If the diagnosis was cancer instead of a mental illness:
No one would tell me I could control my child’s symptoms with harsh discipline.
People wouldn’t say I’m “making” him sick because I somehow, perversely, need that.
There would be enough doctors to meet his needs.*
We would never wait weeks or months for life-saving therapies.
People would not tell me that I’m lucky because my child doesn’t have some other, equally life-threatening illness.
No one would deny that my child’s illness exists.
If my child required emergency hospitalization, he would not be turned away because of a bed shortage.
I would be allowed to give my child food and drinks (if medically safe to do so) while we waited in the ER.
If my child was hospitalized, he would never be locked up, alone because of his symptoms.
While in the hospital, I would be welcome (and even expected) to stay with him all the time, even overnight.
People would not tell me that my failures as a parent were the cause of my child’s illness.
I would be treated with sympathy instead of judgment.
My child would be treated with sympathy instead of judgment.
People would not question my motives for seeking treatment. They would accept that I want to keep my child alive.
I would not have to search carefully for a pharmacist who would dispense life-saving medications without making disgusted faces and doubtful comments about their necessity.
People would accept that, while my child’s medication regimen carries significant risks, the risks of the illness are even worse.
Drug manufacturers would have done research on my child’s medication in pediatric populations so that the doctor and I have the information we need to minimize risks.
If my child was symptomatic during school, he would not be punished for those symptoms or told to stop it right this minute!
If other children made jokes about my son’s symptoms, their parents would tell them to stop.
Other parents would not make jokes about my child’s illness.
No one would insist that television/movies/video games caused my child’s illness.
My child would go to the hospital that has fresh paint, adequate equipment, and up-to-date playrooms.**
No one would say the name of my child’s illness while making air-quotes.
No one would insist that my child needs an exorcism.
People would not scoff at the possibility that my child could die of his illness.
**Again, not true everywhere, I know, but here? The “regular” hospitals are bright and cheery while the psychiatric hospitals have peeling paint on the walls and the staff must become masters of making-do with inadequate everything.