Taylor’s Shift: Part 2
When the storm doesn't pass—but a mother keeps showing up.
Some stories don’t have turning points. They have tremors.
Taylor’s descent was slow, misread, and medically ignored—until rage and regression became the only language his body could speak. His mother kept asking for help. Kept showing up. What follows is the second half of their story: from contradictory diagnoses to slow answers—and what happened when no one in the system wanted to claim him.
By July 2022, it began with a sore throat. Then congestion. Then fatigue.
And then: rage.
Taylor lashed out. Bit his sister. Hit himself. Tried to run barefoot down the road.
“I’m defective,” he sobbed.
His pupils were blown wide.
Advil helped. Nothing else did.
Dr. S increased the fluoxetine. Refused to test for infection.
A Different Kind of Doctor
Reagan turned to a naturopath—Dr. G—who ran comprehensive labs.
The results were undeniable:
Lyme. Bartonella. Anaplasma.
Antibiotics helped—briefly. Then came side effects: fatigue, double vision, dizziness. Taylor stopped playing guitar. His energy dimmed.
The Ferry and the Folder
An optometrist flagged convergence insufficiency.
A pediatrician said migraines.
The ER said nothing at all.
MRI: “Perfect.”
Then came ophthalmology.
Reagan took off another two days of work. They boarded the ferry for the mainland.
The clinic was a time warp—no digital imaging, outdated tools. The ophthalmologist sent Taylor to the back room while Reagan waited on an old vinyl chair.
Fifteen minutes later, the doctor came out, Taylor looking pale behind him. He shuffled the files and ticked things off, muttering: “Optic nerves look fine.”
“But he’s seeing double,” Reagan said.
The doctor stared. “Double vision?” Like it was new information.
Reagan held her breath. “We already told you.”
He waved them off. “Probably psychosomatic.”
Back on the ferry, Taylor turned to his mom.
“Do you think I’m going to end up in the psych unit?”
Reagan didn’t answer. She held his hand.
A Pattern Emerges
Mold testing showed elevated Aspergillus and Penicillium in the home.
Remediation helped. But Taylor’s OCD intensified—especially around food.
Anything remotely pink made him gag. He dropped weight.
LDN helped.
Prism lenses helped.
He began to read again.
Fall 2023: Still Invisible
Back in public school with a chronic health designation—but no academic goals. He felt invisible.
A psychiatrist referral had been lost. Twice.
“Must be ADHD,” said the pediatrician.
Intuniv was prescribed.
It tanked his blood pressure. Near-comatose. Discontinued.
November: a skin infection brought a new antibiotic.
Taylor’s anxiety lifted. He ate chicken again.
Reagan took note: bacterial. Again.
January 2024: A Glimmer
He joined ski club. A principal offered 1:1 support. For a moment, he was just a kid again.
Then: his guinea pig died.
His sister spiraled.
Taylor did too.
The Climb Continues
Spring 2024: Armin Labs retest showed stronger Lyme and Anaplasma.
They began doxycycline and clarithromycin.
Fall brought strabismus surgery. For a few weeks, he could read without prism lenses.
Then January 2025: he coughed blood.
ER found chronic nasal inflammation. Strep.
Three rounds of antibiotics.
His tonsils cleared.
But his symptoms didn’t.
His eye drifted again just four months post-op.
Still No Net
A sleep study was finally booked. Apnea suspected.
Surgery was recommended for tonsil and adenoid removal.
The wait? A year.
He's trying his tenth version of nasal spray.
Still in It
Taylor is still climbing.
And Reagan?
She no longer hopes for easy answers.
She hopes for honesty. For medical curiosity. For treatments that don’t blame the parent. That don’t dismiss a child. That don’t cost years.
Because it’s not a parenting issue.
It’s not psychosomatic.
It’s not a phase.
It’s medical.
And they are not crazy.
They’re just ahead of the curve.
If you’ve lived this—
If you’ve been dismissed, misdiagnosed, or blamed while your child unraveled—
you are not alone.
Medical neglect doesn’t always look like refusal.
Sometimes, it looks like delay.
Sometimes, it’s a neurologist who won’t return a call.
A pediatrician who won’t run a test.
A psychiatrist who says, “It’s just anxiety.”
Taylor is still climbing. His mother is still showing up.
Because what this family needed was never a new label.
It was recognition. Urgency. Treatment.
And what they got was bureaucracy and doubt.
But still—they climb.
And if you’re climbing too, we’re with you.
Because this isn’t bad parenting.
It’s not a phase.
It’s not psychosomatic.
It’s medical.
And you are not crazy.
You’re just ahead of the curve too.
👉 MOTHERS: Voices from a Silent Epidemic
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