Isaak, who has high-functioning autism, take medication that helps manage some of the less-manageable symptoms of the disorder. Over the weekend, we got some bottles mixed up and he took the wrong medication (one he used to take that didn’t sit well with him). By Sunday, before we realized this, it was a pathetic sight. He realized that he missed participating in the Primary program the week before because he was sick, and the world seemed to end for him. “I quit! I’m never going to church again” Big crocodile tears and everything. The whole day was like that for him. Monday, he woke up the same way. Got irritated about something and gave the silent treatment to everyone until he got to school. Luckily, we figured out the medication problem, and I called him and explained why he was feeling this way. I’m not sure he understood it or accepted it (still being “in the moment”), but it was an eye-opener for me.

This was, in essence, a double-blind test. Nobody knew that he had taken the wrong medication, and yet, his behavior was so clearly out of whack that anyone would have noticed it. I go through these bouts of doubt about medication. I don’t like the idea of medicating kids. I think we overdo it. It makes me nervous about long-term implications. However, when I see the effects of what it does in helping my son function in the world and learn what he needs to, I don’t doubt anymore. Sure, we may overmedicate in our society, but that doesn’t negate the fact that some people *do* need special help and that help can be a life-saver–literally. When my son begins the spiral down, I can see where it could easily go very, very bad.

So, while I hate it and wait for the day he may not need it anymore, I will let the naysayers say what they will and will give my son the help he still needs. I guess that’s the curse of being a parent.