Old Beginnings

It's hard to know where to begin when asked about why I came to my decision to put Miya into residential treatment. It is here I will try to help you understand the painful road she and I have traveled. I know there are many who will question my decision or offer good intentioned parenting advice. There will be those who feel I've taken the easy way out, that I've given up on her and on myself. But you never know the road that someone has traveled unless you have walked in their shoes.  You are here, so I know you have loved and supported Miya and I somewhere in our lives. Our journey is not done, it is only beginning and I hope you will take this journey with us.

In 1995 God began placing it on my heart to adopt a child.  After doing extensive research, dad (God) and I decided a little girl from China would be the best fit. On February 17, 1997 Miya came into my life at age 1.  She and I bonded instantly. Even in this communist country the orphanage director looked at me, pointed to the heavens and said it was God's plan.

I will always believe Miya came out of her biological mom at warp speed; full of life and the vigor to challenge the world. Her smile can light up a room and her curiosity for life always made me stop and smell the roses. However, I was not prepared for the road in front of us nor the loss of what I thought motherhood would be.

Miya has always been a challenge - behavior problems from as early as pre-school. But things really began to unravel when she entered 1st grade.  She began to regress to an infant-like state. A once fearless tike, Miya became afraid to walk down the hall in our home, and insisted I pretend to change her diapers and bottle feed her.  At night she began having uncontrollable night terrors and her loft bed became a confined house of slumber. She insisted on sleeping underneath and demanded that I cover the opening with a sheet so that no light could enter. She also insisted that I ensure the doors on her closet were completely closed.  It was at this time that I often wondered if Miya's biological mother may have hidden her from authorities who were policing the one-child policy.

There was always a note home from school about Miya's behavior, stealing from classmates, stealing from the teacher, or mistreating friends. Sticker charts and other forms of positive reinforcement did not work. Granted, I had never parented before and I didn't know what to expect, but I just couldn't believe it could be this difficult and I firmly believed something was amiss. I decided to seek out guidance from a child therapist who had been referred to me. Miya began seeing this therapist who perceived she had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, most likely from something that happened pre-adoption. I also had testing performed by a Psychiatrist who diagnosed Miya with Oppositional Defiance Disorder. Being new to the psychiatric world I was not prepared to ask the right questions. When he dismissed me as needing to be a more restrictive parent, I took him at face value.

I took parenting classes and tried to apply what I had learned. In Miya's second year of school the behavior problems and extreme meltdowns continued, and my marriage began to collapse. I began doing additional research and learned that Stanford was starting to do studies on adoptive children. I thought if Stanford couldn't figure out what was going on with my daughter no one could. After months of jumping through hoops, we were finally granted an appointment. Since we had to drive to Palo Alto from Sacramento and the appointment was for 9:00 am, Miya and I drove down the night before and stayed in a hotel to ensure we would not be late. I had no idea what to expect. In fact, when scheduling the appointment I inquired about what to anticipate, but was told by the staff worker that she was "not a clinician" and had no idea what the appointment would entail. Had I known what was in store, I would have cancelled the appointment right then and there.

After being introduced to Drs. Joshi and Rana, Miya and I were escorted into one of the interview rooms. Dr. Joshi spent a few minutes finding toys for Miya before he excused himself, while Dr. Rana proceeded to interview me for the next 2 hours. Not only was I disturbed that this was being done in front of Miya, but I wondered why Miya was even asked to make the trip since very little interaction was being done with her, nor any psychological tests administered. Furthermore, Dr. Rana didn't seem to have any of the documentation I had sent with the Stanford intake form.

After the 2 hour consultation, Dr. Rana excused herself and ran in and out of the room several times. Her periodic return would include pop questions and then she would rush out again. Returning for the last time, she proclaimed that she had narrowed down her diagnosis to several possibilities: Reactive Attachment Disorder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, or Bi-Polar Disorder. However, Dr. Rana needed more information and wished to speak with Miya's teacher.
  
Waiting for Dr. Rana's results was like a child waiting for Santa. I occupied the time by educating myself on Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD often called Attachment Disorder), which is seen in some adopted children. It is often misdiagnosed as Bi-Polar Disorder or ADHD. RAD children don't trust and have a hard time forming relationships.

$2,500 later and another trek to Palo Alto, results day finally came. Dr. Rana greeted us and told me this meeting would not take long. Would not take long, I thought to myself. I just took Miya out of school early and drove through Bay area commuter traffic to be told, this would not take long! Dr. Rana ushered us to her office. She then proceeded to tell me that after speaking with a Dr. Chang, they had come to the conclusion that Miya's symptoms were nothing more than living in a dysfunctional household and that I lacked the parenting skills necessary to raise this child.

