I'm oriented already!

Have completed week 1 of my 3 week orientation for the new job. And then I get to have MORE orientation when I get to my unit. I think I will really like this job. Will be working with kids and that's a nice change from working with (criminal) adults. I can't complain too much about the orientation because I'm lucky enough to be in a group of really nice and fun people. That makes long days much easier to handle. The kids are liking their new daycare and that makes it easier on all of us. Getting back into a new routine after months of being unemployed takes a bit of getting used to - for all of us.

On another note, my old cat (Drake) is seriously ill and needs to be euthanized. I found out a few weeks ago that he has end-stage liver disease and there is nothing that can be done for him. He is almost 13 years old and I know he has lived a full life but it is still very hard to let him go. I've been postponing taking him back in because I keep rationalizing that maybe he's not so bad. But I know that he is having even more trouble eating and keeping food down. I can look in his eyes and know he's feeling bad. So tomorrow (while the kids are somewhere else) I'm going to take him in for euthanization. It will be hard to say good-bye to such an old friend. He was my daughter's cat. Since she's passed away, he's been one of the few last connections with her. I think that's another reason it's so hard for me. When he's gone, I will still have my daughter's dog and my other (much younger ) cat. A more manageable pet population. I know my daughter will welcome Drake into heaven. He'll be with her tomorrow. Still...

New Job, Old Employer

Gosh, it's been a while since I've blogged. Been busy with work, raising my son and grandson, and just not very introspective lately, I guess.

I'm going back to work for an old employer soon. It's a new job title, new location, and definitely new salary. I worked for them right out of grad school and was willing to work for peanuts then. Thank goodness we both have higher standards now. I guess it helps that I'm now licensed. I'm eager to begin work and glad to finally be out of jails and prisons (working there, that is).

My son is 4-1/2 now and growing into this wonderful little boy. I realize how fortunate I am to know him and have him in my life. So many friends told me that I was too old and had too many problems to be adopting him way back when. Some also told me that he would have too many problems as a result of what he went through prenatally and that it was too much for a single woman to do alone. I'll admit that it has been a challenge raising him to date. But also an incredible joy and I wouldn't trade a minute of it. I think we're a blessing to one another.

Raising the grandson for the last few years while guiding my son through his early problems has also been quite a challenge. He lost his mother a few years ago and he's never been quite the same. (Of course, I lost her, too, my daughter, and I know my life will never be the same.) But he is also a remarkable boy and I have hopes that he, too, will overcome his early trauma to live a full happy life.

In the mix as well is my granddaughter who is 10 now. Hard to believe she will soon be a teenager. She's as bright as she is pretty and I see her growing into this lovely young lady.

I've been so busy with the children and work and doing all of this single-handedly that I've unfortunately lost touch with some of my old friends. I have to remember that not all friends are supposed to be life-long friends. But it is still sad. On the plus side, I have do have a few close friends who have stayed by me through thick and thin. They've understood when I haven't had time to hang out with them as much as I would have liked. They know the power of phone and email to maintain close friendships. Thank you God for them.

Here's to a new chapter in my life and blog.

Great...

day in the morning! Get to work today and one of my first patients is one of those child molesters I counseled last week. Yep, that's my job. I was working with him on forgiving himself. That.was.hard. (borrowing cjh's style)

I have to provide unconditional positive regard. Remember Rogers? I can't pick and choose which inmates I want to help. So that includes a lot of people that I would never, ever, ever, want to help if it were not my job.

Does helping a child rapist forgive himself lead to him raping more or less when he is finally released?

What about the killer who killed his wife and father-in-law in a sudden fight. Ugly death. He regrets killing the guy because he would like to be able to talk to him. No remorse at all over the wife. Okey-dokey.

A colleague and I had a brief discussion about this question today: Can empathy be taught to adults?

Why

I was talking to my 6-yr-old the other day, telling him a story about lunch at work. I don't usually relate too many prison stories to the kids so I had to explain a bit more about where I work. He asked questions about prison. "Oh, so that's where they keep the bad people." Yeah, basically. Or the bad people who happen to get caught. Or those of us who do bad things and are labeled bad and/or get caught. But I digress here (I didn't with him).

And he asked me why? Why do you work there? I said it is because even people who do bad things, need people like me to help them feel better. And then he asked, "well, if they're bad, why do you want to help them feel better? Mean people are just mean."

I know, I know. If I hadn't already been questioning some aspects of my job, his questions wouldn't have meant anything to me then or now.

