Catching Rainbows

29

Chloe called right as we were about to leave. "Hey," I said, my stress level at a nine out of ten.

"What can I do to help?" she asked simply.

"I don't think anything," I said honestly, though I wished she was there, so much.

"I'm just going to meet you guys there anyway," she said decidedly. "I won't get in the way."

Relief coursed through me. "Okay," I agreed, because I needed her.

She was there when we arrived, opening the door and keeping Hailie busy in the check-in line, then playing with her in the less-than-clean waiting room while I tried to jot down everything I wanted to talk to the psychiatrist about. Mary Anne, who was A Real Person, sat in her carrier with her tiny rose bud smile, just being a mindless doll, and I envied her thoroughly.

When we were called she came back with us, making small talk with the nurse and letting me off the hook except for health questions. Then Hailie's doctor was waving us into her office, and Chloe squeezed my hand with both of hers. "I'll be right here," she promised, settling into a chair nearby as people in scrubs bustled around us.

That promise was a beautiful thing.

Hailie immediately began to play with the baby toys on the floor during her appointment and refused to talk to the doctor, who wasn't fazed. This was how all of our appointments went, and she was used to children who were "twice exceptional"; delayed and advanced at the same time.

I told her about the obvious gluten intolerance, and she was glad to hear it.

"That's often the case with gluten and casein," she said agreeably, and I wondered why she hadn't suggested it then.

But I'd learned that doctors were nearly all like that; few had helpful, proactive suggestions, unless it included medication.

She wrote something on the computer, pushing her glasses up into her sensibly short brown hair. I liked her for the most part. She'd been the one to get us the appointment with the psychologist who had done the autism and IQ testing, because she was the rare person who recognize a gifted autistic child.

She glanced at Hailie, who was jumping up and down and flapping her hands after completing a toddler puzzle. "And I see you're giving her three milligrams of melatonin. You can give more than that, you know. It's perfectly safe."

I nodded because she'd told me that when we were at two and a half milligrams and that's why I'd bumped it up. I tried to keep the melatonin as low as I could because it was a hormone that was supposed to be naturally produced by the body, and I didn't want her to have any more than she needed.

"And how are the meltdowns?" She slid her glasses back down to look at me.

I sighed. I was so tired I felt like I could stretch out on the rug and sleep right then and there. "Still bad," I admitted, feeling defeated and like a failure though I knew we were doing all we could for her. I turned to my cousin to include her. "Hailie," I said, and she tilted her head. "I'm going to talk to Dr. Milam about some of the troubles you're having, so she can maybe help us, okay?"

She nodded and moved on to the Legos.

"Well, we can start her on some sertraline, which I would recommend for her irritability, agitation, anxiety, and the meltdowns overall."

"Okay," I said, relieved for the second time that day. "Is it safe for children?"

She nodded. "We see a lot of success with it, with few side effects."

That was good enough for me just then. We went over a few more things and then our time was up. 

"Hailie, it's time to go," I said, having given her warnings at ten, five, and two minute intervals.