The following was posted on my personal blog on April 30, 2008: I had a dream last night--I was in the kiddie psych ward, down at the end of the unit where the vinyl-covered chairs are, next to the locked closet full of bad toys and puzzles with half their pieces missing. I was waiting for Bob. And here he came, in Spongebob pajamas, walking--not running, skipping, or galloping, as he usually does--toward me. Big smile on his face. Big, happy greeting of "Hi, Mom!" right before he threw his arms around me and crushed his little self into me in a hello hug.

About a week and a half ago, my son, Bob--who has bipolar disorder and ADHD--was prescribed Loxapine by his psychiatrist. Loxapine was added to his medications in an effort to counter his recent depression symptoms, as well as a concurrent onset of overwhelming paranoia, fear of being alone, nightmares, and sleepwalking.

All this talk about sleep is making me wonder--will I ever get any, myself? The recent discussions about sleep disorders and mental illness are unusually timely--I'd been planning to do this week's post on sleep problems, because we are definitely experiencing them at our house.

There's no cure for crazy. Sometimes I forget. My husband pointed it out to me once. "When he does well, you get your hopes up," he said. "And I think you let yourself have expectations that aren't realistic. It's almost like you still think someday he'll be cured." He was right, of course, but that did nothing to soften the blow.

As I noted in a previous blog post, my son, Bob, who has bipolar disorder and ADHD, made it through his first week of third grade—albeit with some problems. Last Monday—the first day of Week 2—I received my first phone call of the year from the principal. Here we go again.

The first time I sat in a psychiatrist’s office, it was for myself. He scared me. He wasn’t anything like the mom-like therapists I was used to. He barely made eye contact. He asked me a few questions, to which I gave rambling answers. He scribbled. He left the room, returning after a few minutes to hand me a prescription and bid me farewell. I’ve since visited a multitude of psychiatrists—for my own benefit and for Bob’s, my son with bipolar disorder—and found that first experience pretty typical.

The first full week of school is behind us. (Insert sigh of relief.) And even though problems surfaced, we survived.

  I’ve long been a fan of the Rudyard Kipling poem, “If.” If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you… I can relate to this verse. I’m sure all parents of mentally ill children can. Often the greatest challenge we face is not going stark raving mad ourselves.

Last July, Bob’s psychiatrist handed me prescriptions for lithium, Seroquel, Clonidine, and Focalin. We had discussed this before. Using lithium to treat childhood bipolar disorder was his "last resort", something he waited to prescribe until nothing else worked for Bob. Lithium? Had it come to that? What if even lithium didn’t work?