Do people who do bad things, have always done bad things, and will probably always do bad things, deserve to feel good about themselves?

And since the Axis II folks are quite likely to continue the same life despite any therapeutic confrontation, are we wasting our time?

These are questions I ask not because I am not liking my job or have any plans to change. Just things I think about and have to pass through. Sometimes, just to prove that I can.

public speaking

A few months ago, I volunteered to do be a presenter at the continuing education for the district monthly meeting. This wasn't my first time and everything went very well my first, so I should have expected things to go well today. Except that I wasn't very interested in the material. And hadn't prepared any notes or handouts. It's ethics. Gotta have it. Don't have to love it. You know?

But then why should I be surprised when I get so many people tell me what a great job I did? The district manager said I'm such a natural! The attendees clap for me. For what? Anyway, I got to thinking about it on the way home. And remembered the old adage that most people list their greatest fear as that of public speaking (second to death, remember?). And I realized, in a duh! moment, that to most people, anyone who has guts enough to get up and speak in front of a crowd, is GREAT! And the fact that I appear so comfortable doing so must make me somewhat famous for it. Big fish in small ponds.

I thought more about this. I could tell everyone that the reason I LOOK so comfortable is that I AM! Gosh, how many years of public speaking do I have under my belt??? Then I thought, if I don't say anything, I may be getting more brownie points. Discretion is the better part of valor.

hey there!

Alright, it's been more than 6 months since I last posted. But in that time, I've had numerous appointments and court dates related to my little boy. He has more therapists than I can keep track of - speech, occupational therapy, counseling therapist, nutritional therapist - you get the idea. Plus I've moved about an hour away from where I was before. Love the area. Feels like I'm living in Mayberry but with all the conveniences of the 21st century! Nice people. I was working alone at my prison for about 6 months since my last case manager transferred (I forgive you, LC!) but finally got a new person who started 2 weeks ago. I'm happy as a clam. Why are clams happy? Does anyone know?

The 6-yr-old grandson has been living with me since January and will until school is out. Lemme tell ya, it's scary when you realize you're outnumbered!

I hope to start posting again at least semi-regularly. So many good stories I don't get to share here!

For instance, the other day, I had two murderers and a serial rapist in my office. All within 1 hour. One of the murderers was describing how he really doesn't like it when cellies look at him in the wrong way. He thinks they may be getting the idea to rape him. Just to be on the safe side, he strangles them to death. Two down so far. And they keep denying his request for a single cell. Takes everything I have not to find that cellie and tell him to do anything to get a transfer!

One of my delusional patients (I've had so many lately) is convinced that big brother is watching him through hidden cameras and controlling him through electrodes and satellites that go through his eyes and into his brain. When asked if he hears voices, he says, "no but of course I hear the ones that are PUT into my brain by all of you." He finally agreed to take meds but only because he thinks that will make big brother happy enough to leave him alone for a while. Not responsive yet but I'm still hoping.

Another delusional patient (I had to ship to inpatient) is convinced that everyone - security, me, medical staff - is trying to keep him from making his court date in April. He's suing all of us and he's convinced he'll get to go to court next month and have all of us pay for mistreating him. He has a typewriter in his cell and writes grievances and legal pleas every day all day. When he stopped eating because he thought we were poisoning him, I had to ship him. Now, of course, he thinks I shipped him so he couldn't make that court date.

What fun! Seriously though. My colleagues and I talk about this stuff and wonder how we could ever go back to work in the private sector. How boring would that be? You're here because your marriage isn't doing so well? Have you killed anyone? Raped? Hear voices? Believe the TV talks to you? If not, get outta here!

I'm very grateful to have my job. Particularly when we lost so many of our colleagues in Galveston to lay offs. I like what I do. I work with great people (not counting the inmates). I'm never bored. And I'm working toward my LPC. I'm blessed.

Okay, Sept 1 was a tough day. Good thing I was off of work anyway. Thanks to you friends who wrote kind comments to my previous posting. And a special thank you to the friend who doesn't read blogs but nonetheless had circled that date on her calendar, knowing I would need a phone call about midafternoon. She lost a husband a few years ago and remembers the early years of grieving only too well. She's also the person who has explained so many inexplicable physical and emotional pains to me over the last year.

I am blessed to know all of you.

Anniversaries

I've argued with myself about this post. Sept 1 is the 1st anniversary of Rachel's death. I would say it is a difficult time but since every day without her seems so challenging, it doesn't quite seem appropriate.

