Wednesday we were at the doctor’s office for the J-man’s 4-year check up. (He’s doing well, thanks!)
While we were waiting, we watched a drama unfold outside, and it made my heart hurt. A boy, perhaps 11 years old, was fighting with all he could muster to NOT come into the doctor’s office. He broke away from his parents several times and ran, not looking where he was going, just running in a desperate attempt to not have to come into the office. At one point he tripped (the sidewalk turned sharply and he didn’t) and went head-first into holly bushes. Holly bushes. So then he was scratched and bleeding. The parents were doing their level best to get him inside.
Tim and I looked at each other and nodded. Boy with autism. We can pick each other out now.
We learned that the parents had given him a massive dose of Ativan to try to calm him, because he HAD TO come in and get a tetanus shot. He needed that shot. The Ativan didn’t work. (As we were waiting to get flu shots while we were there, we heard a loud cheer for him, because they had gotten him inside, and he had received the shot… so they did finally get him calmed enough.) The nurse didn’t seem surprised that we knew the child had autism – she said it was pretty common for parents of children with autism to be aware of others.
There were parents there in the waiting room judging that boy’s parents. I could feel them and hear whispers (not what they were saying, just the whispering voices). And I knew they had NO IDEA what those parents’ lives were like.
And I could only watch, wondering if we were going to be those parents one day. Right now, the J-man is small enough that we can overpower him (see also: holding him down for shots, and holding him in our arms before and afterward), but there will come a day when that can’t happen.
I don’t have a nice way to tie up this post. There’s no “all’s well that ends well.”
Posts that hopefully are similar:
- Our Trip to the Dentist
- Diagnosis Day
- Diagnosis Day – 2nd Anniversary Edition
- Learning How Not to Say “I’m Sorry.”
- The Subject We Avoid Talking About – The Physical Toll of Parenting
- Holiday School Party – Things Worth a Thousand Words Edition
- Out of the House and Temporarily Back to the ‘Real World’
{ 8 comments… read them below or add one }
This is actually one of my biggest fears. Kayla’s only five and it’s already hard to restrain her during regular doctor visits. Just to hold her still long enough for the doctor to look into her ear or throat is becoming extremely difficult. And then there’s the lovely stop, flop, drop as an avoidance behavior. Sigh.
(My first comment on your site … been reading it for months.)
Our daughter (almost 2.5) has only been officially diagnosed as on the autism spectrum for less than 2 weeks, and I too have already had a couple instances when I’ve thought to myself “there’s another kid with special needs.” At first, I got mad at myself for projecting our situation onto other kids … but really, there is a difference and I can usually spot it. We too have issues at all doctor visits. Physically restraining her for a weight check, the exam, and any oral meds is par for the course in our house. We haven’t ventured to the dentist yet … I’m sure that will be the same, as you’ve posted about several times.
As for the judgement from other parents, that’s what I hate the most. But this quote pretty much sums it up. “When you judge another, you do not define them, you define yourself.” -Wayne Dyer
I often find myself looking at other families and seeing like. In a way, I find it comforting as I am reminded that there are always others and that whatever my family is struggling through can be done.
At other times, I am left with fear. Much like you mentioned above, you see that being your reality in a few years and can’t begin to wrap your mind around it. And you’re right, there isn’t really a happy way to wrap it up.
I know I already feel the judgement of other parents at the doctor’s office. Logan is three and has a pretty typical fear of being messed with in any way. (especially by a stranger) I can imagine this very thing happening to us in the future.
Currently, when we visit the doctor’s office my main problem is getting him to sit still in the waiting room. Logan is very hyper active and he loves to explore and play and is basically in constant motion. I always feel so uncomfortable with all of the stares from the other parents. All of their children are sitting quietly waiting to be called, while Logan is hopping on the floor. Now of course I could restrain him or make him sit but then you have to deal with a possible melt down. Anyway I have just learned to ignore the stares. If I am feeling particularly judged I will just say he has autism and a whole lot of energy.
