Last Tuesday morning, Sophie followed me into the bathroom, took my hand, and placed it over her One Direction pajamas, over the big bump on her chest where the bones mended — first, when she was 4 months old, then 4 years.

“How does your heart feel?” I asked, smiling.

“Good!” she said. “I don’t need to ever have surgery again.”

Well, never say never. (I didn’t say that to her.) But when the cardiologist announced Sophie was going from annual appointments to every other year, it was cause for celebration, for sure. Ray typically takes her to these visits, and he took her to this one — reporting the details Monday afternoon on the phone as they left the doctor’s office.

“No restrictions!” he said; we were both thrilled.

Just one thing gave me pause — but not the way you’d think.

“He says she can take the ADD drugs if we want,” Ray said.

Fuck. To be completely honest, it was the one nice by-product of a not-entirely-mended hole in the heart — we didn’t have to make that choice. Years ago, chatting at a playground with an old family friend who is also a child psychiatrist, I mentioned that we quite sure Sophie had ADD.

“What does her cardiologist say about medication?” he asked.

“She can’t take it,” I said.

“Well,” he replied, “then you need a new cardiologist.”

No, I thought. I need a new family friend. That really pissed me off, that this guy would be so flip about my kid’s heart. I vowed then to not give that medication a second thought, even though I’ve seen other kids benefit, even as I’ve seen Sophie ping pong around life, obviously in need of some help.

Now we can reconsider. I should be happy about that, right? Instead, I’m just stressed out. And probably in need of some ADD drugs myself.

Live by the sticker, die by the sticker. That’s how it seems in our world — Sophie’s world — these days.

Sophie was not behaving at school last fall, so her “team” started a daily sticker chart. For now, anyway, it works like a dream. Particularly when it’s a Justin Bieber sticker she’s getting. But it’s not just at school.  Last night papers were piled on the table and I realized that more and more, we’re charting and stickering everything the kid does.

The speech therapist has a chart with stamps. The physical therapist has a chart — when all the Xs are marked, Sophie gets to pick a prize (this time, a mani-pedi). Last week the babysitter got out a jar and a bunch of bottle caps and started a reward system. So far I haven’t done it — not formally, anway, though I do offer rewards on weeks when Sophie gets all her stickers five days in a row — but I’ m not entirely against it.

The cardiologist says we shouldn’t give Sophie the ADHD medication that’s working well for others we know. So for now, it’s stickers.

I’m just wondering how long it will go on. A 15-year-old with a sticker chart? A 50-year-old? There are worse things, I guess.

That was the assignment for last night’s Mothers Who Write class — the workshop I’ve co-taught for years with my dear friend Deborah Sussman Susser. We wanted our students to write about health care, but frankly, we weren’t interested in 15 essays about health care reform.

So the ever-wise Deborah came up with “home remedy” — and it was just what the doctor ordered. We spent two hours workshopping amazing pieces on topics ranging from the remedy for jalapeno pepper in the eye (salt under the tongue!) to the remedy for a troubled marriage (shining the sink — long story) with incredible tales behind each.

Funny we chose that topic, since I’ve been struggling myself with the notion of home remedies. I haven’t applied any, but have been gathering suggestions. The malady: possible ADHD.

We had the much-awaited (by me, anyway) IEP team meeting this morning at Sophie’s school, and it actually went pretty well.

The mystery of the wandering kid was solved. She sometimes finds her way upstairs at the end of lunch — everyone is now aware of this and looking out for it, and Annabelle’s teacher will be asked to report immediately if it happens again. I got to give my speech about how my two priorities are that Sophie be safe and that she not disrupt others’ learning environment. Everyone looked appropriately uncomfortable, since the subtext is that Sophie deserves to be at this school as much as any other kid — at least, that’s what the law says. I didn’t raise my voice and afterward, no one asked me if I was raised in New York. Progress, I think.

Turning to academics, we rewrote some of Sophie’s goals to incorporate more inclusion in the classroom, talked about  concerns, shared successes –and across the board, every therapist and Sophie’s teacher commented that she has trouble paying attention.

I’ve heard that before. Several times. Including from two psychologists.

But here’s the thing. Even if she does, in fact, have ADHD, I’m not going the heavy-duty medication route with Sophie.

Not that I judge you if you do — far from it. I’m all in favor of better living through chemistry.

But Sophie has a serious heart condition. So no way, even if I could switch cardiologists til I found one who said okay to the meds (as a psychiatrist and psychologist have each suggested I do). No way.

There are home remedies, I’ve been learning. But to me (and maybe it’s just because I’m naive) some seem akin to one student’s tale last night of her mother’s home remedy for any injury: Wrap the afflicted limb in a whiskey-soaked shmatta (rag) and then Saran Wrap til the circulation is practically cut off.

I explained the ADHD medication conundrum to the group at school this morning, and the principal piped up. “Have you heard about Mountain Dew?” she asked.

As a matter of fact, Sophie’s physical therapist mentioned it just yesterday, I told her. 

Apparently I’m the last to know that many parents give their kids a can of Mountain Dew after school. It calms them down so they can do their homework — a sure sign the kid has ADHD (or ADD, I’m using them interchangably in my ignorance).

At this point, I’m not ready to buy a case of Mountain Dew — or Coke Zero, as another therapist suggested. What I really need — and what I keep asking people for — is a referral to a medical doctor who can give me some ideas for supplements. And if a doctor who understands Sophie’s heart condition, and understands Down syndrome — not just the super-popular ADHD thing — suggests Mountain Dew, I’ll be happy to try it.

I don’t know if the caffeine will hurt Sophie’s heart. Even some supplements like Omega 3 fatty acids are not good for a kid with a heart condition. I’m not taking any chances. I’d rather have my flighty kid good and alive.

Last night after class, I tossed the question out there: “Anyone know an expert in ADHD who’d work with a kid with Down syndrome and a heart condition?” One student suggested a doctor in Los Angeles who bases his ADHD diagnoses on brain scans. (“Are you okay with spending a lot?” she asked.) Another promised to ask her son-in-law, an alternative medicine expert in Sedona.

My dear friend Mrs. M. has given me a pile of reading material; I have a feeling the answer’s in there. But my favorite suggestion so far has come from one of Sophie’s more spirited therapists. I adore this woman, and laughed out loud at her very honest list of remedies some use:

“If all else fails, a good shot of a strong spirit or a glass of wine, or a cup of coffee (no sugar),” she wrote in an email this week.

For the record, this therapist does not believe Sophie has ADHD, but has been helpful in offering advice on many things — she’s very smart and dedicated. I adore her. But Sophie doing tequila shots? Swilling lattes? I was leaving the therapist a voice mail the other day, and Annabelle overheard me.

“Mommy, why were you talking about Sophie drinking coffee?” she asked. “Is that part of her therapy?”

“Not right now, it isn’t!” I replied. “But sometimes coffee can help adults pay attention, and some people think Sophie doesn’t pay attention very well. Haven’t you noticed that, when we are all doing homework?”

Annabelle considered that. “Yes,” she said. “But I just always figured that ‘s because Sophie isn’t interested in what you want her to do.”

From the mouths of babes….

In any case, no iced mochas for my youngest baby — not til an M.D. hands me a prescription.