22: The Dance & Last Clinic Visit Before the Holidays

The Middle School Dance

   Friday's session with Dr. G went well. They had not seen each other in a whole week, so it took longer for her to get her task done. She was more nervous than the last time, but not crying or shaking like before.
   She was supposed to get as close to the bowl of vomit as she had previously done, but it took a while. Dr. G explained that it is normal since they are not meeting as frequently. She pointed out to her that when you do something that you are scared of very often, it becomes less fearful. And, now that it has been a whole week, it is not as easy. She explained this whole reasoning to her and why we did 3 weeks of exposure almost every day and how comfortable with her fear she has become. She explained that without this intense therapy, she would not have gotten better. She would not be able to go to the dance, or even to school, or be with her friends, or eat, or not wash hands so much.

   After she explained all of this to her, she then asked her who she thought was the reason she was getting better. Of course, I am thinking "YOU! Dr. G!" However, the answer she wants from her is, Mom and Dad... I start to feel a bit sad as I am remembering how she said she hated me and how I was a horrible mother for doing this to her. I will never forget those words. I kind of know she never really meant them, but I am not really sure if she is still resentful of me. I will never forget the tantrum when she was throwing things and screaming that she hated me. We never really talked about all of that after it happened and she never told me she didn't mean to say those things. I think she may have just said she was sorry.
   After Dr. G gets her to say it was Mom and Dad that brought her to the clinic and Mom and Dad that paid for the clinic and Mom and Dad that wanted her to get help, she asks her if she ever apologized to me. We both look at each other and shake our heads sadly. Dr. G says "maybe you should write a letter to Mom. And, maybe Dad needs a letter, too." She just listens and takes it all in.

   We make an appointment for Monday morning at 8. It will be our last appointment until after the Holidays. Dr. G is going away and we will be heading to Italy on Friday. We leave with our homework assignments of washing hands less, spinning after during or before eating and eating until she is uncomfortably full. Basically, anything that may induce a tummy ache so she can learn to cope with the sensation.

   We then head to her friend's house where they are waiting for her to get ready for the Middle School Winter Dance together. I have never met the Mom before and we wind up chatting for a while. The girls are having fun exchanging Christmas presents and my son is playing.

   I sit down with Iris and she tells me that she made sure my daughter has a clean towel to shower with since she was told that she is a germ freak. I laugh and thank her for the clean towel. Then I tell her the whole story. She listens very attentively and then says she can understand my feelings of hopelessness and worry. When her daughter was 6, she had a brain tumor. I am almost embarrassed that I have bored her with our fear of vomit story. I even say so. She tells me not to undermine our troubles. Having a mentally unstable child is not any less trying than having a physically unstable child. We talk and share stories about how another one of her 3 children is also having health related issues that may be similar to her daughter's but they will need to wait a bit until they know. I feel for her and see her strength.

   During this whole ordeal, I have always tried to think of people who have much sadder and much more difficult things they are going through. My father, who passed away from a terminal illness when I was in my early 20's, would always tell me that was how he got through his days. He would constantly remind himself that somewhere in the world, there was someone in much more pain and who needed much more help than him. Those words have always stuck with me, yet are often hard to live by. Every birthday of our daughter I am reminded of his words again. She was born on the anniversary of his death.
     The dance went well, although she was in a horrible mood when she got home. She had a long day at school, then the clinic, then the dance. She did not eat much and she gets horribly grumpy when she doesn't eat. She gets home and doesn't even want to talk and is very rude when I try to ask what is wrong. I revoke her computer privileges and then I tell her how sad I am that I bought her a beautiful dress and shoes and she won’t even tell me how the night was. I say good night and go to bed mad.  She showers, and then goes to bed. Before she falls asleep, she writes me a letter that she gives me in the morning. It is a beautiful letter in which she apologizes for her behavior and also assures me that when she said she hated me all those times, she did not mean it. I thank her and give her a big hug in the morning.

Packing for Italy

   It is now Monday, the 17th. She has her appointment with Dr. G and I just dropped her off at school. This morning Dr. G had her own finger in the vomit with my daughter watching. Watching and eating her Luna bar for breakfast. A big step! They ended the session with a high 5. Two high 5's actually, because, it took her twice to realize she was slapping Dr. G's hand that may have touched the vomit. Ahhhhhh! She got scared and asked her which hand touched the vomit. Dr. G simply looked at her and shrugged her shoulders.
   We now have a break from the clinic until January 8th. We will keep up our homework and look for some good exposure opportunities. The airplane will be a good one to start with. 10 hours on a plane with lots of people jammed together.