Our First Trip to the ER

I knew it was bound to happen at some point. Kids end up in the emergency room for one reason or another--sports injury, broken bone, stitches. It is just all part of growing up. Though I have been expecting it, I was hoping it would not be for a long time yet.

Alas, we broke our streak, ending up at the wee people's hospital last night:


For the last few days, I had noticed them going missing. Things go missing at our house with unsurprising frequency (what with three sets of tiny, clumsy hands about), so I dismissed the incident from my mind and never gave it a second thought.

Michael comes home after another long, hot, 100 plus degree day at work, so we sit down for dinner. Arguments with Emerald about finishing her corn, a completely uninterested Gabriel blatantly ignoring the plate before him, and a fussy Benjamin suffering from a sore throat and scratchy voice--a typical meal around our house, albeit frustrating.

After dinner, we settle in to enjoy the rest of our evening when we see Gabe chomping away on something concealed in his hand. The hopeful side of me thought he might have gone back for the supper we left out for him, the more realistic side knowing he had probably unearthed something less savory. His pica has prompted him to eat a variety of inedibles, from mud and chalk to board books and rolls of paper towels, yet we are still surprised at what he decides looks tasty.

What do we find?



In our constant efforts to give Gabriel a consistent form of communication, we have been pushing signing and picture exchange (pex). Our house is littered with pictures of snacks, drinks, and toys in places Gabe might be able to retrieve. A handful have magnetic tape on the back in order for them to stick to the fridge in a nice, easy, accessible place.

In Gabe's hand is one of these strips which he had been knawing on like it was a Laffy Taffy. There is less than a quarter of the strip consumed, but my mind flickered to finding the tiny pictures days before, stripped of their magnetic backing. My assumption had been that the tape had merely fallen off after years of usage, but now their absence was suspect. I curse myself for omitting that crucial little detail, knowing that he may have consumed up to three entire backings over the course of two days.

Michael nor I were overly concerned--if it is soft enough to chew, it is likely soft enough to pass without incident--but my overly-cautious nature prompts a call to poison control.

Poison Control is, unfortunately, a useful, friendly service that we have had to make use of in the past. Once because a child (though I don't remember if it was Emerald or Gabriel) chugged from a bottle of contact saline solution, the next because the toilet bowl cleaner made the potty water look like blue gatorade to Mr. Gabriel. Both times we had been instructed to give them lots of water, but that they would be fine, and I was looking for some reassurance again.

The very nice P.C. representative, Brenda, told me we had to take him in for an x-ray to see if the doctors had to remove the magnet. The thought there: more powerful magnets, if swallowed, will sometimes puncture the walls of the intestines or bowels trying to get back to one another. This is a piddly magnet at best, but she calls ahead to the children's emergency room so that we won't have a wait.

I am shell-shocked. Gabe eats weird stuff all the time--I wasn't expecting this to turn into a thing!

Michael drops us off at about 8, the time we generally administer medicine and get everyone into bed. To little Gabe, he has won the jackpot--not only has he gotten out of going to bed, but he is out on an adventure with Mommy all by himself!! He raps on the glass and waves to the receptionist, startles the fish in the fish tank, and plays with every toy available, all while I am trying to check him in. It is a quiet waiting room with just a couple of other families, no one who is wailing or overtly "sick". Everything is going better than expected.

We are called back for the initial registration, to get his weight and height, blood oxygenation level and blood pressure, and for me to explain why we are here. In the teeny room, Gabe runs amok--slamming his hands on the nurse's keyboard, ripping up paper towels, and flicking the light on and off. Attempts to subdue or distract him are met with utter disregard, and I am unable to offer him anything to eat or drink in case they have to retrieve the foreign object from his tummy.

Sent back to the waiting room, I put Netflix on my Nook in attempts to contain Gabriel's enthusiasm and call Michael to give an update. We are called back before his movie stops buffering--we move to yet another room, this time with a white hospital bed for Gaby to lay on, and I set him up to watch "Christmas Classics" with Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

The nice x-ray tech brought a portable x-ray machine around, which was fantastic--Michael and I both worried about the logistics of getting him to sit still long enough to get accurate images, but these were so quick and painlessly easy that we only had to do one retake.

