Note: This is kind of stream-of-consciousness – I am writing lazily and may or may not proofread or edit…
This morning, P, one of Jonah’s caregiver/bring-to-the-doctor folks, called me at 8:09am on my cell phone. I was still lying in bed and answered sleepily. Jonah had an 8am doc appointment today with his glaucoma doc and I’d forgotten to write it on my calendar. There was no way I’d make it there, so I asked P to please call me after the appointment.
I want to emphasize my continuous daily gratitude at the mere fact that I can still be in bed at 8:09am on a weekday at all. It’s a distressing mystery how (and how quickly) I furtively and quietly descend from undying gratitude to a place where I am taking everything for granted. I’m doing pretty well at maintaining the self-awareness necessary to stay in appreciation mode, though. So I am still here in Thankful Land; even though it may not sound like it, gratitude is still my foundation.
When P called me after the appointment, she told me they weren’t able to do anything there. Jonah attacked her, J, the nurse, the doc…everyone but mama, the no-show. My immediate reaction was guilt – he expected mama to be there. I wasn’t there with octopus and fruit snacks and slinky and a drink. I started to cry and I said “I’m so sorry” – everyone had gotten at least a good scratch or bite, I’m sure. And I’m sorry because maybe if I was there he’d have been fine. Three hours driving for nothing. P told me it wasn’t my fault — and maybe it wasn’t — but my forgetting the appointment was my fault, and I don’t think I’ve ever done it before. So they have to reschedule and drive back up tomorrow or the next day if possible, because the doc is going on vacation.
Maybe it was divine intervention – I couldn’t handle seeing Jonah like that, so I was supposed to miss this appointment so I wouldn’t have to watch (or be injured by) Jonah’s out-of-the-blue attack modes. It’s just one more thing to add to the list of everything I don’t know. Good thing I am relatively comfortable with ignorance where it can’t be helped.
Is it normal for me to constantly want to attach Jonah’s behaviors to some shred of meaning? I am not a ruminator but maybe I should be more of one. Maybe if I tried harder to attach things, they would finally attach. For some reason today I need to feel like someone understands, and the blessing is that (partially because of a core group of readers’ comments), I know people understand.
There should be a non-fiction, realistic, autism book out there to help us feel like we are not alone and to educate the world that there are plenty of us who are just making it day by day, as best we can. I’ve read most of the well-known “autism family” non-fiction books, but they seem to offer not empathy but rather a superior attitude. And 90% of them (or maybe even 100%) are written about children with very high-functioning autism (or kids who were low-functioning, but thanks to the Superparents’ dogged determination, have climbed their way out of the darkness of autism into the fucking light). Evidently the rest of us can rest assured we have done everything wrong, made bad choices, and are selfishly lacking in the love-drive necessary to save our children like the people in the books.
Now I’m projecting.
I feel angry today. Can you tell?
Part of the reason I haven’t written in a while is personal, stuff that doesn’t belong here but has nonetheless messed with my head on one level or another…not all in a bad way. I have found out where I stand in order of importance/significance/priority with a person or two, and that order was lower than I knew, and that hurts. But I do it to myself. You teach people how to treat you, as Dr. Phil used to say back when he was still good. I’ve taught a lot of people to treat me however they please. Unless you have hurt me in an ongoing, vicious, or deliberately harmful way, everybody knows it’s a safe bet Amy will capitulate on the side of letting it go… or letting it be, right K? It’s the path of least resistance.
The truth is, though, things like this usually dissipate quickly. They exit my mind…and so they’re only really a problem if I allow them to be.
A joyful Sunday – went with my wonderful friend D and her husband to Tanglewood for the Boston Symphony Orchestra, which was fun and lovely. The Royal Baby was born (I wanted Kate to have a girl, though). I watched the last episode of The Sopranos last night (which, perhaps for the same reason I love Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony and Lois Lowry’s The Giver, I found appropriate, clever, and chilling). Then all the news: George Zimmerman and Helen Thomas, and this star’s marriage and the latest viral video. And the way I put off writing here when I feel dangerously upset or anxious, because I don’t want to come off like I’m having a pity party. The phone calls each night between Andy and me. Something I said to him on Saturday I wish I could take back because it laid me so bare I shivered in the heat.
Inside me today lives an unrest that may last for a day but has the potential to go on and on unless I get a grip, which I undoubtedly will, given the fact that I’m not sitting at a desk in an office selling advertising and trying not to feel all this.
I will post some picture-stores of what’s been happening since last I wrote.
Here’s a cute little video of us in the car: me handing Jonah some lip balm and showing him how to press his lips together afterward.
Lots of writing work today. I can tune my TV to 1270 and go back to the music…