momma mommy bwuh

To the moms who forget to schedule their kids’ med check appointments—I see you. And I’m guessing this view is one you’ve seen before, too.

Boy1 has been taking methylphenidate for over a year now, and it has done absolute wonders for him. He went from impulsive, aggressive behaviors to keeping his hands to himself. From barely recognizing the alphabet to reading sight words. From struggling to count to rattling off numbers—and even speaking more clearly. Every single day, he surprises me. The things he does, the things he says—they’re nothing short of incredible.

With all that progress, you’d think I’d make sure he never ran out of his medicine. You’d think.

But here’s the catch: methylphenidate is a Schedule II drug (a controlled substance), which means it can’t be placed on auto-refill like his seizure and allergy medications. Instead, it’s on me—my often overloaded, not-always-reliable brain—to remember to call the pharmacy at just the right time. Not too early, not too late. Usually, I make the call when he has just one pill left.

This time, when I called, I was told we were out of refills. No option to request one online. So I picked up the phone and called the office, only to be reminded of something I knew but had forgotten in the chaos: three-month med checks are required. Always.

In that moment, panic set in.
“What am I going to do?”
“I can’t send him to school without that medicine.”

Because the hard truth is, Boy1 cannot participate in a third-grade general education classroom without it. For him, it’s not simply “kids being kids.” His disabilities and disorders make things different. With his meds, he’s still a kid—laughing, playing, being silly—but he’s also present. And as his mom, I owe it to him to do everything I can to give him that.

I asked the nurse what we could do. He couldn’t run out. Honestly, I was a little frustrated the office hadn’t gone ahead and scheduled the next appointment at our last med check. Yes, it’s my responsibility to manage everything about my kids’ care—but I truly didn’t realize this would be every three months forever.

Thankfully, they squeezed us in for a 7:45 a.m. appointment the very next morning. Their office is half an hour away without traffic. We left right after Boy2 got on the bus at 6:50, but rush hour meant it still took an hour. We made it, a little late, and were in and out quickly. By 8:45, I was dropping Boy1 off in the school lobby with his day back on track.

Does it ever get easier?

I wouldn’t trade Boy1 for any other kid in the world. But I do wish it were easier—especially for him. He deserves the world, and his dad and I are doing everything we can to give it to him.