Dr. Harrera came in after looking at the x-ray results which couldn't have been more than 20 minutes, and told me that the magnetic stripping wasn't going to cause any problems at all, but Gabe was literally full of poop. He recommended giving laxatives and enemas until Gaby cleared out to make sure the magnet passed without staying in there too long. I was taken aback because we had changed Gabe right before we had left, and because I wasn't aware that the contents of his bowels would be evident in an x-ray image. Either way, we got discharged around 10 at night, a mere 2 hours after we had shown up (impressive for any emergency room). Today, we are keeping an eye on Gabe and trying to make him comfortable--he is rather exhausted from being too geared up to sleep last night.

SO! That is our rather dull and uneventful  first trip to the emergency room. All in all, not that surprising if you think about all the things the little guy attempts to eat on a daily basis. If I could afford it, I would hire someone to follow Gabe around all day and make sure he doesn't eat anything he isn't supposed to. Luckily for me, I saw the episode of Punky Brewster growing up where she was babysitting that kid and the kid drank bleach that was under the sink--do you remember that? Either way, I always remembered that episode and keep all cleaning supplies on a high, inaccessible shelf in the garage and keep the door leading to the garage locked at all times. It would have to take a rather crafty little fella to be able to get to anything sincerely dangerous.

It is nap time now, and after a ridiculously poor night's rest, I think I am up for a little nap myself. Goodnight, y'all!

--Andie

Mama Turns 25

This week, I turned 25!

We had to celebrate most of it before because my birthday fell on a Tuesday, which as you know means busy busy bees.

To cheer me up after news of Butters, Michael gave me my present early--a Nook Color, a tablet made by Barnes and Noble where you can read books and play games and get on the internet. I didn't know how I would feel about an e-reader because I am the kind of person that loves the experience of physically reading a book, but I am actually really loving it. There are lots of free books, mostly classics but there are some good contemporary ones too.

Saturday night, my friends Beth, David, Sara and Jason, and Sarah took me out for a fun night. We went to Freebirds, which is my favorite. I always get the spicy carnitas because they are so tasty, but now they have this poblano salsa that is fabulous--a little sweet, a bit of kick..it's great.

After dinner, we went and saw "Snow White and the Hunstman". It was really good. I wouldn't think that I would like Kristen Stewart after "Twilight", but she wasn't bad if you ignore her complete inability to close her mouth. The love interest was Chris Hemsworth (Thor)...and you can't help but thinking that Kristen, lovely as she is, is batting way out of her league. I half expected the enchanted mirror to tell Charlize Theron that the Huntsman was the fairest in the land.

Sunday, Rhonda and Ken had a party for me at their house. We got Buffalo Wild Wings--I got Hot and Garlic Parmesan, but they also had honey bbq, jammin jalopeno, and Asian zing. For dessert, we had a giant chocolate cake. It was a lot of fun, despite Gabriel's many escape attempts.

Tuesday comes around and starts as all our Tuesdays do: Occupational Therapy with Erin. She is working on Gabe's fine motor skills right now, mostly putting beads on pipe cleaners and drawing horizontal and vertical lines, stretching putty, things like that. Ken came shortly after to pick Emerald up and take her to Grannymom's house, which was good because Michael had wanted to go to the doctor's appointment but would likely have to keep the other kids while just Gabe and I went. With just the boys, we were both able to go to see the developmental pediatrician.

One of the rewards for completing the summer reading list was a coupon for a free kid's meal at Applebee's, so for lunch Michael took us there. Gabriel got chicken tenders and French fries, Ben picking at everyone else's dinner. Michael got the wonton tacos and a quesadilla burger, and I got a small shrimp and spinach salad and three cheese chicken penne. We normally avoid restaurants with the kids because Gabriel doesn't like crowds or noise or anything, but it was quiet and calm while we were there and it went exceedingly well.

