By the time Jay was about a year and a half old, it was not unusual for me to wake up at any hour of the night to find eggs dumped all over the floor of the kitchen or even see the entire refrigerator emptied onto the living-room floor. Through the eyes of a toddler, eggs have an uncanny resemblance to baseballs. Jay would take an egg from the refrigerator just to throw it against the wall while yelling "Ball, ball" Before her son turned two years old, author Tara Nicole Scott Brunson knew that little Jay did not act quite like other children his age. Inquisitive, agile, and very active, Jay struggled with behavior problems, and Brunson wanted to know how she could help her son thrive. This memoir follows her ten-year journey of gaining a medical diagnosis to explain Jay's unusual actions. Understanding a Bipolar Child narrates the stories of Jay's young life. In it, Brunson tells of the family's interactions with teachers and the school, as well as the creation of individualized education plans. She describes doctor visits, intense tests, the trial of more than thirty different medications, and the eventual diagnosis of bipolar disorder and Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. Brunson delivers her personal story to help guide other parents who are experiencing the same issues with their own children. She demonstrates that there are ways to seek and find both diagnosis and treatment in order to help the children gain more control over their lives.

Understanding a Bipolar Child

By TARA NICOLE SCOTT BRUNSON

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2011 Tara Nicole Scott Brunson
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4620-6914-9

Chapter One

Stories of a Bipolar Child

I was awakened in the middle of the night by a loud thud, followed by a horrifying cry. It was my baby! My little son Jay started climbing at a very early age; he climbed on everything within his reach. Even before he could crawl, he could climb. Initially it made me very nervous, especially his early endeavors.

Now, that anxiety had jolted me awake. Jay, a little scamp of just nine months, had crept out of his crib and made his way over to the dresser to begin his climb. I could imagine how he had climbed slowly, with wobbling steps, until the dresser suddenly toppled over his little body. When the dresser gave a huge bang, I sprang out of my bed, threw the dresser off my baby, and pulled him into my arms. I embraced him for a few moments and then examined him for any bruises on his tender body. Fortunately, I saw no visible signs of injuries; in my trauma from the incident, it appeared I was the only casualty.

Jay could swim before he could walk. Water is very dangerous for small children, especially those as curious as Jay. Understanding the importance of water safety is crucial, so I worked with him every day to teach him how to swim. When we would go out to the community pool, people would stare, dumbfounded, at my tiny son swimming like a fish. Jay could go across any part of the pool. He would go underwater and pretend to drown until he came up gasping for breath; this was just a trick to fool people.

Jay was about fifteen months old when Kevin, Jay's grandmother Corrine new boyfriend, decided he wanted to show his girlfriend what a loving and caring person he was. He told Corrine, that he would take Jay on his errands with him. The first stop would be the bank.

Kevin hadn't realized Jay wasn't wearing a diaper, only underwear (he was being potty trained). While Kevin talked to the teller, disputing an unfair overdraft charge, Kevin became increasingly frustrated, but still was holding Jay's hand. Jay started getting antsy, so Kevin released his hand and saw Jay go into a small playhouse set up to occupy children while their parents took care of business in the bank.

Kevin then shouted to the teller, "I want to speak to your superior!" When the supervisor had arrived, Jay was still nowhere in sight. Kevin kept arguing with the bank manager until he started smelling a foul odor. Kevin started to look around for the smell, curious about what it could be. He then saw Jay out of the corner of his eye, coming around the corner of the bank tellers' station with his pants in one hand and nothing covering his bottom—or any other part of his body. Aside from the poop covering him from head to toe, Jay was completely naked.

Jay had smeared poop all over the walls and floors of the bank, and everyone around was looking at Jay with horror. Just to get Kevin out of the bank, the manager told him, "All right, sir, we will refund the charges. Whatever you want."

Kevin went over to Jay and took him by the hand.

"Damn right you will," Kevin told the bank teller and stomped out of the bank.

By the time Jay was about a year and a half old, it was not unusual for me to wake up at any hour of the night to find eggs dumped all over the floor of the kitchen or even see the entire refrigerator emptied onto the living-room floor. Through the eyes of a toddler, eggs have an uncanny resemblance to baseballs. Jay would take an egg from the refrigerator just to throw it against the wall while yelling "Ball, ball!"

I guess I should be thankful that he was taken up with baseball. I shudder to think what my house would have looked like if Jay had been a WWF wrestling fan instead!

Even so, I probably should have made a practice of boiling all those eggs before I put them in the refrigerator!

When Jay was just under two years old, he had awoken during the middle of the night. Unlike many children, Jay always wanted to solve problems on his own. For instance, if he felt hungry, he would neither wake me nor his grandmother; instead, he would invade the kitchen and try to conquer the pantry and the cupboards until he found something that caught his eye.

That morning, Jay climbed into the cupboards and spotted a bright-red box with a picture of a pancake on it. He stretched out his little arm into the rear of the pantry for the box of pancake mix. As syrup is always the best part of pancakes, Jay made sure to get his little fingers around both the box and the bottle before pulling them out of the pantry.

Jay, now back on his two little feet, walked out of the kitchen, through the living room, and into the bedroom while holding both items upside down, leaving a sticky, gooey trail behind him. He climbed onto the bed with the box of pancake mix and the half-empty syrup bottle.

Out of excitement, as if he'd won a million dollars from the lottery, he jumped up and down repeatedly on the bed, his loud shrieks of excitement drumming into his grandmother's ears: "Grandma, Grandma, wake up! I'm hungry. I want pancakes!" Innocently, he emptied the leftovers of the dry pancake mix and the syrup onto the head of his grandmother.

Long ago, we had a cat, and when our cat was only about six months old, we realized she was pregnant. One night Jay was playing with the cat, running around and chasing her. I kept telling him to stop, but before I knew it, her water broke. The cat had trouble delivering the kittens, but while on the phone with the vet, I was able to help the cat bring her babies into the world.

A few weeks after the kittens were born, Jay became determined to play with them. He would sneak each out of their box one at a time. But Jay was much rougher with them than he meant to be. I tried to sit him down and explain to him that the new kittens were just babies, and that we had to be nice and gentle to babies. But one day I was doing laundry and found one of the little kittens in the dryer. Jay told me he had wanted the kitten to go for a ride. Jay still remembers the little kittens and has vaguely unpleasant memories about them but doesn't remember what exactly what happened. At that time, Jay was barely two years old. He loved those kittens, and he didn't realize that what he was doing would hurt them.

Jay learned very early how to open the front door, so I installed a flip lock onto the door. But when Jay managed to push his high chair from the dining room up against the front door in the living room, he knew he had outsmarted me. Jay could undo the knob lock and then climb the chair to reach the flip lock. Once Jay was able to get the door unlocked, he would wander off to the playgrounds.

The front door was not Jay's only route of escape. We lived in a small apartment, and the backyard was a concrete patio enclosed by a wooden fence. Jay enjoyed playing outside, and I felt he was safe to play alone inside our confined patio if I were doing chores in the home, like putting away laundry or cooking. Unfortunately I couldn't see him from every room, but I was close enough to hear him, which I thought was enough. But one sunny day, while I was cooking dinner and Jay was playing out back, I got a knock at the door. It was a couple of kids about eight years old telling me that my baby was on the basketball court.

I ran out the door. The basketball court was not far away—thankfully he didn't have to cross any streets to get there—but...