My husband was away and I was tired of cooking. I thought the kids and I would
go out to eat. Not our usual type of destination for food, but Denny's was
close by our new house. I have many fond memories from my childhood of going to
our local Denny's for breakfast after church on Sundays. Although my Denny's,
in our small quiet town in Massachusetts, is not quite the same Denny's as here
in the huge city of Miami. The same menu, just different atmosphere. Anyway, we
had fun. Stuffed ourselves with the kinds of food we don't usually get in
restaurants. Burgers, chicken fingers and hash browns and fluorescent colored
mac and cheese I have ever seen. It was a far cry from our usual meal choices
of Spaghetti alle Vongole or sushi or some other more refined restaurant
specials. We came home happy and full and went to bed.
In the middle of the night I am awoken by my daughter who is terrified because
she just threw up on the floor. First time throwing up since she was a baby and
we tried to let her "cry it out" until she would throw up all over
her crib. Nice parents huh? We only tried that a few times. Doctors’ orders...
Anyway, I run her into the bathroom and she doesn't even understand that she is
supposed to throw up in the toilet. I have to teach her where to throw up! It's
a frantic scene because I am trying to get her to the toilet. I don't want to
clean throw up off of the carpet in our new rental home. She is so distraught
she cannot even think straight. She throws up a few more times, I go clean, and
then we cuddle in my bed together and fall asleep.
I cannot even remember now if it was the very next night that the panic attacks
started or if things just got progressively worse for the next few months. It
got to the point that she was TERRIFIED to go to sleep for fear of it happening
again. We would try to help her rationalize and see how illogical she was
being. That just because it happened once, it doesn't mean it will happen again
tonight. She knew the logic, she would say so, but she just could not convince
some part of her brain that was in panic mode. She was unable to get to bed
before midnight most nights and she stopped eating meat. Mainly, she seemed to
just be having trouble only at night.
My sister came to visit us a couple of months later. We set her up in our
daughter's room so they could sleep together. This was when I realized it was
more trouble than I thought. She had a whole set of rituals that she was doing
in her room every night. Things like counting the fingers and toes on all of
her Barbies and opening books to certain pages. She tried to hide them from my
sister, but she noticed and promptly let me know. I was on the phone to find a
psychologist the very next day. Luckily we found a wonderful woman. I will call
her Dr. T. She was kind and understanding and got us right into see her.
Therapy Begins
Cognitive
behavioral therapy began as well as some training for my husband and I on how
to deal with the situation at home. It was very hard, and still is, to not lose
our tempers. She would come out of her room in a panic at least 5 times at
night needing hugs and reassurance and we could not always keep from getting
angry. So therapy was good for us, too.
Very slowly she was learning to use different techniques other than rituals to fall asleep. She is a beautiful writer so I bought her a journal so she could write before bed. Although that quickly turned into a ritual I later discovered. I looked in that journal one day and there were weeks’ worth of pages where she wrote and drew EXACTLY the same things on every page. 5 hearts, 10 stars, etc. Ugh.
She was however, slowly starting to eat meat again. She could begin to tolerate when we would say words like vomit, barf, throw up, etc. The idea is to expose her to the fear and get her used to hearing the words. This eventually led into some exposure therapy with Dr. T. They would look at websites and photos of vomit. Starting with cartoon images and working their way to harder images.
Things were getting more manageable. Although taking vacations to our usual island destination became very unpleasant. She did not want to go anywhere. She was afraid of school if someone was sick. She just wanted to stay in the house and feel safe. Our child, who grew up loving boats, snorkeling and fishing with daddy was now terrified. Why? Well, because some people get sea sick of course. Our fun and livelihood on this tiny island where half the place is boat access only, was no longer fun for me. We had been going there since she was 4. We consider it our home away from home. We were going to live there someday!
This was particularly hard for my husband to swallow. This island is his dream. His peace and solace from the regular hustle and bustle of life. My dream too, but on the back shelf for now... Because taking her anywhere from her safety of home in Miami is one big tiring and mentally exhausting chore for me. So when vacation opportunities would arise, I would let my husband spend his time on the island and I would stay here with the kids. I was fine with that. I am Mom, I am strong, I can hold down the fort. I also was going to feel terribly guilty that I was letting her ruin his fun in addition to mine if we all went. So stay home we did. For about a year...
Very slowly she was learning to use different techniques other than rituals to fall asleep. She is a beautiful writer so I bought her a journal so she could write before bed. Although that quickly turned into a ritual I later discovered. I looked in that journal one day and there were weeks’ worth of pages where she wrote and drew EXACTLY the same things on every page. 5 hearts, 10 stars, etc. Ugh.
She was however, slowly starting to eat meat again. She could begin to tolerate when we would say words like vomit, barf, throw up, etc. The idea is to expose her to the fear and get her used to hearing the words. This eventually led into some exposure therapy with Dr. T. They would look at websites and photos of vomit. Starting with cartoon images and working their way to harder images.
Things were getting more manageable. Although taking vacations to our usual island destination became very unpleasant. She did not want to go anywhere. She was afraid of school if someone was sick. She just wanted to stay in the house and feel safe. Our child, who grew up loving boats, snorkeling and fishing with daddy was now terrified. Why? Well, because some people get sea sick of course. Our fun and livelihood on this tiny island where half the place is boat access only, was no longer fun for me. We had been going there since she was 4. We consider it our home away from home. We were going to live there someday!
This was particularly hard for my husband to swallow. This island is his dream. His peace and solace from the regular hustle and bustle of life. My dream too, but on the back shelf for now... Because taking her anywhere from her safety of home in Miami is one big tiring and mentally exhausting chore for me. So when vacation opportunities would arise, I would let my husband spend his time on the island and I would stay here with the kids. I was fine with that. I am Mom, I am strong, I can hold down the fort. I also was going to feel terribly guilty that I was letting her ruin his fun in addition to mine if we all went. So stay home we did. For about a year...