At 1 we had our 6 month check up with Dr. Rogers, the developmental pediatrician. She is not the primary doctor for Gabriel, she just sees him for managing his development and autism traits. Our biggest concern was obviously the pitiful lack of sleep we are currently suffering from.

Dr. Rogers noted that we are shooting for around six to seven hours a night, which sounds pretty heavenly to  me and Michael--right now, we are getting woken several times a night, frequently staying up through the night.

She doubled his dose of clonidine from 1 mL a night to 2 mL a night, 1 mL at the onset and another 1 if he wakes in the middle of the night. So far, it has worked quite well. He is falling asleep around 9.30 every night and will generally stay asleep until 7 or so in the morning. It is a much preferable situation.

We also discussed our distress at lack of progress despite PPCD and therapies. Sure, there is minimal improvement, but he is still not talking or showing interest in potty training and still eats anything he can get his hands on. The doctor was not concerned, assuring us that it would take an entire year of PPCD before we saw significant change. She said that his tummy distress was likely from difficulty digesting fructose, the simple sugars found in fruits and juices. If we dilute his juice and cut back on his intake, we will see less issues in the future.

Finally, she recommended giving him a multivitamin to compensate for his dislike of milk and vegetables.

From the doctor's office, we left to pick up Emerald from Grannymom's house. They had a wonderful time together, doing exercises, making mudpies, and eating pistachio ice cream. A quick trip to the grocery store to stock up on essentials, and we are finally back home!

For an hour and a half. We got home near 4 and had to head back out at 5.30 to pick up Gabriel's medicine and drop Gabriel and me off for our Autism Treatment Study at 6.

This is the second time we have gone to the study to help the doctoral student work on her dissertation. This time we are in small groups, they have students playing with the kids while they talk to us about Child Directed Interaction (CDI), the focus of behavior modification in this study. We discussed the PRIDE skills--Praise, Repeat, Imitate, Describe, Enthusiasm--as well as what to avoid during these child-directed play times such as commands, questions, and anger. Ignore the negative behavior, end playtime if they get violent, but other than that you follow the child's lead.

It is all pretty straight forward stuff, though not asking questions is exceedingly difficult. We role-played to practice the skills, then were instructed to practice the skills throughout the week.

Beth has been helping me by following the same verbal rules, but it cracks us up because we sound like a storybook. "Gaby wants to go. Gaby wants to go on the swing. Gaby is swinging on the swing." It is so stilted and unnatural, but we are putting forth honest effort for the sake of the study.

And just like that, my birthday was over. It was a good one, I was pleased--it was nice that we had a good day in this week. Because of his general rowdiness, Gabe and I were asked to leave story time at the library, and Emerald screamed bloody murder when we took her out afterwards. At night, there have been lots of thunderstorms, which is so very nice. It has been up and down for us the last few days.

--Andie

My Dog Butters

My first job was as a waitress at Big League Burgers. It was a tiny restaurant in my tiny hometown, and I was a senior in high school.

One day, a friend of mine from church came in to eat, telling me about a couple that were selling miniature cocker spaniel puppies at the gas station, lamenting that she didn't have the money to buy one. Being much more of a cat person (and having never personally owned a dog, merely claiming the family dog), I smiled and nodded and finished work. Mom came and picked me after my shift was over, noticing on the drive home that there were indeed puppies for sale. Mom is a sucker for cuddly little animals, so we stopped and looked them over. I stockpile money, being quite frugal, so I had enough tips on me to buy one. 

Honestly, I don't know what was going through my mind when I picked up the only golden puppy they had. The rest were sleek and shiny, with black fur and intelligent eyes. This little guy stood out like a light, big green eyes, a stocky body, and a piggy snort when he breathed. I think at the time I thought Mom wanted him but didn't want to spend the money, especially not on another pet without discussing it with Dad first. Mom loved cocker spaniels, had had one in high school and then another a few years before that was tragically hit by a car as just a teeny puppy. 

One way or another, we were driving home a few minutes later with a fat, squirmy puppy in my arms.

