Autism rant: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut

I really want to break things right now, but I won't. Instead, I'll angry-type it out and then chain-smoke until I calm down. Though, since it's Africa Hot, I don't think I'll smoke much.

D has group this summer. It's not really a camp, nor is it group therapy. It's a group of kids with varying degrees of special needs/mental health issues that get together four hours a week every Tuesday. Last week was his first week. I got called after he had been there for a little over an hour. "D is saying his stomach hurts really badly." He got on the phone and started crying and I knew in that moment he was fine. Physically. He manifests his anxiety in his stomach. (He also likes to hoard poop in his colon but that's another story.) I told the counselor I would be there to talk to him. I knew what the problem was; I had no intention on bringing him home.

Forty minutes later he had agreed to stay and give it a chance. When he got home at 5:30 he had good things to report. He was nervous, and uncomfortable, but it was fun. Okay, great. I'm really proud of you, kid.

Cut to today. He has group at one. The counselor comes to pick him up and immediately he acts like this outing today is  a total surpirse. Which it is not. I told him before STEM camp this morning, I reminded him when I picked him up from STEM, and when we were finished eating lunch. "I don't wanna go." Why? "I just don't." Fair enough, that's a piss-poor reason. Tell me why you don't want to go. "I'm scared and nervous there. I don't know those kids." Thank you. That's an answer. I then explain to him that in life, he is going to be presented with situations that make him nervous, or a bit scared. And that getting as comfortable as he can in situations like that is a skill that can be learned, which is why we want him to go to group. I finally talked him into going and told him that if by 3:30 you still weren't feeling comfortable, or having fun, I would pick him up. He goes off with Z (the counselor) and I go downstaris to play Candy Crush Soda (which is much more fun than the original Candy Crush, by the way).

Twenty-seven minutes later (travel would have taken about ten minutes; they left the house a little after one, so I figure he had been at group for about 20 minutes or so) I get a phone call from a Private Number. I knew who it was.

"Hey, it's T from group." *sigh* What's up? "Well, Daniel's thrown up all over the bathroom. He has no fever and he was feeling fine and participating and..." I cut him off. "Yup. He did that on purpose. He made himself yak. "Well, I was with him, and I didn't see..." No. You wouldn't have. He's good. He can sit there and will himself to vomit when he's super uncomfortable.  "Well, since he did get sick, he can't stay." I know. I'll be there.

I drove to pick him up in a quiet fury. When we arrive I'm met outside by D and T (counselor).  D starts talking about how the reason he threw up was because he was thinking of Bacon, the fetal pig they dissected today at STEM camp (he's doing Vet Med this week). T apologizes and I dismiss it; I understand why he can't stay, and don't blame them one bit. Barf is a no-go. A Go Directly to Jail card, if you will.

We've been home about twenty minutes and I haven't said one word to him. Because I know when I do open my mouth, it will be ugly. Because I'm pissed. And hurt. And sad. And disappointed. And so fucking furious I want to punch things!!!!!

I get it, his brain is wired differently. He has struggles and he is working to overcome them. I get that. I've been with him every fucking step. But what pisses me off is that this is something he needs to be able to do. He needs to know that when he's in a foreign/uncomfortable situation, he can't just make himself barf to get out of it. That's why we go over coping skills. That why we work on being able to identify Anxiety and deal with it before it gets completely out of control. Yet he refuses to use them. When he's at home and getting angry I'll mention several coping techniques he could try and I'm me with, "It doesn't work," to every one I list. He gives up before even trying and I know that's his perfectionist nature--I've tried three different skills, and they don't work. So nothing will work. If I don't try them then they can't not work.

And yes, I know he's young. His brain isn't completely formed and operational, and the parts that are operational are a leetle-bit wonky. I know that he's not happy with himself. I know that he hates the way he acts and is very remorseful after every meltdown. I also know that we are giving him every opportunity to learn and practice skills to help him live a better life. He's always going to struggle--evveryone does--by being on The Spectrum. He probably won't have an easy life. But we're trying to help him learn things that will allow him to live an EASIER life.

"But it's hard." NO SHIT!!!! I've been in and out of therapy for nearly twenty years (good Christ, I'm old) and it is work, and it's hard work, and it's shitty, uncomfortable, scary, annoying, frustrating work. But it works. It helps. It gives self-confidence in areas that it's needed to work on things that aren't the way you would like. And I just can't understand people who don't want the skills to help them have a better life. I mean, I'm lazy. Straight out, lazy. But when given topics by my therapist to work out, to experience an EMDR session that is so physically exhausting it's the equivilant of doing eight hours of manual labor, I'll do it.

