The Pink Robe

“Get in here,” I yelled at Husband one Sunday afternoon, “If you are going to work in the garden, you need to put on something other than that pink robe and your new Florsheim Imperial shoes.”

“Why!?!,” he yelled back. “I’m covered to my ankles.”

“Yes,” I said. “But I paid over $100 for those shoes, and besides, you look dorky out there.”

In 1974 $100 was a fortune for shoes, so that part is his fault.

The robe was my fault.

The year we married, Husband made arrangements with Roy and June, his grandparents, to buy me a portable sewing machine.

For many years Roy and June owned the White Sewing Machine outlet in Wichita and housed it in the old Innes Building at Broadway and William.

By the time we married, they had retired, but kept several machines for inventory and parts for when Roy repaired older machines.

Roy and June stood firmly behind their machines, and they were happy to accommodate us with a new model. I loved it and immediately set my dreams into motion on how I might use it.

One of the first projects was a Christmas present for Husband. Since I worked days teaching in a junior high school, and he worked second shift at Cessna, I had long stretches in the evenings that I filled with shopping for fabric and with sewing.

A fabric store was within three blocks of our apartment, and during one of my explorations for sales, I ran across several yards of pink denim at a huge bargain price. Armed with a pattern for a male caftan or long tunic, I delighted in sewing it into a highly serviceable pull-over robe for my beloved.

He instantly liked it and slipped it on to wear the remainder of our first Christmas morning. He wanted to wear it to Mom and Dad’s for Christmas dinner, but I convinced him it was not appropriate apparel.

There was something about the ease-of-wear that spoke to Husband’s desire for simplicity. We had been highly influenced by hippy wear, so the pink robe was a mere half-step beyond, or possibly below, that influence.

He merely had to pull its V-neck opening over his head and put his arms in the sleeves, and let it drop straight down past his ankles. The fact it was a soft rose shade of pink did not offend him at least.

He wore the robe until he outgrew it three or four years later. Our oldest newborn lay in his arms as he wore it to watch cartoons. He wore it to cook, and he wore it to watch TV.

And of course, he liked to wear it outside when he gardened.

He also liked Mother Earth News, so the robe fit well with his dreams of self-sufficiency and back-to-nature ways of doing.

The robe was as far as he got on that dream because back-to-nature and self-sufficiency require a farmer’s way of thinking.

Husband is a hunter.  

Thom Hartmann explains that concept quite well in Attention Deficit Disorder: A Different Perception. Hartmann pointed to the fact that persons exhibiting symptoms of ADHD had once been treated as “bad”. But since we now know it is a genetically-based disorder, Hartmann surmised that in the development of human cultures, two main types appeared: hunters or gatherers and farmers. Hunters (persons genetically set with ADHD) “Constantly monitor their environment and throw themselves into the hunt (Hartmann, pg. 24).” Hartmann goes on to say that Hunters are quick to be off in new directions and are visual thinkers.

On the other hand, Hartmann suggests, Farmers are team players who see the long-range picture and are not easily bored with slow and steady effort. They also tend to the details.

If Hartmann’s theory is true, Husband is most definitely not a farmer.

According to the “Hunter” explanation, persons with ADHD don’t take time for niceties when it is time to make decisions. In typical terms, we might say they lack in social niceties.

I don’t think Hunters are abnormal. In fact, I see them as color and texture that describe visual characteristics and tones that enhance the canvas of humanity.

Just like wearing a pink robe.

Hartmann, T. (1997). Attention Deficit Disorder: A Different Perception. Grass Valley, CA: Underwood Books.

                               

The Cheeseburger

At times the most mundane activity can become riotous comedy, and almost slapstick in nature.

Such a time happened last week when we drove through McDonald’s drive-in for a sandwich.

We had first gone to Arby’s to get Oldest Daughter a roast-beef sandwich, then drove across the street to Spangles to order a beverage and get the dog treat for Stanley, and finally drove to the other corner of the intersection to order Husband’s burger.

If you know ADHD, you might guess that all this activity strained Husband’s sense of concentration.

By the time we got his burger, I also wondered more about the young man who worked the drive-in lane.

The conversation was much like this:

“I want a quarter-pounder with cheese.”

“What drink would you like with that, Sir?”

“I don’t want a drink. I only want the sandwich.”