He was AKC registered, but what I didn't know at the time was that you should always be leery of dogs breed to be "miniature". The runts of the litter may be adorably petite, but they carry the worst pick from the genetic grab bag, and there was one health problem after another. He got cherry eyes immediately, and his ears were prone to infection. His belly hung only a quarter inch from the ground and his legs were just a few inches long each. Every summer, he would have to be shaved several times and kept indoors because all that wavy yellow hair was too hot for the Texas heat. Probably the worst thing was his breathing--snorting, grunting, wheezing, rattling gasps for air, like a overweight pig of a man continuously snoring every second of every day. His whole body worked at drawing a single breath, and you could hear him coming from a mile away.

But he was a sweet dog. A genuinely sweet, intelligent, loving animal that tried hard to overcome his rather goofy packaging. 

On his registration papers, he was Pope Dickens. I liked the formality and that it sounded like an English punk band. Informally, he was Butters, so named after a character in the cartoon South Park (a show I enjoyed at the time but subsequently found horrendous and disturbing). Kind of the butt of family jokes, my little pig of a dog with the stubby little legs and raspy, rattly snuffle.

Butters died last night. He had a heat stroke because he is an overly furred animal in the most inhospitable of states. He was young, only 7 or 8 years old, too young to go yet. While I am used to burying pets (my tragic luck with animals is well documented), it sucks to have to say goodbye to my old friend. 

--Andie--

Yesterday Was Tuesday

Yes, you reply. Good job, Andie--you know your days!

Tuesdays are, as you know, our Mike days. They are also the busiest days of the week for us because that is where we ram all the doctors appointments and errands and general "around town" sort of business.

The start of the week was rather hard as Gabriel had a rough start and our day had trouble getting off the ground. I used this time to make all my requisite phone calls.

At the end of April, I had received a letter from the Department of Health and Human Services that rather baffled me. As I did not at the time have a moment to puzzle it out, naturally it got chucked in the "Drawer of Important Papers" (more aptly referred to "The Drawer of Crap I Will Never Look at Again") and remained out of sight, out of mind until just recently. I happened across it again this weekend and perused it much more carefully than I had before, managing to extract some meaning though not in it's entirety.

You see, this was a letter offering us a social worker.

My knowledge of social workers extends to "people that take your babies away", so my initial reaction was confusion and fear; the letter itself, however, was quite pleasant and not at all indicative of baby-snatching. But I am making much-too-much about a phone call that lasted less than ten minutes. The end result was that my curiosity was spiked so I called the contact listed, who was a very sweet and pleasant lady that was happy to explain the purpose of a social worker.

Basically, when Early Childhood Intervention ran out, I was left rather guideless and befuddled. There were so many voices, offering advice, pointing us in every which direction of how to get Gaby what he needed. I am ashamed to admit, feeling overly taxed, I simply enrolled him in PPCD and left it at that for the time being, the bare minimum I could do.

If we want, we can request a social worker to help navigate through all this mess--figure out what, if any, government programs could benefit him, explain paperwork, locate respite or therapies or specialists or supplies if we don't know where to begin looking. The way Ms. Lara put it was, "we are here so you don't have to go through it alone".

We set up a time for someone to come out and talk to us, and if it turns out that we don't need it then at least we explored the option.

Also among my many Monday phone calls was to Dr Killeen, the doctor that delivered all my babies. I needed to make a yearly appointment with him, but also to ask for the nurses advice--since I had been pregnant the majority of the last five years, I haven't bothered getting a general practitioner. I just always went to Dr. Killeen. Now with my 25th birthday coming up next week, I figured it was time for a check-up, particularly with my disposition for hereditary unhealthiness.

They recommended Dr. Hale, who has a nice little office on the fancy side of town, so I make an appointment for the next day, Tuesday.

Our first appointment with the new Occupational Therapist (OT) started Tuesday morning at 9, but I was running a little behind so Erin (the new OT) showed up while we were still bunched around the table eating pancakes. Gabe did remarkably well interacting with Erin--they played with playdough together, then putty. They also practiced writing horizontal and vertical lines and circles; Gaby would mimic the horizontal lines, but not the vertical or the circles. He was happy to color though, and demonstrated great dexterity by stripping a crayon of its wrapper. It doesn't seem like much, but he stayed focus and engaged for the entire 20 minute session.

