I also think of several of the child and adolescent psychiatrists we’ve encountered over the past decade.  They had that same smug, “I’m more important that you are and you know nothing,” complex that I associate with The Donald.  When I would share ideas and question their recommendations, I’d get either the “oh, honey, no,” look, or the condescending grin while being completely ignored.  And for a while, I took it.  I mean, they had a point, even if they made it in the most irritating manner possible.  I’m not a doctor.  I had no experience with psycho pharmaceuticals or serious mental health conditions.  All I had was an internet connection and a burning desire to do something to help my kid and bring peace to my home.  But I had one trump card (pun intended) over them.  I knew my kid.  And I’d documented all of his issues, in a journal and, in some cases, in video.  It took me about a year to realize that doctors and therapists that didn’t want to partner with me didn’t deserve my money or my or my son’s time.