It does bring to mind some things, though. There are things I told myself I would do or be able to do after more time had missed since her death. Things like getting out her craft supplies to make things with the kids. Things like writing in the book that I bought especially for writing to her. And baking? She and I used to bake all the time. Even when we didn't live together, I loved surprising her with a new treat when she visited. Now I may buy items for baking but they tend to go bad because I never use them. I planned to have gone through some more of her things and "weeded out" things I could part with. Guess what? I think I've parted with everything I'm willing to.

Last night, I was trying to remember what the world felt like when Rachel was still here. How I felt. I know I was a more optimistic person. The glass is half full, everything happens for a reason, things will always work out, you get the picture. All of that ended for me one year ago. Things don't always work out. Sometimes, life just up and f*%ks you for no good reason. I got that from Rachel's my space page. Hurts me to think she ever felt the way I feel now. I remember how I used to look forward to our phone conversations every evening. We'd share things about our day and no matter how awful they had been, we always found a way to laugh about it. Hearing her voice always grounded me. For weeks after her death, I still picked up my cell phone on the way home from work and started to call her. Even when I realized she wouldn't be there anymore, I pretended to talk to her until I cried uncontrollably. The drive home from work has always been the best cry time for me. I can't openly grieve around Luke because it upsets him too much. And the hour it takes to drive home gives me time to finish up the crying and get my face looking okay. The worst part? Sometimes I can't even cry because I just feel so empty.

I don't usually share this with anyone because like Luke, it seems to upset people too much. People mean to be there for you when you're grieving, but after the funeral they go on with their lives and I think they don't want to be reminded. I truly can't blame anyone. I've done the same thing to others. I would tell myself that asking them about their loved one/grief might bring up too much. Might disturb them. And surely, some other friend of theirs is there for them, right? And I'm not writing this for someone to feel guilty. Just venting. Just being honest with myself and I guess the blog.

I miss Rachel. Her son just tested out of kindergarten and is now in first grade. He lost his first tooth and the tooth fairy came and it wasn't Rachel. An entire year has passed and she hasn't been in the world with us. If this is a nightmare, I wish I would wake up already.

Affirmations

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm a strong believer in the power of affirmations. Writing down a positive statement, saying it, thinking it, over and over can really make a difference. I've used them successfully over the years to change my life.

I teach this process in prison therapy groups. I've gotta tell you, this can be a challenge. A bunch of 6 or 8 big men in a small room (no air conditioning), who have had terrible things done to them and who have done terrible things themselves, and I'm telling them their thoughts can change their lives. I have to lead into it gradually. But if I can hook one or two of the strongest personalities, I can eventually grab most of the group. Once they get into it, they're really amazing. I teach that affirmations must have the three P's - they have to be personal, positive, and present. And the group members catch on and then help the others. I really love it when we're having the last group session (there are 13 in all), and I ask them what they got out of the group. They tend to surprise me. Most are open about how the affirmations and positive thoughts have already changed their view of the world (they have a paradigm shift!). I've even started showing the Louise Hay film with people like Cheryl Richardson and Wayne Dyer telling their stories. At first, I felt they would just boo the film but they really got into it, not wanting to leave after group but wanting to stay and talk about it.

These are some of the reasons I love my job. I believe that I introduce concepts that can lead some of these people to change their lives. Even if they're serving a life sentence, they can at least have a better quality of life in prison. And watching this transformation is amazing.

I do have to add, though, that when I finished up a group yesterday, I got an unpleasant surprise. One of the group members who was always so supportive, gentle, and almost the "teacher's pet" throughout the sessions, turned into someone I didn't recognize. He began talking about how much he enjoyed stabbing people "back in the day." One of the other group members said, "hey man, your eyes are glazing over when you're talking. It's freakin' us all out!"

Surprises. Gotta love 'em!

Doubts

I compose so many posts in my head that I get surprised when I get on this thing and realize it's been weeks since I've actually written anything.

I had a great birthday month thanks to some special people in my life. Great gifts, Happy Birthday banners in my office and home, a great big balloon, one luncheon, two dinners, the theatre (Agatha Christie, no less!), and most of all, the attention. It's true, we Leos do like the attention. Funny thing, this time, though. I felt a bit uncomfortable with all the time and lovely gifts. Almost as if I didn't deserve this, I must be keeping my friends from something more important. What's happened to this Leo, this woman?

Don't ya just love the sun?