“Will that be with fries and a beverage, Sir?”

“No. I only want the sandwich. And don’t put ketchup or mustard on it.”

“Would you like that quarter-pounder with cheese, Sir?’

“Yes, I want the sandwich only. I want it with cheese, and I don’t want

 ketchup or mustard on it.”

“OK, Sir, I have a quarter-pound cheese burger, no ketchup or mustard. What can we get you to drink.”

Husband merely replied with a terse, “Nothing to drink. And oh, yes, I want three cookies.”

“OK, Sir. Pull to the first window, and I will have your total for you.”

When Husband paid for his sandwich, he leaned out the car window and stared at the young man as if to say, “Buddy, are you for real?”

I was relieved he did not say anything to the kid. When the young man kept asking about fries and a drink, I almost ordered them for me, and I wasn’t eating anything but the cookies.

We could feel the tension in the car, which was thick enough to cut.

I almost went inside the store to explain to the manager that the speaker system may not be working well.

Of course, I also got a good look at the young man, and he had a familiar lack of attention and focus on his face. Poor kid, they may have matched him with the wrong task.

It was late in the evening when traffic was low at McDonald’s. Possibly the manager was giving his employee opportunity to work the window. Possibly he was attempting to multitask, which research indicates may not be the best for efficiency.

As we drove away, I praised Husband for being patient with the young man. “Thank you for not calling him names,” I mentioned.

Husband merely grumbled and said. “I’m on drugs.”

                               

Stanley

It may seem rather ludicrous to some readers, but our family is madly in love with a dog named Stanley who belongs to Baby Sis and our Ideal Son-in-Law.

We first met Stanley when his parents adopted him from the feed store in Newton. We made a special stop at their house as we came home from St. Joseph, Missouri because Baby Sis sent a text message, “We bought a dog. His name is Stanley.”

He was a mere eight weeks old with a sweet curiosity about him. The old people part of us was immediately charmed by his winsome personality and magnetism.

Stanley stands about two feet off the ground with the long muscular body of his Corgi and Westie heritage. His muzzle and face are exquisitely chiseled and covered with charcoal gray (with a tint of black) and white hair. As I previously mentioned, we love him for his gentle nature, intelligence, companionship, and devotion.

Husband loves him especially, and Stanley loves Husband. Whenever Stanley sees Husband after several days of being apart, he will squeal like an excited little boy, which in turn causes Husband to gush with his own brand of delight.

I almost expect Husband to jump and flip as much as the dog does.

At times, Stanley gets to spend the night at our house as if he were a preferred grandchild, only of course, he is no child.

I often set limits how often he and Husband take over my king-size bed and push me out of it.

Stanley does prefer my pillow and blankets when he lays his sweet brown eyes close to my face.

As a person with ADHD, Husband often struggles with depression and associated mental turmoil, and Stanley is the balm that generates a positive calm for him.

Stanley models a therapy for persons with ADHD which helps the person deal with symptoms that are causing trouble in daily life. He himself is an intervention.

I have been known to phone Baby Sis and ask if Stanley can come for a visit to soothe his buddy and bring bright light into Husband’s world. Once inside our house, Stanley runs straight to Husband’s office as if to say, “Hey, I’m here, Good Buddy. It is I, your Stanley and Supporter.”

Then it is the hugs and kisses. I tell Husband, “Make certain you brush your teeth and wash your face before you kiss me.”

In a previous blog, I talked about my mother-in-laws passion over animals, and I can see the connection to her in my Husband. He understands and loves dogs and cats, and he loves that Stanley understands him.

It might have been a match made in Heaven.

Stanley likes to help Husband cook because he expects tiny pieces of raw vegetables or tid-bits of cooked meat to fall his way.

He loves to help Husband watch ball games on TV when he knows he will get an extended hair combing or his own space and blanket on the sofa.

He also likes to go on rides, a word we can only spell in his presence, not say. His special destination is Spangles, which is the only fast-food restaurant in Wichita that gives doggie treats.

Whenever Stanley is with us, we only go to Spangles.

One evening we made the mistake of going to Wendy’s. Stanley stood on the console of my Jeep waiting for his treat, but none came, of course. He immediately sat across my lap and buried his face under my arm. His feelings were crushed.

“That does it,” we agreed. “From now on it is Spangles, or we carry treats with us.”

