Happy
I find myself in an exceptionally good mood tonight. Work is good, marriage is better, and fatherhood is the best. My cousin became a father today, and my brother got some really good health-related news. Also I popped the cork on a really good bottle of red a little while ago. Mrs. Edstourettes agrees. TS or not, things are looking up. I think this is a good time to take a look and see how I got here. Since being diagnosed, it's been a temptation to retroactively view my life through the lens of Tourette Syndrome. One of the questions I often as myself is how much TS has influenced my life and how it would be different A) if I'd been diagnosed earlier and B) if I never had it at all.
Let's start with an earlier diagnosis. I said in a few earlier entries that my mom asked my pediatrician about my tics when I was eight or nine (?), and was told that I just had nervous tics and that they'd fade with time. I appreciate her belief that I'd somehow become less nervous as I aged. If only. Say my folks had pursued my condition further (this is a good time to mention that there are health issues in my family much more serious than mine and that it is not my story to tell). My family was already spending a decent chunk of time in doctor's offices and hospitals when I was a little kid, and honestly I think any more might have been the straw that broke five camels' backs. I've seen stories online, on Facebook, and on Twitter about seeking diagnoses for TS and other conditions that make me thankful my parents didn't pursue it too hard. I worry that we would have bounced from specialist to specialist, all of whom may have ranged from saying nothing was wrong with me to ordering a barrage of unnecessary, uncomfortable, and expensive tests that would've shown jack diddly squat. One of the brightest illusions I've had shattered for me since starting this blog and following a lot of fellow TS patients on Twitter is the illusion that all doctors know what they're talking about and are always right. I've always been taught to show such reverence to people in the medical field that it never really crossed my mind to question their level of expertise. Glad I learned that lesson while my kid is still super-young!
Anyway, say a doc HAD diagnosed me with TS when I was a little kid. Then what? I know my parents would have tried putting me on meds, because that's what you do when your kid is sick! I also know that my mom would not have rested until she found exactly the right blend of meds, therapy, and lifestyle changes to keep me as asymptomatic as possible. She also would have dogged my teachers and guidance counselors to make sure I wasn't suffering any adverse social effects as a result of my TS (PS, you know an adult was bullied as a kid when he refers to bullying as "adverse social effects"). A question worth pondering: inasmuch as we acknowledge that it's bad to for kids to label each other and that it happens anyway, do you think it's socially easier to be "indescribably weird" or to be fully "out" with a diagnosis of TS or some other neurological/psychological/psychiatric condition? I mean I made it through school as indescribably weird, but I'd hesitate to say I was living my best life in my teens. I'm not sure what processes were in place in the late 80's-early 90's to make it easier for a student with TS to openly, ticcily (it's MY word and you can't have it!) integrate into her class. Since I see a lot on social media about TS kids being bullied in school, I can't imagine that it would have been better when I was that age. I guess I'm sort of content with how my TS story has shaken out so far. But what if I'd never had Tourette's at aaaaaaalllllllllll?
I feel like that's the unasked, million freaking dollar question in the TS community. I'm not speaking for anyone else, but I get a vicious thrill when I think about it, and I feel a little guilty even talking about it. None of us is going to wake up tomorrow miraculously cured of our Tourette's. I'd might as well imagine what it would be like to be able to fly (hint: it would be AWESOME). But gosh, is it a tempting rabbit hole to fall down. I feel like when it comes to influencing how my life has turned out, Tourette's has kind of been like an ex-girlfriend: a necessary, if not always beloved, part of what made me the person I am today. All the experiences I had up until the day I met my wife shaped me into the person she fell in love with and into the person who loved her. Our son is perfect, and I can't imagine my life without her family. A life with TS is one of those experiences, one of those shapers. All the rough tic days, all the weird looks, that time the guy almost kicked my ass on the subway because my lips were going and he thought I was making kissy-faces at him, and all the times my TS made me feel separate from everyone else? They were worth it if they had even the slightest impact on how much they turned me into the man my wife loves.
But would I get rid of it tomorrow? You bet your butt I would.
Let's start with an earlier diagnosis. I said in a few earlier entries that my mom asked my pediatrician about my tics when I was eight or nine (?), and was told that I just had nervous tics and that they'd fade with time. I appreciate her belief that I'd somehow become less nervous as I aged. If only. Say my folks had pursued my condition further (this is a good time to mention that there are health issues in my family much more serious than mine and that it is not my story to tell). My family was already spending a decent chunk of time in doctor's offices and hospitals when I was a little kid, and honestly I think any more might have been the straw that broke five camels' backs. I've seen stories online, on Facebook, and on Twitter about seeking diagnoses for TS and other conditions that make me thankful my parents didn't pursue it too hard. I worry that we would have bounced from specialist to specialist, all of whom may have ranged from saying nothing was wrong with me to ordering a barrage of unnecessary, uncomfortable, and expensive tests that would've shown jack diddly squat. One of the brightest illusions I've had shattered for me since starting this blog and following a lot of fellow TS patients on Twitter is the illusion that all doctors know what they're talking about and are always right. I've always been taught to show such reverence to people in the medical field that it never really crossed my mind to question their level of expertise. Glad I learned that lesson while my kid is still super-young!
Anyway, say a doc HAD diagnosed me with TS when I was a little kid. Then what? I know my parents would have tried putting me on meds, because that's what you do when your kid is sick! I also know that my mom would not have rested until she found exactly the right blend of meds, therapy, and lifestyle changes to keep me as asymptomatic as possible. She also would have dogged my teachers and guidance counselors to make sure I wasn't suffering any adverse social effects as a result of my TS (PS, you know an adult was bullied as a kid when he refers to bullying as "adverse social effects"). A question worth pondering: inasmuch as we acknowledge that it's bad to for kids to label each other and that it happens anyway, do you think it's socially easier to be "indescribably weird" or to be fully "out" with a diagnosis of TS or some other neurological/psychological/psychiatric condition? I mean I made it through school as indescribably weird, but I'd hesitate to say I was living my best life in my teens. I'm not sure what processes were in place in the late 80's-early 90's to make it easier for a student with TS to openly, ticcily (it's MY word and you can't have it!) integrate into her class. Since I see a lot on social media about TS kids being bullied in school, I can't imagine that it would have been better when I was that age. I guess I'm sort of content with how my TS story has shaken out so far. But what if I'd never had Tourette's at aaaaaaalllllllllll?
I feel like that's the unasked, million freaking dollar question in the TS community. I'm not speaking for anyone else, but I get a vicious thrill when I think about it, and I feel a little guilty even talking about it. None of us is going to wake up tomorrow miraculously cured of our Tourette's. I'd might as well imagine what it would be like to be able to fly (hint: it would be AWESOME). But gosh, is it a tempting rabbit hole to fall down. I feel like when it comes to influencing how my life has turned out, Tourette's has kind of been like an ex-girlfriend: a necessary, if not always beloved, part of what made me the person I am today. All the experiences I had up until the day I met my wife shaped me into the person she fell in love with and into the person who loved her. Our son is perfect, and I can't imagine my life without her family. A life with TS is one of those experiences, one of those shapers. All the rough tic days, all the weird looks, that time the guy almost kicked my ass on the subway because my lips were going and he thought I was making kissy-faces at him, and all the times my TS made me feel separate from everyone else? They were worth it if they had even the slightest impact on how much they turned me into the man my wife loves.
But would I get rid of it tomorrow? You bet your butt I would.
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