I buy benadryl and zyrtec in premeasured doses in plastic spoons so that I can keep some on hand wherever we go.  But emotionally I was toast.  I handled my emotions while David needed me to.  Kept moving and planning what the next step would be, running contingency plans.  Once David was out of danger my emotions rushed back in.
Relief that we were able to treat it at home, that this reaction wasn't bad enough to require an epi-pen.
Anxiety about planning, organizing, and teaching more to David and Miss Y and Miss A so that this of reaction can be avoided as much as possible.
Sadness that all I can do is plan and organize and teach.  I can't change David's life.  I can't cure him so this doesn't happen again and I would give anything to keep him from the pain and stress he felt yesterday.
But I acknowledge the emotions.  I acknowledge that just as severe allergic reactions are bound to happen, my emotions are a part of that process in a sequential, normal way. ... And then I eat cheez-its, talk to friends and family, write this post and move on.
And that brings me back to the beginning of this post.  David's first page of homework.  A counter balance to the negative of a first school severe allergic reaction .... the positive of the pride and excitement of his first page of homework.  It's not going to win any awards, but it's a fantastic first step to wherever David chooses to take his life.  It mitigates all my emotions about the allergic reaction.  It reminds me that he's got to take all these first steps, some good, some bad, to create a life that is uniquely his own.

Week Two at Preschool

I had a great conversation this afternoon with the head teacher for David's preschool.
She said he's making a lot of baby steps towards better behavior. He listens better, he doesn't whine or cry to get his way, and he's not hitting.
There was one incident this morning where another child pushed him and he pushed back. His teacher said to me that David, even though he's one of the smallest kids, hangs out with the biggest boys in the class and doesn't allow any of them to bully or boss him around. She called him "feisty;" a word I definitely have used to describe David. (She's okay with the boys doing some roughhousing, as am I.)
They are working on name recognition, learning to recognize their names when they see them and knowing the letters in their name, next week. Then the class will move on to numbers. Numbers are by far David's favorite academic thing, so I'm sure he'll get really excited about that!
His teacher also suggested that I buy a certain book they read in the classroom. She said that David loves it and wants to read it all the time. I've heard about the book from him at home too, so I think we'll put that on his wish list for his birthday!
By far this has been a better week than last week. I'm so glad that after such a shaky start David seems to be heading in a good direction with school. I'm also glad that his teacher seems to really enjoy having him as a pupil and that she and I seem to be able to communicate well - those are both things that I envisioned happening when David went to school.

Week One at Preschool

Or maybe I should title this: how David teaches me the most when I'm unprepared. Or some other mom lesson type title.

When I went to pick David up from preschool on Tuesday, it turned out he had a bad day. He'd been disobedient, very disobedient, like, I wasn't sure that the teacher and I were both talking about my David. His teacher basically said they'd give him some time, but it was likely he might have to wait a year and try preschool next year when he'd be more mature.

Looking back, I'm glad that I kept my cool during this first conversation with his teacher. I held my tongue when all I could think to say was "You're wrong! My son's a genius and never misbehaves!" (or something else that would be equally false). The last thing I wanted was to be that parent that is in denial about their child's behavioral issues.

I went home, got the boys fed and down for naps and had a heart-to-heart with myself (and alternately Chris, my mother-in-law, and a good friend here on base). Was my son that kid? You know, every one knows one from their school days, the awful one? I decided, after reflection and trusted advice, that no, he was not the awful kid, just a kid adjusting to a brand new environment during an emotional time in his life.

But I was disappointed. And I worried that my little boy, who I just assumed would take to school like a fish to water, might find school challenging. I was so unprepared for this. This summer, I was prepared for swim lessons to be a challenge, and last year, I was prepared for gymnastics to be a challenge, but for some reason, I thought school would be a breeze.

So, we talked, several times, about the rules in the preschool classroom and the consequences if those rules weren't followed. My in-laws paid an impromptu visit that started Wednesday afternoon, so they were also able to encourage David. Jesse and I took David back to preschool for day two on Thursday.

It went much much better. And I realized when we got home that I had been holding my breath for two days.