After OT, I got us all dressed and we waited for Daddy to come home at 11. Michael got a little bonus money so he drove me by Hastings to buy a new book for the waiting room of the doctor's office. I love Hastings, even more so than Barnes and Noble, because I got 6 books for $3. They are used, but good and in good condition.

Michael dropped me off at my doctor's appointment and took the kids back home to eat disgusting Burger King (they mayonnaise everything) while I did my thing.

As this blog (and anyone with a hundred yards of me) can attest, I have been under a great deal of stress the last year or so. I have thus far been dealing with it as best I can, with a combination of prayer, cleaning, and mommy time-outs, but the truth is, I have been floundering. My temper is always simmering just beneath the surface, ready to explode over the tiny little nothings that make up my every day life. Limited sleep was further punctuated by insomnia, my self-esteem was in the toilet, and Michael being delayed fifteen minutes from coming home could send me into a tailspin of tears, anger, and inactivity that would ruin the rest of the day.

I had more or less resigned myself to feeling this way because it felt like a reasonable amount of stress, given our circumstances--to be expected of a stay-at-home mom with three under 4, one of which being special needs. Never-the-less, I mentioned it to the doctor just in case.

He was kind and compassionate, saying that my body was probably still trying to right itself after the hormonal ups and downs of so many consecutive pregnancies, and so prescribed me a pill to raise seratonin levels, help even me out a bit more. He also gave me pills to help me sleep if I need them, though they won't knock me out to where I can't hear the babies. Another appointment in two weeks will tell if they are having the desired effect; so far all I have felt is quite nauseous, as I am woefully pitiful when it comes to taking medication.

Because of family history, they ran blood work to check my thyroid, my cholesterol, and my insulin/sugar levels. I wasn't expecting anything to show up on that front, but better safe than sorry you know. I get the call today--my cholesterol levels came back high, so they are starting me on medication to get it back under control. The nurse said that it will probably be all right in a couple of months.

Being the little nerdlet that I am, I researched all I could about high cholesterol after she told me. As far as I can tell, I am not entirely why I got the numbers I did. I only eat lean meats, whole grains, and low-fat/fat-free dairy products; no trans-fats at all. I don't smoke, I am not overweight. The only two issues could be my lack of formal exercise (worn out enough as it is chasing three kids around), and my family history.

Anyways, they called in a prescription for us to pick up later, and hopefully we can get this under control with more strict diet, increased physical activity, and medication. I am a little peeved since I go out of my way to eat healthy, but it is nothing I can't handle.

After my very productive doctor's appointment, we ran by the grocery store to pick up a few little things and got about an hour and a half's rest before the Autism Treatment Study at 5.

A Texas Tech doctoral student is writing her dissertation on autism treatment and needed parents of autistic kids between the ages of 3 and 7 to come in and talk about how stressed they are. Heck, I can do that. So I sign us up and the very first one was Tuesday.

On the way to the study, we stopped by the library to drop off the kids' Summer Reading Logs. If you read 25 books, you get a special little goodie bag and they put your name up on the wall. We knocked 25 out in less than a week, so I returned the logs and got the goodie bags for the kids, which had a stuffed animal, whistling Frisbee, binoculars, crayons, and a bunch of cards for free kids meals or ice cream at different places in town.

Michael dropped Gabriel and me off and kept Benjamin and Emerald while we were gone. The lobby had a fish tank with a big pirate ship in it, and Gabe just loved that. He was in such an amiable mood all day long, I was feeling rather pleased.

Lindsay (the student) called us back and went over what was going to happen with us. First, I wore a bluetooth headset and played with Gabriel alone while she prompted us. All she really said was that I was to let him lead the play, meaning not to direct him toward anything. I don't know if she got what she needed because as soon as I got down on the floor, Gaby wanted to push me to lay down so he could lay next to me or sit on my stomach or have me lift him up. He showed little to no interest in the toys around him, just wanting to interact with me, play with me.