Yes, he got two treats when we got home.

Back to School

In a former post, I mentioned Husband’s college transcripts and the number of incomplete courses or failures recorded on them.

Seriously, the total of both outnumbered the total of classes he passed, and that is really too bad. He is highly intelligent and knowledgeable.

He has always been the King of Trivial Pursuit and a storehouse for useless information. He takes pride in it.

He knows impractical nonsense such as who Cloris Leachman went to high school with. I mean, seriously folks, how many people even know who Cloris Leachman is?

It seems absurd he failed his classes. He should have passed with an exceptionally high GPA.

During our younger days, college courses challenged everything related to his ADHD, only we did not know it then. I thought he merely lacked self-discipline and motivation.

Yes, that may have been part of the problem, but those were the days before Strattera and before we really knew about ADHD or even much about minimal brain dysfunction.

But as we think about it today, had he known his psychiatrist then, his college career would have been much more successful.

As he told her this week: “Had we known you then, I would have been much more successful. Of course when we were 20, you were about five, and someone would have accused you of being a drug dealer.”

The point was made though. When Husband needed structure, attention, focus, and ability to plan ahead, help was not available.

Today it is different. Today he has returned to college for another degree and is performing quite well in all his courses.

He earned his first degree after age 50 in a well-designed program for nontraditional adult learners. Everything in the design took into consideration that adults have different learning needs than people in their late teens and early 20’s, and the one-night-per-week model suited him perfectly.

Even before Strattera, he did well with those late-life classes because I served as his external structure, reminding him of when assignments were due and when he should write course papers.  At the time, all five of us were enrolled in some level of college. The pressure to keep up with the rest of us provided motivation for him.

“I can’t let the rest of you out-do me. Besides, I have my own professor in the house.”

Currently, he is enrolled in an online learning environment which requires him to go to his class nearly every day of the week. It has become his consistent link in his schedule.

He has finally learned to use his day planner. He has finally learned to remember when his online seminars take place. He has made friends with making lists.

His medication helps his concentration, but so do the nature of his courses and how applicable they are to his real life.

Of course he still plays Trivial Pursuit with all of us. His favorite topic is anatomy and physiology. We hear all about the medical terms, and the functions of the body systems, and how he is thoroughly intrigued with the human body.

His latest final in one of the A&P courses required him to write a paper on the digestive system of the human body. So, he wrote about being on a surfboard riding the waves through an imaginary man’s system beginning in the mouth and ending out the out place. In one place he read how he used a quote from his instructor. The next line he wrote “ and there is the swish, swish sound made by the kissing up to the instructor.” I thought it was funny, but a bit immature. The instructor loved it, though.

I admit his approach demonstrated his sense of creativity and the amount of knowledge he gained from his study of the system.

Max Factor and Other Comments

At one time in our early married years, a trip through the perfume section of department stores consistently brought comments:

“Phew, that stink upsets my sinus.”

“You can’t ever wear that scent. It upsets my nose too much.”

The kids swear he would make comments about heavily-scented women in public such as

“God, that woman smells like guano. What did she do roll in it?”

I don’t know if his sensitivity to smells were related to ADHD, but his impulsive or insensitive comments likely were related to it.

Through the years, he has learned not to shout those types of comments in public. That is an aspect of his learning: the behavior changes he has made in specific situations.

His olfactory nerves send interesting messages to his brain, to say the least. He can smell the odors associated with certain recipes and well-nigh tell me each ingredient in the dish.

I have several memories of his reaction to public odors and perfumes. Many of them make sense knowing his aversion to strong scent and artificial smells.

My favorite recollection involved another church acquaintance, Dora. She and her husband were both petite individuals with a classy sense of style and pristine manners about their persons. By the time we met them, he was a retired florist, and she was retired from a local aircraft company. I estimate they were in their early 70’s. Dora chose to wear thick, heavy matte makeup such as she might have worn in the 1940’s. Her hair reflected styles from the early 1960’s, her eyebrows were plucked, then repainted, and her perfume was abundant.

In other words, it appeared Dora used several products to prepare herself for public. Husband often walked in the opposite direction when he saw Dora might pass him in hallways or church aisles. When we would see them mall walking, he found ways to stand far back from her. The scents associated with her products were highly offensive, and if he got too much of her perfumes and make-up odor, he would get a sinus infection. Literally.