I try not to focus too much on what the future holds for Logan. We live in the now…in the day to day accomplishments. I am hoping there will be things that are so much easier: communicating, eating, dressing, and toileting. And I am sure there are things that will become more difficult with age. I guess that’s just life.
@Ecki – You should trademark “stop, flop, and drop”. Our kids could probably do that as an Olympic event.
Given that I’m around 6′ 3″ and about 230 lbs, I can use both weight and leverage to get through a lot of these things, but I have physical weak points (esp. my low back) that may be my Achilles heel. I really hurt myself at his peds appointment. Sigh is right…
@Amy – Thanks for reading our blog, and double thanks for leaving a comment!
I imagine that, like us, you had a fair amount of experience in various places with other special needs kids before your daughter was diagnosed. It gave us a lot of practice, helped us get started, and opened us up to a whole new world, one that I’ve grown to really appreciate. Some of what we pick up on are similarities between the kids we meet and the kids we already know.
But a whole lot of it is that we pick up on similarities between us and other parents like us and the ESP-like connections we seem to have with each other. In my mind at least, our shared experience of parenting is so deep and profound that those connections seem to form almost on their own. For me, I feel much more able to be myself around other parents of special needs kids because I can talk about our experiences in our family without having to give much, if any, background. I can talk and be understood, and most importantly, not judged. Given what a relief that can be, no wonder we learn how to find each other!
I’d like to say that I’ve arrived at the point where I don’t care what other people think, but I haven’t yet. I’m much closer to that, but it’s still hard.
Great quote! Spot on.
@Blake – You really captured it. Being connected to a larger community of parents has made a world of difference to us. But there is that flip side, too. Somebody described it to me as (I’m paraphrasing a bit) our secret dislike of situations or people that make us imagine ourselves and our children too far into the future. We live so much in the moment that we don’t really have any time to wonder – for good, ill, or whatever – what the future is going to be like; we’re too overwhelmed by the chaos of now.
Seeing families like us but with older kids leaves me with all sorts of conflicting emotions these days. It’s inevitable to start thinking, “what would I do in their situation?” or at a much more basic level letting yourself feel what it might feel like to be in the other parents’ shoes. That’s a double-edged sword. Sometimes we see possibilities we never dreamed of; others leave us wondering how on earth we’d ever handle that. I think we prefer to live in whatever dreams we make in our minds and not be confronted with all of these alternatives. It’s just too overwhelming sometimes.
It’s been a real emotional roller coaster lately. More than not, I’m staying pretty positive, but it’s been tough in recent days. And you’re on the mark. There’s absolutely no tidy and neat way to wrap this up.
@Shanna – In doctors’ offices, we’ve been able to rely on our ‘secret weapon’ to get us through so far – me carrying him and humming to him. However, I feel like those days are getting numbered. And really it’s not a good long-term solution anyway. I’ll soon put up a post that goes into how many of the things we’ve relied on to this point are becoming too physically hard to continue. It’s hard for me to think about without getting dispirited, but he is growing up at all levels and we need to acknowledge that.
Doctors’ offices are strange, confined places that usually contain nothing familiar or comforting, so I realize there’s no reason to expect our kids to remain calm or otherwise like being there. The problem is, we have to be there so what do we do about it? If we let the J-Man run around, it’s hard telling what he’ll get into. Part of it is still that I don’t like the stares and judgment. Part of it is that I know I need to keep him from getting into stuff that may be dangerous to him or that he might break or otherwise do something to (like crawling under the receptionist’s desk and start playing with computer wires). I think we still need to have certain expectations for our kids in public. But realistically, we also can’t expect miracles in situations that are so stressful for them.
I don’t know. I do know I can’t (and shouldn’t) carry him forever. Obvious, but still depressing right now.
Usually we have to live in the now; there’s just not enough energy or time to devote much of it to thinking about the future. For some reason, I’ve been doing that a lot lately anyway. It’s been a whirlwind of emotions. Really all you can do is ground yourself in the moment, like you said, and let the future take care of itself. Easier said than done, though.