Knowledge is power

How can I know so much about my tiny man's challenges,  and still be so stupid?? 

This is the question that I kept mulling over this morning at 2am. 

I'm a firm believer in arming yourself with as much knowledge as you can get your hands on.  And in nearly every situation,  when we are faced with a new diagnosis or treatment plan, I will ask every therapist I know, (which after 8yrs is getting to be quite a list.) and GOOGLE the bee-geebers out of it.  

(I say,  "nearly every situation,  because I don't recommend googling and self diagnosing) ;-) 

In cases though, like Isaiah's, when it comes to sensory processing things,  knowledge is power, knowledge is rest, knowledge can make all the difference in learning to speak or self-soothe. 

Isaiah is not allowed outside alone.  He knows this,  we've talked about it,  he's aware.  But it calls to him.  The open air,  the allergies,  the trampoline! Sometimes it's just too much for a 7yr old to resist.  So last night while I was making plates of Sloppy Joes and trying to get everyone to the table he dashed outside,  and in his haste and stealth he fell.  Now,  there were no tears,  no panic,  he just came to the dinner table, leaving a crime scene behind him.  While I rushed through my closet grabbing clothes and shoes daddy had him re-enact the scenario,  (since he can't verbally explain what happened) and Abi begged to be the comforter and the pressure keeper.  I grabbed a picture while we waited for David to grab extra paper towels. 

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At the hospital they were great.
We had a funny situation with the dr though.
In my humble opinion the drs and nurses do by have the training they need to care for foster families, in a comfortable way.   They are trained to treat children with special needs, and they were great with Isaiah.  Then he turned to address me.  "Sooooo, you're his....who are you to this child?"
Let me preface this by saying,  I get it, you can assume my daughter got her dimples from her daddy, but not so much some of our other children.  "I'm his mom."
He raised one eyebrow.  "We adopted him."  He cocked his head, then he says, "He seems awfully comfortable with you,  was it recent?"  Please,  please don't look suspiciously at an adoptive momma. We realize that knowing he was adopted has medical ramifications. But it's so easy to check his chart.  Short of wearing a t-shirt or sandwich board declaring our geneology there has to be a better way to handle this.  I'd love to hear your feedback!  We ended up with 8 stitches a big bandaid and 4 glow in the dark stickers.  

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 Isaiah only scared us one time,  when they had to use a giant needle and he went limp and his eyes rolled back for a few seconds.  But otherwise he was a rockstar! 

We filled out a thank you page for their staff, who were great!

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McD's on the way home,  and then to bed.  Or so I thought. 

We put him to bed at 11:30 which of course woke everyone up and they all wanted to see his battle scar and stickers.  At 2am, David heard him crying. ALL of the brothers had gone to sleep,  and left him awake, alone.  :-( 

Here's my stupidity part.  

He doesn't respond in the "typical way" to pain,  so he doesn't feel it. SO DUMB!!!! Of course he feels it,  his body is screaming with signs.  He's holding every breath,  so it comes out every 5 or 6 seconds with a

"Kayhhhh" sound.  When we put him in bed with us,  he scoots his head under David's arm and his legs under my legs.  With his good hand he's scratching at an invisible bump in the bed.  And he's blinking,  blinking,  blinking.  

I got him some advil and we went back to giving his little body lots of pressure and about 3am he dozed off. And I laid here,  angry at myself for missing his signals.

We're going to be doing lots of sensory therapy today.  

And I'm going to be googling more about it over quiet time.