I had a passionate Eastern European temperament, the cheek bones to go with it and a firm belief that this gave me a licence to operate at all settings on the emotional range, from unconfined joy at one end to dangerous hair-trigger rage at the other. So it was no surprise to me when Leo, my son, turned out to show just the same breadth and depth of temper. After all, he’d learnt it at his mother’s knee.
If he was noisy, so what? It was the sign of a strong character. And who’d want a family where the children were docile and the parents spoke in calm, measured tones?
It was true that he was a little loud. While we found it hard to remember his first words, nobody ever forgot his first screams, loud enough to drown out incoming jumbos as they prepared for touchdown at Heathrow. You also couldn’t deny that he was a bit hard to control, especially when it was time for a story at the local parent and toddler group and Leo, with unfailing regularity, would listen to the first page and then run screaming round the room, gradually drawing in all the nice, quiet little children.
The tantrums, too, were a bit of an issue, turning him in an instant from a sunny, smiling little boy to a shrieking, kicking monster. But I wasn’t worried. On the contrary. I told myself that Leo wasn’t a bad boy, just a bit unusual; a mantra I repeated with less conviction as his birthdays came and went, but the tantrums remained.
Then, when Leo was nearly 9, my husband went to the first Year 4 parent meeting of the year and came back ashen-faced. The head wasn’t pulling any punches. Our son was a pain in the neck, whose concentration levels were non-existent, who never kept more than two chair legs on the ground and was constantly disrupting the class. If things didn’t improve, the school had a quick fix solution: they’d ask him to leave.
But there was another way. It would mean visiting a GP and a referral to a specialist such as a child psychiatrist who would check Leo’s symptoms against an ADHD checklist produced by the NHS. And then we would be well on our way to solving his problems, thanks to the healing power of the drugs we were likely to be prescribed, together with what was described as a “talking” treatment, presumably one up on the shouting and screaming treatment then on offer in my household. And if we really couldn’t cope, why, we might be able to claim disability benefit and even double our money if I could be shown to have the disorder, too.
Friends were equally ecstatic, vividly describing the joys of Ritalin, a stimulant affecting the central nervous system, and testifying — mainly at second-hand — to the transformation it had wrought. Several teachers I knew spoke so lyrically of its efficacy that I couldn’t help wondering if they dreamed of a future where the only sound at playtime was the gentle pop of a dozen medicine bottle lids.
There were no comebacks. It wasn’t my fault; not at all. It was an unfortunate medical condition, but treatable, I was assured. Which would have been fine except that I didn’t believe it. It was a cop-out. I started calling support groups. It was clear that if we did opt for Ritalin, at least Leo wouldn’t be alone. More than 250,000 prescriptions had been issued in 2002 to the estimated 40,000 children diagnosed with ADHD, and the figures were shooting up.
There might be comfort in numbers, but not for me. Ritalin worked for two thirds of children but nobody seemed to know why. And while I definitely didn’t care for side-effects such as depression and weight loss, I was distressed by the drug’s soaraway success on the black market, thanks to a legal status that put it on a par with the heroin substitute methadone.
So I was feeling unusually muted when a teacher — one of the calm variety — suggested that I take a closer look at oily fish, not as soothing pets, but because they contained a fatty acid called omega-3 which appeared to make a difference to children struggling at school.
I rushed out and bought a 90-day supply of Eye-Q, fish oil pills so expensive that I was half expecting to get a portion of caviar on the side. But at the same time, I did something even more important, and took a long, hard look at the way I was behaving. I realised that, if I was going to help Leo, I was first going to have to do something excruciatingly embarrassing for an independent mother in a blame-free culture — and acknowledge that I’d got it wrong.
As with forces in physics, every emotion I expressed had an equal but not necessarily opposite reaction, at least as far as Leo was concerned. If I couldn’t control my temper, it was hardly surprising that Leo couldn’t either. More than that, he was the family barometer, reflecting outwards to the rest of the world just what was going on inside our house, mood by mood, scream by scream. There was no choice. I was going to have to change my behaviour. I took a deep breath, counted to ten and packed away 90 per cent of my emotional range.
Fish oil isn’t a quick fix: trials show that it can take a year for results to show. Mortifyingly, from the day I put my artistic temperament on hold, it took just two weeks for my son’s behaviour to improve. I no longer shout when something needs doing. I go up to Leo’s room and ask, if necessary several times, in a calm voice. I insist that he makes eye contact with me when he speaks to me. We’ve also done something almost unheard of in my family — and we ’re talking about a tradition so fine and honourable that it’s almost an heirloom — which is to ban interruptions.
Is it working? Well, Leo isn’t on Ritalin. Instead, he’s taking so much fish oil, which has no known side-effects (discounting the theoretical effect of pollutants in the fish), that I expect him to sprout fins any day. While he’s never going to be the best-behaved boy in the school, his school averages are inching up, and I no longer read books about the hyperactive boy Joey Pigza. Admittedly Leo is highly motivated to change, and his teacher has called us every day so she can report back on his behaviour.
I’m not saying that our approach would work for everyone. From the families I’ve talked to, I’m sure that ADHD has a number of causes. But in our case, taking responsibility for my child’s behaviour by taking more responsibility for my own has made life happier not just for Leo, but for me, and my husband, as well.
Page 2: Doctor's diagnosis ()
Doctor's diagnosis
Dr Helen Rodwell, a clinical psychologist specialising in children and adolescents, looks at the role of parenting in children with ADHD
“From the moment they are born, children soak up the atmosphere of the house. They learn the rules of acceptable behaviour from their parents; how bad behaviour is dealt with is crucial. In my clinical practice, I work with a lot of parents who suspect their children may have attention deficit disorder (ADD) or attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). Before you make a diagnosis, you need to look at how the child behaves at home, how they behave at school, or whether or not they have been adopted.
“There can be numerous reasons behind the symptoms of both disorders. In my experience, though, a lot of children who show some features of these disorders have issues with how they are being parented. In Leo’s case, the fact that his mother changed her behaviour seems to have been beneficial and maybe she started to behave more thoughtfully towards him once the diagnosis was made.
“I have heard a lot of anecdotal evidence about the benefits of fish oil and it is certainly true that a bad diet, for example one that includes fizzy drinks, can trigger disruptive behaviour. I personally couldn’t recommend fish oil supplements, but parents who are worried that their child may have ADD or ADHD should definitely take nutrition into consideration.”
