Kids...
So here's my thing.
There's this kid I work with...don't know how deep into details I can get without confidentiality stuff getting busted, but we'll call him K.
K.'s a tough kid. He's developmentally delayed, was born drug addicted, and has had a straight-up shitty life, right along with getting adopted by a couple that promptly divorced after alleged sexual molestation. This kid has issues.
He's a sweet kid, but he was kinda my nemisis for a long time. I'm a Teaching Assistant, but what I really do is Kid Wrestle. When children become assaultive, destructive, or dangerous, I restrain the kid, bring him to a time-out room, and restrain him if the dangerous behavior continues.
It's not a part of my job I like, but for a long time I thought it was all my job was going to be about. I thought that because of K.
The kid would flip out about anything. His shoes, his work, his desk, anything and he would be flipping over desks, throwing things, and kicking, scratching, biting, and hair-pulling. So for a solid summer I would restrain this kid for hours at a stretch.
And then he would stop.
He'd be nice, understanding, explaining to the other EH (emotionally handicapt) kids how to deal with their anger, helping clean up.
He was the most dangerous, harmful, rage-filled, sweetest, cutist, kindest kid I knew. He frustrated the shit out of me.
But time goes by, we have a behavior plan, and his incidents of violent/assaultive behavior decrease. Not quickly or dramatically, but slowly and steadily. No miracle cure, no sudden, dramatic break-through, just patience, consistency, and slowly he was responding.
Then his foster Mom has him hospitalized.
This comes as a shock to us at the school, because Mom has maintained that there was nothing going wrong at home. She was painting this picture where he was only like this at school, and the rest of the time he was okay.
Okay, fine. She lied. We deal with it. He's out of school for a week. Then, he starts coming to school, even though he's still staying at the hospital.
And we're back at square one. Multiple restrainst lasting multiple hours.
Before he's released from the hospital, a team of professionals puts all these supports in place. An additional aid at daycare (because apparently he's been thrown out of several daycares, something Mom neglected to tell us), therapy sessions, in-home aids, the whole nine-yards. So many supports, in fact, from so many sources, that we at the school are a little blown away. I mean, there's no question that they need the supports, but most times it's like pulling teeth to get them.
He's also on a pretty hefty dose of anti-psychotics, which also act as tranquilizers. He has three a day, and Mom's given a bunch for use as PRN's (Pro Re Nata - As the situation warrents). Basicaly, he's drugged to the gills, and they've got permission to give him another one whenever he's out of control.
I'm not a huge fan of medicating as a first option, but some situations clearly warrent it . K.'s a case of this, I think. He needs meds. So he has them.
He's released. He's home for a few days. We're still at square one, except that first thing in the morning, he's a zombie. Every morning. We can't get him to talk, or respond. He's completely shut down.
The restraints start occuring less and less. We've given him a PRN probably twice in two months time. No biggie.
Then he crashes. He's not assaultive at all, but he just shuts down and stares at the wall for hours. He won't talk about anything. For a week he's like this.
Then Mom runs out of meds. At least one of the doctors is shocked that she's run out so soon.
Then Mom refuses all services. Refuses counciling. Refuses in-home help. The only service she's interested in is respite care.
Then the bus driver delivers K. home and no one's there to meet him. He sits on the bus for fourty-five minutes.
Mom "forgot" that K. didn't go to day care anymore.
K. comes into school, barely aware of his surroundings. At the end of the day, he curls up in a ball and won't talk. In between, he's funny, insightful, kind, nice, and participitory. Not assaultive.
But it's like he dies at the end of every day.
I'm devastated. I feel lost. I want to punch people in the head. Shake them 'till they understand.
Kids are what it's all about. When you have a kid, you stop being a person, you become a parent. You're no long a banker, or a teacher, or a millionaire. You're a fucking parent.
Yes, it's hard. But it should be hard.
Yes, you have to put them first in your life. But they should be first.
Why is that so hard to understand?
How can people treat them like trash?