I do. And I heard on Oprah the other day - and everyone knows that makes it the gospel - that we don't get enough sun. This doc was on saying how women (and others I guess) avoid the sun because of the skin cancer scare. The doc emphasized that sunburn is what we should avoid, not sunshine. So we're not getting enough Vitamin D and it somehow acts like a hormone that affects our general health and feeling of well-being. How do you like that?

Today Luke and I played outside and swam and played some more. We had fun. We got sun. We got Vitamin D. Hurrah!

Do you spend enough time in the sun?

Professional Responsibility

Today I was late leaving work due to an urgent referral from a nurse. He had just heard an unusual question from our patient. The guy had asked him, "how long have I been here?" He was referring to the length of time he had been in TDCJ. The nurse came down the hall and told me he was concerned. This patient had never appeared confused before and today he seem to have an altered mental status.

I interviewed the patient - using a mini mental status exam - and determined he was not oriented to date, had impaired short-term and long-term memory, had reduced appetite, and had speech with an unusual rhythm. After he told me he had been missing meals, I weighed him and found he had lost 9 pounds in a 10-week period. A quick review of his medical record also indicated he had seen the medical provider a few weeks ago and received a tentative diagnosis of TIA (that's a mini stroke to us non-medical folks). The patient had been waiting on a referral for 2 weeks. As he was not evidencing any signs of a current TIA, the nurse and I had no choice but to send him back to his cell. Good luck!

So there I was feeling very bad and more than a little concerned about the patient, and I realized that unless my car could sprout wings, I'd be late for daycare. Great. I wish I could say these days happened rarely but I have some sort of patient crisis about once a week. I wouldn't mind so much if they'd happen earlier in the day.

BTW, when I looked up the patient's TDCJ information, I found he had been incarcerated for 21 years on a 30-year sentence for murder of an unknown male and attempted murder (with a hammer) of his wife.

Earlier in the day, I was facilitating group therapy and a colleague interrupted me to tell me one of my patients had another pseudo-seizure and I was needed in the ER. The group members were irritated by the interruption.

This evening, the daycare workers were (only slightly) irritated by me sliding in a few minutes late.

Why is it that no matter how hard I work, I end up either apologizing to some people or feel like I should?

Upon turning 50

I'm not actually 50 yet but soon will be. And I'm not freaking out about being old so much as beginning to freak out about what I have not yet accomplished. I didn't realize it but I guess I've had these preconceived notions of how my life would look at 50. I certainly didn't think I would have a young child again. I thought I would have more money, time, and freedom for travel. Certainly believed I would own my own home. I never thought I would be this heavy. Thought that by now I'd be earning much more and have those student loans paid down. Didn't think I would ever have to live without my daughter. Thought maybe I would have found a companion -- I've never wanted to remarry.

But I've laid awake tonight, as in recent nights, thinking about the wherefores. My spiritual philosophy has been that I am basically where I'm supposed to be in life. That I'm accomplishing things on a deeper level so that when I go back home, my soul will have progressed. I do believe that. I just can't believe that I don't deserve to have some of the other stuff here.

I know the work that I do is important. I help an under-served population. It would be nice if the federal government would view my work like it does that of teachers and nurses. Then my student loans could be forgiven. Of course, our society's view of the importance of mental health treatment is a huge soapbox topic by itself.

Why can't I do the work I want and still make money? I know that my career path is at least on an upward incline now. I finally received my temporary LPC license. At some future point, I'll be eligible for promotions and a higher pay scale. But there's a big part of me that feels like time is running out. Time goes by so quickly now. Remember when we were little and it seemed like Christmas took forever to come around again? I blink now and it's here again.

Before anyone (who means well) suggests I use positive thought, believe me, I do. All day. And before I go to sleep. It's these times in the middle of the night when the goblins of self-doubt come around. Why did I make the choices I did that led me to this place? Can I please go back in time and tweak just a few things?

Happy Birthday

I can write about this now. My lovely daughter, Rachel, would have been 27 on June 17, 2008. We had a birthday party for her, her son, his father, my son, her sister, me, and Rachel. She loved the big chocolate chip birthday cookies and that's what we had for her. More chocolate than white icing (yes, we remembered Rachel). And lots of butterflies - on the cookie, the napkins/plates, and streamers. We had her favorite punch, the sherbet kind, green - her favorite color. Sang happy birthday. Her son blew out the candles. We watched a few videos of her. Most of what we have are of her with the children. And I think more of her video taping the kids than actually in them. But we heard her voice, saw a bit of her, and saw things through her eyes. Her love for her family and for nature is so obvious.