His teacher decided that David might do better in the Monday, Wednesday, Friday class for older preschoolers. David misses the cutoff for kindergarten by 13 days and when I discovered that, I anticipated we would have moments like this: when David is either noticeably way older or noticeably way younger than other children in his class. His teacher thinks it's best for his current learning that he move into the class with the older children. The thinking is that if he's with the younger children he might regress into behaviors he's already outgrown. With the older children, hopefully, he'll learn from them good behavior techniques and his teacher will help him academically at his own pace.

So today David tried out the age four-five year old preschool and I held my breath all morning. When I picked him up his teacher greeted me with a smile and a wave and said that he had done great. He was a good kid, his teacher said, eager to learn, and very attentive during circle time, and he'd had a good time.

I went home and took another deep breath. And I was proud that I hadn't stepped in and fought David's first school issue for him or tried to make it easier for him. I'm so proud that my little boy showed his teacher his worth all on his own.

David's first day of preschool (and why put him in typical school at all)

There's my little boy going to his first day of school! He was very excited, if you can't tell by that smile. They aren't required to bring a backpack, and I think that he's going to get one as a present soon, so he doesn't have one right now. So, off to school he went holding his folder (the only required item) that he and Chris picked out at Staples over the weekend.

I only got this one picture. Once we got to his class there were lots of other children and I don't feel comfortable posting, or really even taking, pictures of other children who we don't know.

So, David was excited! He said hi to his teacher and then he was off, playing with plastic food with three other little boys. I told him I was leaving, he asked me if Timmy was leaving with me, I said yes, and he said bye in a distracted manner while continuing help the boy next to him put plastic cereal in a bowl.

I, on the other hand, was nervous. I probably would have been sad, maybe shed some tears, but the first thing David's teacher said to me when I introduced myself and mentioned David's allergies was "Can he have saltine crackers?" followed quickly by "How about a glass of milk?" So, after agreeing that unless they were 100% sure that David wasn't allergic to the snack of the day they would only give him water, I felt a little calmer, but there's a part of me sitting here wondering if they are going to kill my kid before I go to pick him up. But that's just something that, as the parent of a child with food allergies, I'm always going to wonder.

I know I've mentioned homeschooling once or twice on the blog. For many children with severe food allergies, it's the only truly safe option. Luckily David isn't contact anaphylatic to any of his allergens, so typical school was an option for him. Chris and I both prefer typical school over homeschooling in most situations (those situations being poor academic focus or safety of the local schools). I prefer it even more because David has food allergies.

Around the time David was a year and a half I had two different pediatric doctors have conversations with me about the importance of not "bubbling" a child with food allergies. As a parent, my first instinct is to cocoon my child, keep him safe from what would hurt him. Both those doctors said, and I've come to agree with them, my cocoon eventually would cause a true disability - not being able to function in the outside world.

Because, here are the facts. This world does not care that it could kill my son. The priority of this world isn't keeping my son safe. And that's fine with me. The last thing I want for David is for him to think that the world owes him anything or will take special care of him because he has food allergies. I want him to grow up to be self-reliant, which he'll never be if every adult he meets caters to him. I want David to learn how to take care of himself without relying on other people to make unnecessary accommodations for him. I want him to grow so accustom to the outside world that he doesn't even think about the ways he has to move in it in order to stay safe.

The other fact that both those pediatric doctors mentioned to me: if I put him in the outside world, eventually he'll have an incident where he'll use an epi-pen. Rather than being scared of it, we have learned how to prepare for it. In some ways, when I think about it in terms of preparing him for adulthood and being an anti-bubble parent, that kind of incident would actually show me that we are going in the right direction with David. Not that I want him to have a life-threatening incident, but I'd rather, on the scale of his life with food allergies, have David need to use an epi-pen to save his life than have no "life" at all (be bubbled to death).

So, off to preschool David goes. I looked into four different preschools before deciding that the closest was also the best to meet David's current needs. David has two years of preschool before he can start kindergarten, so we aren't focused on academics with him, it's all social/etiquette goals. Also, because he's got two years, I didn't really want him to go full half-days yet. The program on base is a great balance, it's two mornings a week, plus, since it's run by the government, they have regulations in place for how to deal with food allergies.

So, I'll post later about how his day went. Right now I'm going to kick back and relax in my quiet house (Timmy is taking a nap) and pray that my boy, who loves people so much, is having the time of his life.