After several years of being at our church, Dora and her husband began attending another congregation. In spite of the offensiveness of her make-up regimen, on occasion Husband mentioned how our meetings seemed empty without them. Of course, Husband could never remember her name, so he referred to her as the woman married to the retired florist. I immediately knew whom he meant.

Four or five years after being gone from our church, one morning I looked up to see the spritely couple standing before our congregation. They looked surprisingly similar to the last time they attended our church. He always smiled with a professional winsomeness, and she always posed for the crowd. They presented themselves for renewed church membership.

I was delighted to see them, but this time, I could not remember her name. Our pastor had not yet introduced them, so quietly I leaned toward Husband who was standing tall beside me with a somber and expressionless face.

“Oh, look! It is Ansel and, and, and. Shoot, I can’t remember her name.”

Without taking time to change expressions or even to blink, Husband instantly replied, “Max Factor.”

I leaned over the pew in an explosion of laughter, which in itself is funny enough. However, standing in the pew directly in front of us, a group of college young adults heard us and my laughter. They heard him refer to Dora as Max Factor, and they turned to see him do so without an ounce of expression on his face.

They, too, burst into laughter, which caused the row of college people ahead of them to turn and ask why they were laughing. By the time our pastor introduced Ansel and Dora, three rows loudly stifled giggles and chuckles.

The corners of Husband’s mouth turned up ever so slightly, but he merely looked at me with his characteristic What? in his eyes.

Later, when I apologized to our pastor for the laughter and noise, he simply said,  

“When I see your husband in the midst of a laughing crowd, I don’t bother wondering what is going on. I just know he has said something.”

Anger Management, The Unrelenting Ambition

Anger management is a hot topic among persons with ADHD and their families, and I don’t mean that as a pun.

Read any piece of literature or a study describing ADHD, and you will likely find a myriad of discussion linking anger to the individual with ADHD.

Anger can raise its ugly head in all types of everyday activity.

I recall an outburst early in our dating days when I attempted to pass along a compliment Nurse Lois made about the color of his eyes. I can’t recall the pressure or comment that put him into a hostile frame of mind, but I do know that when he yelled at me, I wanted to reach across the car seat and slap him back. That is how his tone and words felt to me, like a slap on the face.

Of course his anger becomes amusing when it is directed at others such as when he receives annoying phone calls.

Many incoming calls seem like a waste of time to him, and conversations on his end often bring a smile. For example after moments that make him feel antsy, he might say, “Are you still on my phone? Well, get off it.”  He also has no problem just hanging up when the other person pushes his inward buttons too far.

Honestly I wish I exhibited that type of grit every now and then. I really admire his ability to not care what the person on the other end of the phone line thinks or feels. “Why should I care,” he says, “It isn’t as if they can see me.” 

His explosions of anger can also take a more physical form.

I remember the time he felt frustrated with life in general and a task he was doing in specific. I mean, when he becomes nervous and agitated, anger seems to build up in him.

It was before we had kids, when we had two dogs, Louise and Lawrence (Bo). Bo was really Husband’s buddy, who happened to get under foot one afternoon during a tense project. Husband picked up an empty bucket and slammed it against Bo’s small body.   

The dog yelped, flew up into the air, and landed almost lifeless. Thinking he had killed pitiable Bo, I was horrified. Husband panicked and cradled Bo as he cried and cried. After he recovered, poor Bo never again got too close to Husband. Instead, he made huge circles around Husband’s presence probably fearful for his life.

A couple of years later, Husband got mad at Louise for what she did to his side of the bed the evening I cooked beef liver for our meal. I always prepared extra for the dogs because Louise enjoyed it. Husband was hungry and ate her portion, and when she came to the table to ask for some, I said, “I’m sorry, but Daddy ate yours.”  The look she gave him would have killed, and later that night as we pulled down bedcovers, we found that she had left a gift of dog poo on his pillow.

He turned ashen and red and looking straight at me, he moaned about what she had done. The expression on his face was classic, and I leaned on the post and laughed until I couldn’t breathe. However, I quickly came to life when he went in search of her with the purpose of destroying her.  “I am going to kill that damn dog,” he yelled loud enough to cause her to literally hide from him for several days.