We will always miss you, Rachel. I know that in spirit you've only returned to your true form. And I know that you still visit us often. Still watch over your son. Can you see how beautifully he's growing, Rachel? How much like you he looks? He's a great kid. I know you're proud of him. Happy Birthday, baby.

jeez with the whine

So yesterday I went to court again regarding my soon-to-be son's case. This was the second time we were supposed to go to trial to terminate parental rights. Once again, due to some technical glitch, we were postponed for another 3 months. I was disappointed, to say the least. Still not closer to adopting him. Another vacation day wasted. More time off work means working that much harder when I go back. Tired of going to court. Tired of attorneys and court rooms. Tired of that stupid drive downtown. Tired of not being his legal mom.

I told a friend about it and complained, "Jeez, you'd think these people got paid by the month! They keep postponing this until it's almost 2 years later!" Then she said, "uh, they DO get paid by the month."

Call me an optimist or just some sort of wishful thinker or call me anything you want, really, I won't hear you, but I started thinking of some of the positives in all this.

Even though I can't call myself his legal mom, I do call myself his mother. More importantly, he calls me "mommy." Even though I don't like the drive downtown and the traffic, I do have a car that I trust, have air conditioning, have a radio/CD player, and can afford the gas it takes me to get there. I do get to go to court and have court appointed attorneys working on this case. I have a GREAT CPS caseworker. We hear so much about the bad CPS people but I have had 2 out of 2 good people working on this case. I do have vacation days to take off. How many people don't get any paid time off? And I do have a job I love to which to return.

I am adopting this boy I call my son. It may take longer than I would have liked, but it is happening.

Who would have "thunk" it a few years ago (least of all me!)? I'm a mommy again. I have a son.

Malingering

This last week, an inmate saw me in the corridor and told me he's been falling out of his upper bunk due to his new psyc med dose. He wants a bottom bunk restriction. I told him to write me (on a request slip) and I'd talk to him later about it.

Several inmates have been thinking of reasons why they need this bottom bunk now and/or a 1st floor cell. I can think of one good reason why they might. Prison is not airconditioned. The only way you get a fan is if you have money (someone sends it to you from the outside). If you're indigent, you're just hot. Heat travels up, right? A bunk on the 3rd row, even a top bunk, in this heat, with no air circulation is more than uncomfortable. So I've been fielding lots of "reasons" why they need me to move them.

I got a call that the inmate I mentioned above was been seen as an emergency in the infirmary area and security needed me there asap. They were photographing huge bruises on his body. He got the bruises from falls off his top bunk - due to his psyc meds. I authorized his bottom bunk - a little late, huh?

To treat? Or not to treat?

So yesterday, a colleague in Mental Health Services (MHS) and I were discussing malingering. Some of the stories I get, reasons for needing on the psyc caseload or needing medicine or whatever - well, some are so bad and lacking in imagination I want to say, "hey, go work on your act. I'm here all week." Others are VERY good at manipulating. I do believe we have some of the world's best actors in prison. Think about it. They've been manipulating parents, teachers, "marks," probation officers, judges, prison guards, you name it -- all their lives. And what they didn't know about manipulation and game playing before, they learned in prison.

We in MHS have real challenges every day. Do I diagnose an inmate based on the symptoms with which he is presenting? And even if I do request free world records, can I believe that he didn't manipulate that provider into a diagnosis? So if I err on the side of caution and give him the diagnosis and meds, here's what I'm risking: He can be procuring the drugs to sell or drug another inmate (for easier assault), he can be trying to get a diagnosis from me so that he can qualify for SSI when he gets out, he can be wanting what he sees as extra privileges for being on my caseload, or he could just want a good reason to come to the air-conditioned infirmary on a regular basis. And if I diagnosis him as malingering, will he not get the attention his mental illness needs? Will he hurt himself or someone else as a result? Will what he sees as callousness prevent him from seeking MHS again?

I've spoken to colleagues who've been doing this a lot longer than I have and they tell me there's no easy answer. We all make mistakes.

Stories

Thought I would share some more specific stories. For the sake of confidentiality, some of the below information can be considered a composite of more than one patient. How's that for a disclaimer?

