Leah BensonSurviving an Autistic Summer
July 20th 2008 02:10
It’s been a tough week. That’s the short version. Of course, there are all sorts of reasons as to why and how this week has been harder than, say, last week. But that’s not what I’m thinking about tonight. Instead, I’m thinking about what tools are available in my ever-growing autism tool-box to get through the next couple of hours. If there is one thing my son has taught me, it’s to think in small, manageable chunks of time. Besides, the future is bound to happen with or without my help.
My low back is throbbing with harbored pain, an all-too-common result of a life filled with stress, frustration and fear. I’ve been smoking too much so my lungs feel strangely over-sized, like a vermin trapped in the claustrophobic neck of a large snake. This is an image I saw on television earlier today. It was one of those fascinating horrors, the sort that make your stomach queasy and you say, maybe even out loud, that you don’t want to see it… and yet, still, you are unable to completely turn away. And so I watched as the snake swallowed the bloody animal that was either a rat or a guinea pig, and had this uncanny feeling that the snake was trying to tell me something.
So, it was a bad week. Max was, in a word, possessed. This particular form of demonic possession seems to happen every summer (change in his routine) and every Christmas (change in his routine). I know… I know… Max likes/needs his “routine” and likes/needs things to be consistent. But hell, it’s not like I have any control over his Summer School schedule! Max’s IEP (Individualized Education Plan), as is the case with most autistic kids, states that Max will receive year-round services. So why do I keep hearing the voice of Alice Cooper, and the lyrics “school’s out for summer” playing over and over in my head? Because when the school district says “year-round” what they really mean is “bare minimum.” And in this case, bare minimum translates into four weeks of summer school with classes cut from five days to four and from 8 hours a day to 4.5 hours a day. He is also at a different school, with a different teacher, and with different peers.
It’s been a tough week. Over the course of three days, my son tried to hurt me with the determination of an Olympian, including countless VHS tapes thrown full-force at my face, a few medium-sized rocks pitched at my head, two doors slammed on my fingers, water glasses thrown into the tub (with me in it), a PS2 smashed against the wooden floor, a metal fan thrown down the stairs straight at my shinbones… and the ever-present cyclone of biting, hitting, hair-pulling, pushing, head-butting, and of course, his favorite weapon: a fusion of pinching and scratching that makes me wonder if my kid isn’t part feline. The week was so bad that we made the decision to finally start Max on an anti-psychotic. Presently, he takes Zoloft, Trileptal (seizures),Ritalin, and Trazadone, but starting next week, we’ll be adding Risperdal. (I will be writing a post on medication and medication issues next week).
So, back to the autism-survival toolbox… basically it consists of one crucial item: humor. Without finding humor in all of Max’s difficult behavior, I think I’d simply lock my doors, pull my comforter over my head and just give up. Luckily, humor seems to present itself as often as I’m prepared to let it in.
When Max was almost a year old, he was diagnosed with a malrotation in his duodenum. He had been projectile vomiting since birth and had been victimized by countless “oscopies” (endoscopies, colonoscopies, sigmoidoscopies, etc.). But since none of Max’s doctors seemed to know why Max was vomitting every 15 to 20 minutes and NOT gaining weight, we decided to take him down to Rochester to see some specialists at the Mayo Clinic, where at last, they discovered the knot in his intestines. Surgery was scheduled immediately.
So there we were, sitting vigil in the family waiting room of the Children’s Hospital, like we had done so many times in the previous year, when the gastroenterologist came walking down the hall. He had a funny smile on his face, one that I hadn’t seen before and was carrying a plastic bag in his gloved hand. I found that plastic bag in a file this week and couldn’t stop laughing! see above: HUMOR!!! Here is a picture of what was in the bag:
Only Max would swallow a penny right before major stomach surgery! The surgeon and nurses we're all laughing, it was just one of those comic relief moments, the kind that are so crucial when you're faced with constant stress. I also found the pictures from Max's endoscopy, you can actually read the date on that damn penny!