Fuck.
James.
There's this kid I work with...don't know how deep into details I can get without confidentiality stuff getting busted, but we'll call him K.
K.'s a tough kid. He's developmentally delayed, was born drug addicted, and has had a straight-up shitty life, right along with getting adopted by a couple that promptly divorced after alleged sexual molestation. This kid has issues.
He's a sweet kid, but he was kinda my nemisis for a long time. I'm a Teaching Assistant, but what I really do is Kid Wrestle. When children become assaultive, destructive, or dangerous, I restrain the kid, bring him to a time-out room, and restrain him if the dangerous behavior continues.
It's not a part of my job I like, but for a long time I thought it was all my job was going to be about. I thought that because of K.
The kid would flip out about anything. His shoes, his work, his desk, anything and he would be flipping over desks, throwing things, and kicking, scratching, biting, and hair-pulling. So for a solid summer I would restrain this kid for hours at a stretch.
And then he would stop.
He'd be nice, understanding, explaining to the other EH (emotionally handicapt) kids how to deal with their anger, helping clean up.
He was the most dangerous, harmful, rage-filled, sweetest, cutist, kindest kid I knew. He frustrated the shit out of me.
But time goes by, we have a behavior plan, and his incidents of violent/assaultive behavior decrease. Not quickly or dramatically, but slowly and steadily. No miracle cure, no sudden, dramatic break-through, just patience, consistency, and slowly he was responding.
Then his foster Mom has him hospitalized.
This comes as a shock to us at the school, because Mom has maintained that there was nothing going wrong at home. She was painting this picture where he was only like this at school, and the rest of the time he was okay.
Okay, fine. She lied. We deal with it. He's out of school for a week. Then, he starts coming to school, even though he's still staying at the hospital.
And we're back at square one. Multiple restrainst lasting multiple hours.
Before he's released from the hospital, a team of professionals puts all these supports in place. An additional aid at daycare (because apparently he's been thrown out of several daycares, something Mom neglected to tell us), therapy sessions, in-home aids, the whole nine-yards. So many supports, in fact, from so many sources, that we at the school are a little blown away. I mean, there's no question that they need the supports, but most times it's like pulling teeth to get them.
He's also on a pretty hefty dose of anti-psychotics, which also act as tranquilizers. He has three a day, and Mom's given a bunch for use as PRN's (Pro Re Nata - As the situation warrents). Basicaly, he's drugged to the gills, and they've got permission to give him another one whenever he's out of control.
I'm not a huge fan of medicating as a first option, but some situations clearly warrent it . K.'s a case of this, I think. He needs meds. So he has them.
He's released. He's home for a few days. We're still at square one, except that first thing in the morning, he's a zombie. Every morning. We can't get him to talk, or respond. He's completely shut down.
The restraints start occuring less and less. We've given him a PRN probably twice in two months time. No biggie.
Then he crashes. He's not assaultive at all, but he just shuts down and stares at the wall for hours. He won't talk about anything. For a week he's like this.
Then Mom runs out of meds. At least one of the doctors is shocked that she's run out so soon.
Then Mom refuses all services. Refuses counciling. Refuses in-home help. The only service she's interested in is respite care.
Then the bus driver delivers K. home and no one's there to meet him. He sits on the bus for fourty-five minutes.
Mom "forgot" that K. didn't go to day care anymore.
K. comes into school, barely aware of his surroundings. At the end of the day, he curls up in a ball and won't talk. In between, he's funny, insightful, kind, nice, and participitory. Not assaultive.
But it's like he dies at the end of every day.
I'm devastated. I feel lost. I want to punch people in the head. Shake them 'till they understand.
Kids are what it's all about. When you have a kid, you stop being a person, you become a parent. You're no long a banker, or a teacher, or a millionaire. You're a fucking parent.
Yes, it's hard. But it should be hard.
Yes, you have to put them first in your life. But they should be first.
Why is that so hard to understand?
How can people treat them like trash?
Fuck.
James.
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