(continued from Part 1) I spent Tuesday afternoon with a delightful group of first-graders, at a school more like Bob's--middle-class, mostly native English-speakers. This class had only one Bob--a little girl I'll call "Bonnie"--but that wasn't the only contrast from Tuesday.

Yesterday, I arrived at school for my teaching assignment. Before the first bell, three staff members had already offered their assistance and described my class of sixteen 2nd-graders as "awful." On my first day of substitute teaching, I had been handed a room full of manic, unmedicated Bobs.

I need a job. Our finances favor it. My husband prefers it. My sanity demands it. But will my oldest child's psychiatric illness allow it?

Quarter-end parent/teacher conferences were last week, and after meeting with Bob's teacher and reviewing his report card, I'm convinced an IEP is the right direction to take.

My oldest son, Bob, has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder and ADHD. In two weeks, I will meet with his school to facilitate a Section 504 plan, as recommended by the school counselor. As I investigate various accommodations available under education and disability law, I'm not sure two weeks is enough time for me to prepare.

This week, I encountered yet another insurance / psychiatric medication prescription snafu. Bob's old Seroquel prescription had run through its refills and I submitted a new prescription for his bipolar medication from his psychiatrist. Blue Cross Blue Shield refused to pay for it. Why? Because their monthly limit is 102 tablets. Bob's prescription for his psychiatric medication was written for 105. Yes--splitting hairs over Three. Pills.

Monday morning, I met with Bob's teacher, principal, and school counselor. The district Behavior Specialist was supposed to be there, as well, but (of course) was a no-show. The purpose of this meeting--to develop a "plan" for Bob, my 10 year old son with bipolar disorder. I'm still not sure the meeting accomplished anything, short of making the people in charge feel like they have some semblance of control where no control can be had.

Last week was certainly eventful. After Monday's outburst that led to a call from school, Bob was under strict orders to...well, just try to get through the day without any drama. He did relatively well, presumably because a school skate night at the roller rink was at stake. Or so it seemed.

Monday morning, my phone rang. I recognized the number as Bob's school. With a groan, I tapped the "ignore" button on my phone and waited for them to leave a message, hoping it was just the cafeteria manager letting me know (for the 98th time) Bob's lunch account is in the red. No such luck.

It's hard enough trying to decipher the behavioral symptoms in children who have psychiatric illness. Trying to determine the root cause of physical complaints where no obvious cause exists is next to impossible.