Sorry. I'm not bragging or anything. I'm just so frustrated at my son. At the fact that I can't do this all for him. That I can't get into his head and really understand what's going on in there. That sometimes I want to give up.

Asshole. Couldn't even make it in group for an hour. Fucker.

This really isn't about a toaster.

Note: I fully acknowledge that what I am about to post is possibly the most ridiculously frivolous problem one can have. That, in the entirety that is my life, if this is the biggest issue, then today is a great day. That said...

My toaster oven is about to shit the bed. We rarely use it for ovening...mostly for toasting. I'm thinking of going to a 4-slice pop-up toaster but I'm nervous about doing so. I can't imagine a situation that would necessitate constant ovening in my toaster and have often thought that a pop-up would be easier...especially for Alexander.

Big picture: this is not even in it. I mean, just today my best friend in high school and her husband adopted a baby from China; another friend is dealing with ER trips and public racially-insensitive declarations from her 11-year-old; I'm dealing with a new toaster. #FirstWorldProblems, indeed. 

In reality, though, I think I'm over-stressing about this decision because it's one that I can make--it won't be made for me by a trained medical professional. The results of buying whichever toaster will still be toasted bread and waffles. No medication changes, or violent outbursts, or trips to the hospital. At the end of the day, waffles will be made. There will be no tip-toeing around the possibility of waffles or no waffles; waffles will be served. And toasted.  

This should be an easy decision to make--the easiest one I've had to make in a while. A decision that has no bad choices. But I'm standing here, staring at a toaster oven and a 4-slice pop-up toaster with the worry that life as I know it will end if I choose the wrong one. And I'm sure I'm projecting my fear and unease about all that has happened the past few weeks on to a seemingly innocuous 

situation because I probably haven't fully absorbed or dealt with the past few weeks and it's easier to admit being scared to buy the right toaster than it is to say I'm scared for my son and his future. 

Whelp. There it is. I think I'll get the pop-up.

Tuesday (sorry, can't think of anything clever.)

Daniel has his music program at school tonight. Tuesday. At 7:30.  From what I have been told by his Para, there is NO organization to this, the 4th graders are supposed to show up DURING the 3rd grade performance, then there will be a guitar hand-off between the 3rd and 4th, they will take to the risers and sing, play recorder, and play guitar. No rehearsal during the day to see how it will work out, nor will the 4th graders be meeting in a classroom or even the hallway to walk in together.  Curt and Mrs. Nehila would NEVER allow such a haphazard production.

Anyway, Tuesdays are Daniel's long day. He has therapy in the morning before school (and today's was tough), then school, then his acting club goes until 5:30. We don't get home until about six and then we have eat dinner, change clothes (Daniel, not us) and go back to his school for a concert that, by my guessing, will be 30 minutes MINIMUM. Also,his meds start to be weaning off during late afternoon/early evening and going into this situation with lots of chaos, and noise....I just don't know.

The more I think about it, the more I want to keep him home. Does that make me a bad mom? Obviously, if he really wants to go I will take him, but I have a feeling that he might be okay with it since yesterday afternoon he was already getting nervous about it.

This part of the Spectrum is hard: He is so talented and loves performing, but the pre-performance anxiety nearly destroys him. *sigh*

Twenty percent down...

Today, I miss him. Don't get me wrong, I've missed him since he left but today I REALLY miss him. I feel his absence so much today, more than other days and possibly less than others. But today, I miss him.

I need him here, next to me, holding me, making me laugh. I need him to hug me and tell me everything's going to be okay. That I'm doing a good job. That he misses me as much as I miss him. (Which, if he were here there wouldn't be any missing but that's just semantics.)

I miss his arms. I miss being held, and touched, and grabbed. I miss the unexpected butt-smack. I miss holding his and and feeling his thumb rub mine. I miss pre-sleep snuggles, three kisses, then rolling over to our respective sides (for we are NOT cuddly sleepers). I miss the stubble. I miss when the smile reaches his eyes and for a brief moment I swear they twinkle. I miss him.

I miss him. Today, most of all.


...Eighty percent left.