We had M2's psychiatric appointment yesterday. It went well! I do like the doctor more and more each time we go. This is good because I don't want anyone icky poking around in my kid's head.
It all went about as I expected. We sat down with the doctor and exchanged the typical formalities. He reviewed the history, and off we went. I explained the unpredictability of her behavior and sleep patterns. I went over the psychosomatic episode with the vomiting. I covered the fact that she whines about not having friends but is the one who separates herself from them in the first place (he got a chuckle out of that). Thus concluded Psych Appointment, Act I, otherwise entitled, "My Turn."
Act II: "His Turn." He asks questions. I answer. He sits back in the chair and asks a few more. He takes a deep breath, leans forward, and we launch into...
Act III: "Conclusions." He tells me that her behavior doesn't fit an anxiety profile but does fit a mood disorder profile due to the daily inconsistencies. He adds that there are definitely some elements of anxiety that are still there, particularly those of separation anxiety. All in all, this is nothing I didn't already know, but to hear it officially is two parts exhilarating and one part depressing. He gives me several medication options to consider if her current depression gets worse (or if the anxiety flares or if her symptoms turn manic). At this point, he tries to engage M2 herself, but she merely grunts at him, glares at me, and resumes playing with the wooden blocks he keeps in his office. He reassures her that she's not in trouble for not talking and tells her that she's a good girl. She remains silent, her back to us. He prints off some information about the different med options. We agree to meet again in four months, sooner if symptoms escalate. Exit, stage left.
All the way home, I received the silent treatment. I don't know why because she had told me for the past two days that she was happy to be going to see her doctor. When we got home, I asked her if she wanted to write a letter or draw a picture about her anger. She nodded.
Shortly thereafter, I received a letter. It read: "Behave yourself Mommy. Ph.Ph. [her version of blowing a raspberry]. Hmph! Lov, M2. [insert heart drawing here] Lov, the end."
Mood disorder or not, I'm saving that letter. Someday I'll upload it to passiveaggressivenotes.com.
I love her. When she's not driving me literally insane, she cracks me up.