After that, she tried to do some vocabulary tests with him while I filled out paperwork about things Gabe could and could not do, my stress level and how I was feeling in general about being a parent, how much time I spent with him...things of that nature. It went by very quickly and smoothly, and we were out within the hour.

Now for the next four consecutive weeks, Gabe and I will go for 2 hours every Tuesday and interact with the groups of moms and kids that have signed up for the study as well. I think they are hoping to reduce our stress levels or improve our ability to correct inappropriate behaviors or something, I wasn't paying the strictest of all attention. They are all nice though, and I think it will be good for us to participate.

After making a quick stop by Barnes and Noble to turn in a third reading log (Emerald got a free "Fancy Nancy" book out of the deal), we got home finally about 7 that night. It was taco Tuesday, but none of us really felt like eating. The kids did well, but I got to feeling quite piteous from a tumultuous tummy, so I spent the rest of the night sulking about after the kids went to sleep, only to be awoken at 1 in the morning and staying up the rest of the night with the night owl Gabriel.

Speaking of, I am dangerously close to nodding off now, so I am going to take a nap while all the kids are still sleeping. Till next time--

--Andie

Emerald Quotes (June 2, 2012)

Me: Emerald Renae...3...

Emerald -runs off screaming- Run Gaby! Mommy counting 3-2-1 and when she get to 1 she gonna...

-long pause- Mom!! What come after 1!! 

Me (yelling back): Horror!

Emerald, to Gabe: Yeah, she gonna WHORE!

Emerald, grabbing my hand in hers: Mommy, will you marry me? 

Me: Negative. I am married to Daddy.

Emerald: It will be okay; you can marry me and daddy can stay and work.

Emerald, affecting a tough guy attitude: You see that over there, mommy? That's my Dora hog. That means motorcycle. 

Emerald: How are you, Mommy?

Me: I am doing good, how are you?

Emerald: Oh, I was just asking to be polite. Do you know where the crayons are?

Emerald: Mommy, when you were big and fat and pregnant, you weren't even gross.

Emerald (looking a pregnant profile picture of me): Is that Daddy's body? 

(not flattering for either of us, lol)

Emerald decided she wanted a baby sister, but after great consideration informs me that she deserves the best sister, and the best is Lily. She is trying currently to convince me that we need to kidnap Lily and bring her to live here and be Emerald's sister.

--Andie--

Priorities

I have been feeling a bit morose this week.

My best friend Erika is coming home today. She has been halfway across the world in Indonesia with the Peace Corp for the past two years. For months, I have been planning a trip back to my hometown to visit with family, get some time away and peace in the country, but most importantly to catch up with my very dear friend. She hasn't even gotten to meet Benjamin, and the last time she saw Gabriel he was just a few months old.

The time comes...and I am still here in Lubbock. I am waiting--waiting until after Gabe's private speech and occupational therapies start for the summer; waiting until after the autism treatment study that Gabe and I are taking part of'; waiting until after the summer appointment with the developmental pediatrician to talk about medications and diet restrictions and weighted blankets and referrals to other specialists.

I keep postponing the trip, pushing it to a later and later date, but my ever-increasing fear is that I am going to keep waiting and waiting and the moment will never come.

The reason I have been so down lately is not about the trip. It is the dawning realization that for my little family, our center of gravity revolves around Gabriel and his needs.

Michael and I both knew when we received the diagnosis that things were going to be tough, and that caring for Gabriel was going to require a great deal of our time, energy, and patience. We accept this as a fact, but I don't think until recently we fully grasped the implications. We understood the concept though the reality of it has been a bit harder.

What makes me feel the guiltiest is how this is affecting Emerald and Benjamin.

Like other families, we want to go out and do things together--go to the drive-in, eat dinner in a restaurant, take the dog on a hike out on the park or have a picnic...the entire scene changes when you add Gabe to the mix, though. Public places, loud noises, big crowds, bright lights or colors, changes in weather...anything can and will set Gabriel off, and we are left cutting outings short while wrestling a screaming, panicking toddler all the way to the car.