After I picked my jaw off the floor, I responded by saying, I thought sure you were going to tell me Miya is suffering from RAD."  In a very patronizing tone, Dr. Rana suggested I read her DSM-IV manual for a description of RAD. As I read the definition, Dr. Rana proceeded to do work at her desk with her back to me. When I finished reading, she condescendingly asked me if I understood what it said. I told her that I understood some of it, but most of it was in more psychological jargon than I was familiar with. She proceeded to tell me that since Miya had not been in the foster care system, RAD would not apply to her. Bullshit! It was at that point I knew Dr. Rana and Stanford had no clue about international adoptions.  What is involved in adopting these kids, to parent them, and more specifically that Stanford was not equipped to handle these types of cases.

Dr. Rana returned to tend to the work on her desk and I knew that was our cue to leave. When I got up to go, 20 minutes into the hour, Dr. Rana's condescending attitude now became condescending compassion. Her compassion further insulted me when she told me not to feel guilty and to contact the medical center if they could be of further assistance. Anger could not begin to describe my feelings that day.

Following the Stanford disaster, I was beside myself, literally and figuratively. My ex-husband was not supportive of the Stanford idea and this only added strength to the wedge that had been dividing our marriage. He thought it was ridiculous to spend the money and, based on our experience, he was right. However, he was suppose to be my protector, my strength, and all I wanted was his support.

Miya continued work with her therapist and I continued to fall deeper in depression. Meanwhile, Miya's issues continued - oppositional behavior, meltdowns over the simplest of things, rapid cycling moods, and now she was pulling out her eyelashes and eyebrows. Miya would hide, but I know she heard the marital fights and the verbal abuse. Maybe I just needed to be a better wife and Miya would get better. I then decided to turn my energies into saving my marriage hoping that Miya’s issues would somehow remedy themselves. I read self-help books on marriage and did the dance of keeping the peace between Miya and my ex-husband. At this point, he had refused to pick her up after school, so my 50-mile round trip to work and home shortened my work day. The shining light was that my work responsibilities had changed and I was able to work at home from time-to-time.

Miya’s therapist suggested we go to our family doctor to obtain medication for ADHD, as well as trying a natural supplement she had heard of called samE.  Neither of which helped Miya’s persistent impulsivity and her displeasure with everything. That was unless of course she could roll in it, jump off it, climb on it, swing from it, squish it or just completely destroy it.  She was not a child that wrote on walls, but seemed to make up for it by scribbling all over her books, her dolls, and furniture with pen or permanent marker.  It was almost like she wanted to say to the world, Miya was here and I’m not going to let you forget it! I had to begin watching her very closely when we went to the store because there were so many times she would come home with some sort of a cosmetic or candy item. There were many trips back to the store to return what she had stolen.  

Into Miya’s third year of school, she wasn’t getting better and neither was my marriage.  Was I really that bad of a mother and wife?  Both roles were clamoring for my attention, and both just left me exhausted and at my wits end.  I tried getting Miya involved in activities to ward off some of her energy. After a few months she got bored with gymnastics because she didn’t like waiting in line for her turn. She completed a session of modern dance, but the day of the formal recital she turned into Attila the Hun. I thought she was just nervous, but her actions left me thinking differently. When I tried to help her get ready, she was not happy with me or anything going on around her. She was either yelling at me, hitting me, or running away from me. On the way home she turned into Attila’s Archangel.

When dealing with a problem, I function better if I have the history behind the problem, because I have a starting point from which to work. In Miya’s case I wanted answers. I wanted to fix the problem. What had happened in the first year of life that was making her so difficult to parent. Miya’s therapist often had Miya make a sand tray during her therapy sessions.  Because most children cannot express themselves verbally, with the help of a sand tray, miniatures, and water, many child therapists use this as a way to explore a child’s deep emotional issues. Images, dilemmas, fears, hopes, and dreams can be accessed through the sand tray, which allow conscious and unconscious aspects of the psyche to interact. I’ll never forget one sand tray session. After Miya completed her work, the therapist consulted with me and stated that it was through this particular sand tray she believed Miya had been sexually abused somewhere along the way.  My heart dropped. I shared this with a few friends who dismissed the notion. I couldn’t help think about it and wondered how anyone could have done that to her in China. I beat myself up quietly wondering if it had happened since she had been with me. Until now I've just been dismissing the possibilities.