Earlier in the years of marriage and raising children, Husband often became frustrated with the responsibilities of being head of house, and the safety valve on his emotions would begin to blow. Much of that steam was directed at me. Fortunately for him, he never considered hitting me, and he now knows that name calling is not allowed. He also knows that loud noises do not constitute communication.

Distractions do continue to irritate and aggravate him. One Sunday night we attended Bible Study where Edward sat at the same table with us, and with his work-worn hands he unconsciously rubbed the deep grains on his leather Bible.

All Husband could hear was the swish, swish sound which totally distracted his attention. He turned at me with an angry growl and snarl across his countenance. 

In a staccato pattern he said, “ Atha. I. Am. Going. To knock. That old man. Right out of his chair.”   

Anger lurks at the core of Husband’s thinking each day of his life. His psychiatrist would likely say it has become a part of his personality, and I would say it is the result of immense frustrations built up from life-long experiences. It is difficult for him to control; it is almost impossible for him not to hold grudges for decades, and it is imperative I serve as an external mechanism of control that his brain cannot produce inwardly.                                      

Thoughts on Grandmothers

Today I thought of buried photos of Audrey and June, Husband’s grandmothers. They both loved him deeply, and he still thinks of them with respect and love, as well. Audrey died several years before I met Husband; I knew June several years before her death.

Audrey adored him because he strongly resembled one of her sons who died as a toddler. She was the victim of Schizophrenia Disorder, so when she was in any one of her many spacey moments, she called him Douglas.

For your edification, schizophrenia is the name for a series of behaviors that include hallucinations, delusions, and unordered thinking processes. In Audrey’s case, it seemed to be a little of all three. Schizophrenia is not split personality or multiple personalities. As with many females, the onset of Audrey’s disorder was evident in her late 20’s.

When I married into the family, my father-in-law tried to explain that his mother was “just a tad different.” Yea, just a tad.

Audrey behaved strangely on many occasions. She once strapped a cheese sandwich to the top of her head. “The devil can go into it and I can throw him away,” she explained. She would go to the grocery, load her cart with hundreds of dollars of food, and take it to checkout. When told the total was $200 or $300, she would say, “Thank you”, then turn and walk out of the store leaving the unpaid sacks of groceries behind.  The owners finally phone my father-in-law and complained about the extra work she cost them.

People in the neighborhood poked fun at her, but Husband once said, “She was my Grandma, and I loved her. She loved me.” She did not frighten or embarrass him as she did his siblings.

June seemed to understand his frustration, impulsivity, and inattention. She did tell me, though, “The other kids often picked on him. They called him bawl baby because when he got frustrated or when they made fun of him, he cried and cried. His mother and dad would not know what to do. I told them to leave him alone; he would eventually grow out of it.”

I was so frustrated with his pouty and whiny ways, I asked her, “ And just when can I expect him to do that, Grandma?” That was totally rude of me, but it expressed the frustrations many family have with their adult member with ADHD.  June looked intently at me, then she began to laugh. She was Husband’s maternal grandmother, so I now know she knew.

I loved June for her intelligence, orderliness, and sense of what is and is not correct. She had spirit and control.

When he was a small boy, she once washed Husband’s mouth with dish soap for using foul language. After we married, he once used similar words in front of her. She glared harshly at him, “Do I need to get my dish soap, again?”

“No, Grandma,” was his brief, dutiful reply.

June’s marriage to Roy was not always an easy obligation to fulfill. As a result of a debilitating disease, and possibly the need to self-medicate ADHD, Roy became an alcoholic in his early adult years and stayed a drunk for much of his life. Although he eventually sobered up and owned a business, June was the breadwinner for many years, and he often frustrated her.

Even though Husband is not an alcoholic, I think I can relate to her frustration. But Roy also entertained her with his sense of humor. I can relate to that, too. Roy knew how to make his grandchildren howl with laughter, and one of his favorite quips involved his childhood level of poverty.

“When I was a boy, we were sooo poor,” he would begin. That was the cue for one of the grandkids to ask, “How poor were you Grandpa?” He would then say, “If I did not wake up with an erection, I would have nothing to play with all day.”

June would also respond, “ROY!” which sent us all into fits of laughter. Roy would get a satisfied snicker across his face.