On Monday, the Peacocks took the kids and me to Jump'n'Jungle while Michael was home sick and resting. The first hour was fun, with one other family there we had the run of the place almost to ourselves. When we made a quick stop by Barnes and Noble, the heat and stuffiness that was merely uncomfortable for the rest of us became unbearable for Gabe. He started panicking, thrashing about, screaming, hitting me and himself and fighting as hard as he could. We were forced to cut our trip short, preventing Beth and David from getting lunch.

Thursday we all needed out of the house, so I loaded the boys up in the big double stroller and we went out for a walk. It was about 10 minutes later, standing on LCU campus, that I realized we had absolutely no where to go.

If I had just Emerald and Benjamin, the possibilities were endless. While Gabriel was in school, we would walk to the library to check out a few books and stay for the preschool story time; we would walk down to the park and feed the ducks and swing and slide and run and play; we would walk to the store and buy food for a picnic, or go visit Glo at work, or walk to Dairy Queen and share an ice cream sundae. If we were bored or restless, we could just get up and go and do something, have an adventure, or just get out of the house.

With Gaby though...I have to be constantly vigilant, able to drop everything and take off running after Gabriel if he gets overwhelmed and runs away. If he has a meltdown, it takes all my strength and concentration to wrangle him away from the situation. He is only about 35 pounds, but he is surprisingly lean and strong, and when he is in meltdown mode, he can and will hurt himself or anyone around him without ever meaning to.

A common misconception is that an autistic child is just throwing a temper tantrum. Nothing could be further from the truth. A tantruming child is one that is seeking to manipulate--they are in constant control, and they regain their composure as soon as they get their way. It is a power trip and they revel in having that power over you. They are directly trying to illicit a response from their caregiver and though they will threaten and you may worry, their sense of self-preservation will prevent actual physical bodily harm.

When an autistic child has a meltdown, however...it is scary. They have genuinely lost all control. They will hurt themselves or others, because they do not have the ability to regain their composure on their own--they are scared, because they have no control over it, and they desperately want to calm down. They can learn to identify triggers and be taught how to head it off before it begins, but it is not something they inherently know.

So, we are out on this walk and we can't head to the park or the library in case Gabe has a meltdown or decides to run off, because I cannot abandon Emerald and Benjamin if something happens. As we wandered the streets near our house trying to find somewhere to go, something to do, Gabriel started straining against the harness of the stroller. Putting his feet on the sidewalk and pushing with all his might, he began yanking at the buckle binding him down, screeching and fighting. With Benjamin still buckled in, I tried picking Gabe up to soothe him, but I don't know whatever he had seen or felt that had bothered him or if it was still affecting him. We were stuck there on that sidewalk, Gabriel thrashing and tossing his weight around, smacking his head and eyes and striking me wherever he could reach, for nearly ten minutes. I tried bribing him with drinks and snacks to no avail.

When I finally did regain some measure of control over the situation, we promptly turned around and headed back home, depressed that even a simple walk was beyond our capabilities.

Before anyone says or thinks it: what would my ability to drive change a thing? I could get them in their carseats and start driving...and still have absolutely nowhere that I could take all three kids. We would burn gas that is $3.10 a gallon (I write specifics because it is going to be interesting to see when Emerald starts driving and it is $7) tottering around town, completely unable to get out anywhere. Admittedly, we could get fast food snacks, which I barely tolerate as is. Eating out is a costly venture which we don't get to do that often, and when we do we generally get fast food with Daddy and bring it home because we can't brave a restaurant with Gabe.

I am not complaining. As I said, we knew this would be hard when we started out. Just lately, as I struggle to adjust to having all three kids all day every day again, a bit of melancholy has set in. I have been a bit of a sad sack lately, and I am searching for some sort of solution, relief from this issue that plagues me. 

A rather depressing entry, I will admit. I apologize and assure you that the next one will be full of cute babies and fun adventures and silly anecdotes.

--Andie