When a mother abandons her child in China, she dresses them in very warm clothing and swaddles them in a large basket with blankets. The mother will then go out into the night and place the child in a very public place, such as a marketplace or in front of a police station. Miya’s situation was different. She was brought to the orphanage at around 6 or 7 months of age. Ironically, Miya’s birth date was also that of the orphanage director. I always thought that strange and was convinced there was more to the story, especially in light of the fact that I was given the assistant orphanage director’s business card and was told that years down the road she would tell me the story. Aaahaa!  Now was the time and I was on a mission.

Letter writing to China can be tricky because the government monitors those types of things. I decided to enlist the help of the assistant director of the adoption agency I had used to explain our plight and see if she could help. The agency had folded, but the assistant director was now using her international adoption skills elsewhere and I had heard from her on previous occasions.  Well, that is, until I wrote her a letter for help. I’ve never heard from her again.  Dead end #1.

I went online and found information on the Gaoyou orphanage hoping something would catch my attention. I found a non-profit agency in New York that was doing work with Miya’s orphanage and had just recently returned from a trip to Gaoyou. I called and spoke with the Executive Director, hoping to get some answers. After speaking with her, she indicated she hadn't heard of the assistant director and didn’t think a letter would get me anywhere. Dead end #2.  She was, however, sympathetic to the difficulties as she had seen some of the same behavior in her own adopted children. She felt Miya would outgrow what I had been experiencing. Dead end #3. (The Gaoyou orphanage closed in 2009. Dead end forever!)

Now what. Should I continue going insane and wait until Miya “outgrew” this particular stage in her life or continue to be proactive?  I was praying the situation would get better and, on some days, it did. However the defining moment came during one particular bad day. I don’t recall what happened, but I’ll never forget the look in my 8 year-olds eyes when she stated she wished she was dead. It emotionally moved me to my core and it was at that point I knew I had to save her.

Bipolar disorder (also known as manic-depression) is a chronic brain disorder marked by bouts of extreme and impairing changes in mood, energy, thinking, and behavior.
I don’t remember who exactly introduced me to the concept of bipolar disorder, but the more research I did the more I couldn’t help but wonder if this could be Miya’s issue.  I spent countless hours on the internet doing research and ran into a site called bpkids.org. It was there that I found a multitude of resources, including mood charts. For a period of 30 days I charted Miya’s moods from morning until night hoping this would point to some common thread of answers. I also read The Bipolar Child, which describes in detail how the brain operates, how the disorder can affect a child, and the symptoms. With each passing page, Miya’s name was written all over it. Yes, I was grasping for straws, but I was desperate to find answers.

Desperate to find the hope that would save my baby, the bpkids.org website directed me to a local doctor that specialized in bipolar disorder. He was very thorough and I trusted him. He and I met for a two hour intake discussion, followed by a one hour observational discussion with Miya. He ordered a MRI and an EEG-both of which were normal.  After a month of gathering information, he diagnosed Miya with Bipolar Disorder and began administering medication. The ultimate goal-to find the pharmaceutical “cocktail” that would balance Miya out.

Unfortunately, this particular doctor was out-of-network on my medical plan and I had to go into battle for financial assistance.  During one gut-wrenching call with the insurance company, I explained that Miya had been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder. The customer service representative laughed-yes laughed-at hearing my daughter’s diagnosis and went on to inform me that it was impossible to diagnose children with Bipolar Disorder.  I had a few choice words for her and hung up the phone finding it hard to breathe and realized, for the first time in my life, I was having a panic attack. My first call was not to my husband-I knew I had no support there. It was to friends from church who had known the trials I was facing. I continued to have panic attacks, but was relieved with medication that was prescribed to me by our family doctor. Our family physician knew more than my ex-husband what I was dealing with.

I had fought with myself for years trying to resolve in my mind whether or not it was better for Miya if I stayed in an unhappy marriage or divorce the only man that Miya knew as daddy. We went through marriage counseling, but he did not want to do the assignments that were being given by our counselor. I did not have it in me to deal with Miya’s trials and put 110% into my marriage without any work being done in return. He moved out, but continued to have periodic visitation with Miya.

It was also during this time that I was making weekly trips to Miya’s bipolar doctor. When I wasn’t working at home, I would leave my office in Folsom. Drive 25 miles to Elk Grove to pick up Miya from school. Drive 25 miles to the doctor. Drive back to Elk Grove to take Miya back to school or daycare and then 25 miles back to Folsom to return to work. We also made regular trips to the lab for blood work to ensure the medication wasn’t having negative impacts on Miya’s organs. 