I think of Husband’s grandmothers for the acceptance they offered him. They made him feel special, and they never gave up on him. They offered praise and kindness, which is important to the person with ADHD of any age.

for more information on Schizophrenia visit http://www.bing.com/health/article/mayo-MADS00196/Schizophrenia?q=schizophrenia

Experience with Medications

My husband likes to say he hates taking his Strattera. “It pinches my brain across my forehead.”  

Let me assure you, it is quite noticeable that he is more productive on the days when he takes it.

My response to his complaint is “Pinch on. Pinch on.”

Today is a great day to talk about medication and ADHD. In fact, before we go on, let’s just get Ritalin out of the way. It is a methylphenidate which has been prescribed for ADHD symptoms for many years.

Actually, Ritalin gets an undeserved bad reputation among the general public who thinks it is overly prescribed and possibly not the best option for children with ADHD.

As are most other ADHD medications, Ritalin is a stimulant. Professionals tell us stimulant medications work by keeping dopamine standing in the gap for a longer period of time. Thus, there is a greater chance the message will connect in the brain.

I have heard adults, who work with children, make statements such as “That kid behaves horribly. S/he needs Ritalin.”

Ritalin was not developed for bratty, undisciplined children. No one other than a medical or mental health professional is qualified to diagnose ADHD or prescribe medications for it.

Methylphenidates and amphetamines are the two top ADHD stimulant medications. Given to healthy individuals with oversight by a qualified physician, stimulants are quite safe to take and are highly effective for many individuals with ADHD.

Stimulants come in various length of action and can be prescribed as a pill or a patch. Doctors start the patient on the lowest dosage and increase it every week or so until the symptoms are under control.

In spite of a long-standing myth, medication of any type for ADHD is not overly prescribed. Of the percentage of the population who would benefit from medical help, according to CHADD, only 56% of children with a diagnosis of ADHD receive the medical treatment they need to deal with ADHD symptoms.

After his diagnosis and armed with just enough information to make me dangerous, I marched Husband to doctors in pursuit of medical help. We found that stimulants were not effective for my husband, and they caused him to feel sick and his heart to speed.  At times they almost knocked him on his backside.

One such attempt sent him to bed for 24 hours and created a zombie who could barely make it to the bathroom.

He wisely decided stimulant medicines were not for him; he would only take antidepressants.

Typically, it will take time to find the correct dosage for any individual with ADHD.  Individuals should always ask their doctor or pharmacist before taking over-the-counter medications, supplements, or other prescription medications to avoid drug interactions.

Husband’s psychiatrist introduced us to new research that investigates the risk of such adverse drug reactions, which is known by the term Pharmacogenetic DNA Drug Testing.  According to the research, a personal medical regimen should be established for anyone taking pharmaceuticals of any type including over-the-counter pills and herbal supplements.

Strattera (Atomoxetine) is the only nonstimulant medication for ADHD adults approved by the Federal Drug Administration.

Husband’s psychiatrist first prescribed the lowest dosage, meaning extremely low, and he immediately began complaining about it. However, the effect has been remarkable.

I recently asked him to discuss Strattera with me in hopes he would make one of his humorous responses.

With a straight face, he said, “Atha, there is nothing funny about Strattera.”

Of course, there is nothing funny about it, but it provides an alternative for adults, teens, and children who require medical treatment for ADHD.

 For Husband, Strattera only helps with symptoms. Like other ADHD medications, it does not change learned behaviors.

After my husband had taken Strattera for one week, his psychiatrist asked me, “And have you observed any difference in his symptoms?” It was not appropriate for me to scream, “Yes,” but I was quick to note the change was positive, and it was dramatic.

Others have testified of the benefits of Strattera, but I can only share with you what we have experienced first hand.

By we, I mean that his medication brings benefits to both of us.

Within hours of the first dose, I noticed subtle differences. He became more thoughtful and focused on tasks. Having been recently laid-off from the place where he worked for 36 years, he quickly used his focus to search for an online school program where he could study for a change in careers.

Strattera has done wonders to help him meet assignment deadlines and to focus on keeping a high grade point average. His still has a sharp and keen sense of humor, but it is not so squirrely.

Between the two of us, it seems that we have reached the age when taking medications is part of our daily exercise routine.

In fact we need to warm up and stretch our legs just to have the strength for opening our pill bottles.