The Magic Pill (part 2)

Posted by Ace on March 19th, 2011 filed in ADHD, Tales of the Interregnum

[This is the second part of a series of posts telling a single story.  You can read the first part HERE.]

His public school teacher made all sorts of wacky faces at the parent-teacher conference, trying to find a way to tactfully throw the possibility of ADHD out there, without knowing whether or not I was going to rip her head off for suggesting it. “This is his Math workbook,” she told me, placing it in front of me on the desk. It looked like a ticker-tape parade. “The green post-its are assignments he completed correctly, or assignments where he went over the things he got wrong and made the right corrections. The red post-its are assignments where he gave incorrect answers and still needs to make the corrections. The yellow post-its are assignments where he didn’t give an answer at all, or left something out.” She riffled through the pages one-handed, flashing a great deal of red and yellow, and not much green. “There are whole pages here he just skipped. Not even a first try. And they’re supposed to be done with this by now. Completely. The class as a whole has moved on to the next book.”

I sighed audibly, but didn’t say anything. The memory of the two of us sitting at my kitchen table with snacks and drinks, working through the problems together, going over multiplication and long division, talking about money, drifted into my head and away again. It suddenly seemed very long ago. “You know…” the teacher grimaced, looking rather fidgety herself. “Maybe… at this point… it’s possible…”

“That he has some form of Attention Deficit Disorder?” I said, jumping in to spare her. “Yes. It’s possible. I’ve haven’t previously considered it because I feel like the whole damn thing is over-diagnosed. It was sort of the Flavor of the Month there for a while, wasn’t it? In the media?” I leaned back in my under-sized chair. “I also don’t feel like all the anecdotal evidence supports it. He doesn’t run around screaming, out of control. If he can sit for two hours straight and play a video game, or read a Captain Underpants book quietly by himself, that wouldn’t seem to suggest he has an attention problem, or that he’s hyperactive. That would suggest he has a motivational problem. He has no problems concentrating on stuff he’s into.” Or didn’t. “Only the Gifted Society evaluations blew that idea out of the water.” I crossed my arms. “Clearly there’s something amiss here that we’re at a loss to explain otherwise. This feedback has been coming at us forever, from multiple sources.”

She let out a relieved breath. “I know exactly what you mean. I feel the same way: it’s very prevalent in people’s minds as an idea, it does seem over-diagnosed, and I just don’t like it. But you know–” She shrugged her shoulders. “There are kids for whom it’s true.  Sometimes, that really is what’s going on.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “And at the very least, I think we can’t afford to just blithely rule it out anymore. Not when he’s starting to slide. I’ll do some research. See what I can find out.”

I knew a pretty good place to start. Rael and Catania were a couple I’d met right at the Gifted Society itself; I caught them in the All-Purpose Room, playing the card version of a German board game that most people have never heard of, and the three of us parlayed the resulting conversation into a bi-monthly board game extravaganza that has yet to abate.  I knew they had a gifted child themselves (obviously).  It was only later that I found out Catania also had education credentials. And that Rael had ADHD, and hadn’t been diagnosed with it until he was an adult. He’d noted the similarities between what I was saying about Jack and his own experiences while we were yakking over our tokens and resource cards. I listened, but I took it all with a grain of salt– when all you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail. Now I asked again.

“Oh that’s totally what it is,” he said, straightening up his kitchen. “It isn’t that you can’t concentrate on anything. It’s exactly that you can’t concentrate on anything you’re not really into.”

Nnnnnnnnnnnh. I scowled inwardly. “I’ve been under a misconception then.”

“I assume you’ve had him tested?” said Catania, simply, leaning against the kitchen island.

“Yeah, I wou– Um…” I ran through my memory and came up zeroes. “Actually, I– don’t know.” It made me feel terribly stupid. “I thought we did. I thought he got tested for everything, way back when. But then they wouldn’t have tested him for that, would they? Too young. I’ll have to ask his mother.” If I can bring it up without having her rip my head off, for throwing another wrench in the works.

“Well that would seem to be an appropriate step,” she said, chuckling. “Get him tested.”

“Absolutely,” added Rael. “It isn’t a mystery anymore, you know? They know what’s going on now: what it is, how to deal with it. And when we were kids, they didn’t.” He picked up a bowl of granola and yogurt and dug in. “I wish they had. If someone had been able to say to me when we were kids, ‘This is what it is, this is what needs to happen,’ that would have been really helpful.”

“Yeah,” I agreed again, for the second time. “I’ll bet it would have.” I thought about it. “Are there resources I can consult? In the meantime?”

“Just go on-line,” said Catania.

Which I did. The next morning I pulled up the Wikipedia doc on ADHD, plus half a dozen other sites with authoritative credentials, and started reading. And that was where I discovered that there are three general classifications of ADHD behaviors, not just one. Two of them, Hyperactivity and Impulsivity, contained the sorts of traits I had traditionally been associating with the diagnosis– the “driven by a motor”, “unable to sit”, on-a-tear behaviors one always hears about. The third, however, was called Inattentive. Inattentive kids didn’t necessarily do any of that. They did other things. Familiar things.

Oh my God, I thought, reading down the list, my eyes widening. It was the same on each site, with only minor variations. “Has difficulty focusing on one thing. Frequently switches from one activity to another. Becomes bored with a task after only a few minutes, unless he is doing something enjoyable. Does not seem to listen when spoken to directly. Does not follow through on instructions and fails to finish schoolwork, chores, or duties in the workplace. Fails to give close attention to details or makes careless mistakes in schoolwork. Has difficulty organizing tasks and activities. Avoids or dislikes tasks that require sustained mental effort (such as schoolwork). Often loses toys, assignments, pencils, books, or tools needed for tasks or activities. Is easily distracted. Is often forgetful in daily activities.” I covered my mouth with my hand. That’s it. That’s him.

That’s my son.

I picked up the phone and called his mother.

[continue to the next part]


One Response to “The Magic Pill (part 2)”

  1. The Magic Pill (part 1) | Tales of the Interregnum Says:

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