After a year of the weekly trips and my impatience with the doctor’s inability to find the magic “cocktail,” I made the mistake of taking Miya off of all her medication cold turkey. The result, Miya began freaking out one day.  She physically assaulted me and hid under the bed, threatening to kill herself.  I called a friend who encouraged me to call 911 before she could get to the house. When the police arrived, Miya panicked and clung to me while screaming and crying.  I was able to call my insurance company and admitted her to a psychiatric hospital that night. For two weeks she was watched carefully and was being treated by a Chinese doctor who had done extensive work with adoptive children. A Chinese doctor who understood adoption-my heart soared! For two weeks Dr. Rue saw Miya daily. Miya shared abusive behavior from my ex that I had not even known about. Dr. Rue was obligated to report what Miya had shared to the authorities. After reviewing the situation, they decided Miya was not in any eminent danger and did not pursue it any further. As a teacher, my ex decided his job was more important than his relationship with Miya, so he chose to cease all ties with her.

While Miya was hospitalized, something told me to revisit Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD). I joined a parent group to get more information about RAD and get the support I needed. Most people couldn’t understand or sympathize with what I had gone through and I knew that I needed to be around parents who could relate to my situation. Several of the parents had found success in putting their RAD child in a residential treatment facility.  I did research and found a wonderful facility in Montana that specialized in children with RAD-especially for children who have been adopted. I talked extensively with the Admissions Director about Miya and was very pleased with the program they offered. I completed all of the paperwork and about a month later Miya was accepted in their program. Shortly thereafter, a well-meaning friend told me I was making the wrong decision and that if Miya had RAD, being away from me would only make things worse. At the time it made sense to me and I retracted Miya’s application.

In July 2006, Miya and I moved to Carmichael. I found a new counselor for Miya and she continued to see Dr. Rue who was treating her for depression. I also decided maybe it would be better for Miya to be enrolled in a private school that had smaller classes. Miya was still having behavioral issues at school and her once stellar grades were beginning to fall.  Sixteen months, two schools, and thousands of dollars later, I added this to my “poor decision” list.

During Miya’s 5^th and 6^th grade years, the attention turned towards her education. Her recall memory was deteriorating.  Dr. Rue tried a series of ADHD medication-none of which worked. I had Miya tested for lead exposure, which came back negative. At Miya’s counselor’s suggestion I had Miya tested by an Education Psychologist. The outcome-minor deficiencies.  I put her through an educational program for intense processing and cognitive enhancement, which did little to improve her grades.  

Miya has a terrible time transitioning and the start of each new school year has always been a bear. The beginning of 7^th grade was no different.  All of Miya’s teachers had the same comments; Miya was too social and disruptive in class. One teacher stated that he purposely sat Miya next to the quietest, nerdiest, kid in class and she got him to talk during class time. At that point, I had gotten use to those types of comments from teachers. What I was not use to seeing was cuts on my daughter’s legs. Miya had been talking about some of the girls at school that were cutting. Cutting is self-injury to the skin, which is done as a way to cope with pain. During conversations on the subject Miya shared with me, she said she thought it was stupid. Sometimes Miya can be an “old soul” when she talks and the wisdom that comes from her mouth can be philosophic. When I saw those cuts on her leg, my heart sunk. I begged her to please stop. I think she realized how much it had scared me and shortly thereafter she did stop. I realized that was her way to try to fit in, but it also gave me pause to know she was capable of such self-harm and what other harm she might do to herself. When this incident, coupled with continued behavior problems I locked all our knives, scissors, and box cutters in my safe and began doing research on a residential treatment program. Miya was now too old for the program in Montana, so it was back to square one. I found one program in Utah and another in Oregon that worked with kids her age. After several months of back and forth calls to the facilities, calls to my medical insurance, and discussions with the employee assistance program at Wells, I just couldn’t make it work financially. For reasons I won’t go into here, I now realize that God had his hand in that outcome.


That Spring Miya began seeing a new psychiatrist. Dr. Rue was a dear soul, but the monthly visits were not lending themselves to anything productive so another psychiatrist was suggested to us. This doctor had done work in New York with adopted children that came out of Romanian orphanages and I was excited about her fresh approach. It was also at this time that I began having extensive conversations with the School District about Miya being tested for learning difficulties. The district refused to do any testing. Ahhhh, my tax dollars at work. At that point, I just didn’t have anything left in me to fight them and settled for a 504 instead. A 504 is a designed plan of instructional services to assist students with special needs who are in a regular education setting. The school suggested Miya get some tutoring so she spent a summer at a Sylvan Learning Center near my office. 

Miya completed middle school with modest grades and several detentions. I was thankful that summer was upon us. Miya’s counselor and I now realized that school was just too stressful for Miya. When she was not in school, things at home were always better. However, in the back of my mind I couldn’t help but think that high school was only 60 days away and I was looking at the future with hopeful trepidation.