So please feel free to leave a good joke, if you know one! I need all the help staying positive that I can get! Peace and love.
My low back is throbbing with harbored pain, an all-too-common result of a life filled with stress, frustration and fear. I’ve been smoking too much so my lungs feel strangely over-sized, like a vermin trapped in the claustrophobic neck of a large snake. This is an image I saw on television earlier today. It was one of those fascinating horrors, the sort that make your stomach queasy and you say, maybe even out loud, that you don’t want to see it… and yet, still, you are unable to completely turn away. And so I watched as the snake swallowed the bloody animal that was either a rat or a guinea pig, and had this uncanny feeling that the snake was trying to tell me something.
So, it was a bad week. Max was, in a word, possessed. This particular form of demonic possession seems to happen every summer (change in his routine) and every Christmas (change in his routine). I know… I know… Max likes/needs his “routine” and likes/needs things to be consistent. But hell, it’s not like I have any control over his Summer School schedule! Max’s IEP (Individualized Education Plan), as is the case with most autistic kids, states that Max will receive year-round services. So why do I keep hearing the voice of Alice Cooper, and the lyrics “school’s out for summer” playing over and over in my head? Because when the school district says “year-round” what they really mean is “bare minimum.” And in this case, bare minimum translates into four weeks of summer school with classes cut from five days to four and from 8 hours a day to 4.5 hours a day. He is also at a different school, with a different teacher, and with different peers.
It’s been a tough week. Over the course of three days, my son tried to hurt me with the determination of an Olympian, including countless VHS tapes thrown full-force at my face, a few medium-sized rocks pitched at my head, two doors slammed on my fingers, water glasses thrown into the tub (with me in it), a PS2 smashed against the wooden floor, a metal fan thrown down the stairs straight at my shinbones… and the ever-present cyclone of biting, hitting, hair-pulling, pushing, head-butting, and of course, his favorite weapon: a fusion of pinching and scratching that makes me wonder if my kid isn’t part feline. The week was so bad that we made the decision to finally start Max on an anti-psychotic. Presently, he takes Zoloft, Trileptal (seizures),Ritalin, and Trazadone, but starting next week, we’ll be adding Risperdal. (I will be writing a post on medication and medication issues next week).
So, back to the autism-survival toolbox… basically it consists of one crucial item: humor. Without finding humor in all of Max’s difficult behavior, I think I’d simply lock my doors, pull my comforter over my head and just give up. Luckily, humor seems to present itself as often as I’m prepared to let it in.
When Max was almost a year old, he was diagnosed with a malrotation in his duodenum. He had been projectile vomiting since birth and had been victimized by countless “oscopies” (endoscopies, colonoscopies, sigmoidoscopies, etc.). But since none of Max’s doctors seemed to know why Max was vomitting every 15 to 20 minutes and NOT gaining weight, we decided to take him down to Rochester to see some specialists at the Mayo Clinic, where at last, they discovered the knot in his intestines. Surgery was scheduled immediately.
So there we were, sitting vigil in the family waiting room of the Children’s Hospital, like we had done so many times in the previous year, when the gastroenterologist came walking down the hall. He had a funny smile on his face, one that I hadn’t seen before and was carrying a plastic bag in his gloved hand. I found that plastic bag in a file this week and couldn’t stop laughing! see above: HUMOR!!! Here is a picture of what was in the bag:
The penny found in Max's stomach! The surgeon called it his "tip"!
Only Max would swallow a penny right before major stomach surgery! The surgeon and nurses we're all laughing, it was just one of those comic relief moments, the kind that are so crucial when you're faced with constant stress. I also found the pictures from Max's endoscopy, you can actually read the date on that damn penny!
1995 penny in Max's stomach!
So please feel free to leave a good joke, if you know one! I need all the help staying positive that I can get! Peace and love.
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