Let's talk about "John." John was born to a mom/dad (although it's usually only the parent who is raising them who does this) who had some serious mental illness issues of her/his own. Mom/Dad continuously told him they wished he had never been born. Nothing he did was ever good enough. This changed when he hit puberty. Then the parent realized that he could be valuable to them. They would sexually abuse him in front of their friends (entertainment value?) and then let the friends do the same. The only time they ever praised him was during this abuse. He grew up thinking the only value he was to them (or anyone?) was sex based. He feels soiled and ashamed. Who can he tell? Everything hurts so much, he begins to drink and use whatever drugs he can find. Sometime during this period, he also begins to hear voices. Guess what? The voices are degrading too. Hello Schizoaffective Disorder/Schizophrenia/Schizotypal Personality Disorder (take your pick). More illegal drugs to drown out the voices. A life of crime (centered around getting more drugs) ensues.

Don't get me wrong here -- I never say that people can excuse their illegal drug use or criminal activities just because they had a bad childhood. That one doesn't work with me. But we have to admit, it doesn't make things any easier to do the right thing.

So the guy's in prison and not for the first time. The psychotropic drugs help with the voices/depression/visual hallucinations/hell that is mental illness, but they certainly don't make him normal. And through it all, he continues to ask himself, why didn't my mom/dad love me? What did I do wrong?

So even in prison, he self-mutilates. Releases the pressure of all the questions. He puts up with other prisoners asking questions about his self-inflicted scars. Make fun of him when they hear him talking back to the voices. Give him a hard time when he tries to get out of his cell to take his psyc meds. This in addition to the guards who point him out as a psyc patient and may deliberately prevent him from going to his psyc appt or getting the meds he needs to be close to normal -- just because they can.

Sometimes it seems like these folks never had a fighting chance. You just want to go back in time and help the child. Trying to heal the broken adult is an up-hill battle. Still, because they keep trying to heal, we keep trying to help them.

Perspective revisited

There are times when I feel that life is passing me by. And definitely times when I'm okay with that. But I see my patients whose lives really are in a holding pattern while they're incarcerated. Some have been in prison for 20 or even 30 years. They've never used a cordless or cell phone, never used a personal computer, or driven cars with all the fancy gadgets they now come with. Never had the fast food so many of us take for granted. Commercials on TV are the only link they have to the outside world - what's called the "free world" in prison. Some havenot held their loved ones in years, have missed their parents' last days on this planet (and their funerals), missed an opportunity for a career, and missed saving for retirement. They've not seen their children grow up or grandchildren be born. When they finally leave prison, the ones who WILL leave, of course, they'll start over from scratch. They'll be labeled an ex-con. With felonies, they'll never vote again, never be able to rent an apartment, may have great difficulties getting jobs or buying cars, and may find their entire families have died or moved away.

It's challenging for me to be their therapist. I can't really wrap my mind around how challenging it is to be in their shoes.

When all is said and done, no matter how hard I've worked, how many people I've made time to see or listen to or counsel, no matter how many lunches I've missed or stairs I've climbed - I go home every day. Home to my own car, my own apartment. I wear clothes I've chosen. I hold my baby. I shop for, cook, and eat food that I've chosen. I watch the TV channels I want to watch. I sleep in my own soft bed. I know I'm safe while I sleep.

I think that having led the life I have, I've always been grateful for my many blessings. These days, I feel my gratitude run so much deeper.

Hopes and Doubts

I've been busy raising Luke. He's SO active and talking and full of curiosity. I'm teaching him and watching him grow and wonder. I wonder...if I'm up to this...how will I ever give him the space to grow when all I want to do is hold him close and protect him? Once you've lost a child, well, you've lost a child. And you never ever want anything to happen to another child. I examine him every day when I pick him up from daycare. "What is this little mark here on his cheek?" I ask his teacher. She tells me he got it playing with the other toddlers. I'll say, "How can we make sure these kids don't get hurt? Are there too many of them together?" When what I really want to say is, "Take better care of my child! I'd better not see one little scratch or bruise on him or else!" When he was coming home with bite marks on his arm a few months ago (twice), I demanded to know which child was biting. The director says she can't tell me. So I look at the bite marks on his arm and casually check the teeth of the other toddlers when they smile. I never found the culprit and have no idea what I would have done anyway. And then I received an incident report one day that Luke had bitten another child. So I think that now he's been taught to bite and he'll be a Biter (with a capital B) and why did he have to bite? Was he protecting himself from the first biter? From something else? But he doesn't bite again and also comes home with arms free of bite marks. And I know that kids play and fall down and even sometimes bite each other. All part of growing up. But there's a part of me that just wants to make sure that his little body stays pristine. No bruises, no scrapes, nothing unhealthy inside or out. I wish I knew how to do this. How to love and protect him but not be such a freak about it.