Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘retina’

On Tuesday morning, I set out with something like hope to meet Jonah and the two caregivers who’d driven him up for his glaucoma doctor appointment.  Jonah hadn’t seen one of the caregivers, J, in a long time.  J and Jonah have a special bond, and I’m sure Jonah was thrilled when he first saw him.  I love watching them together: a big brother and his little pal.

Jonah was so good while we waited in the hall.  He amused himself, turning circles, humming, making random noises, occasionally approaching J or P or me to touch us lightly or lean in for a hug.   Of course I’d come prepared with bubbles, octopus, peanut butter crackers, strawberry seltzer, and peppermint tic-tacs.  He was as quiet as an NT kid.  Probably quieter, for a few minutes anyway.

He even sat down nicely in the waiting room chair (for a few minutes)   :-)

He even sat down nicely in the waiting room chair for a while

…shortly thereafter deciding to chillax into “punk ass” pose:

I love the punk-ass pose...almost always accompanied by the thumb-suck, making it even funnier

I love the punk-ass pose…almost always accompanied by the thumb-suck, making it even funnier

Jonah was great for the eye test too, but the glaucoma doctor seemed to underestimate and overestimate my son’s cognitive abilities.  What I mean by that is:

Doc wants to assess Jonah’s left eye only so he covers the right eye and puts the Big-Ass-E up on the screen.  Boo probably can’t see a thing but he’s also no dummy.  He’s been to dozens of eye appointments, and he knows damn well the first letter they ask him to read is always E.  Sure enough, when the doc puts that giant E on the screen and asks Jonah what letter he sees, “E,” Jonah announces confidently.  I tell the doc that Jonah knows the first letter is always E.  So the doc shows him the second line:  A  L  O.

Not missing a beat, Jonah tells him “E F G.”  He has no idea, but has E F G is the standard answer he uses at such times.

The doc sighs and shuffles through some drawers; he finds a card with the letter E on it, and I wonder how this will help since we’ve already determined Jonah will answer “E” to just about anything asked of him.  Jonah watches as the doc holds the card up and then turns it to the right, so now it looks like a boxy M.

boxy m

“Jonah, which way is the E pointing?”   Jonah says nothing, so the doc’s next idea is to ask the same question using more difficult terminology.

“Jonah, which way are the E’s tines pointing – up, down, right, or left?’

E F G,” says Jonah.

“The tines,” the doc tries again.  He may ask well ask Jonah for the square root of 3,481*.

“I wish I had my alphabet cards,” I say.  This is a good glaucoma doctor, awards all over his wall, but he never seems to remember (or doesn’t understand) Boo — and by now he’s seen him in the office probably a dozen times.  Maybe it’s just that I’m too close to it all, and to Jonah — whose language, largely unspoken, I understand.

Finally, the doc holds up five fingers and asks Jonah how many.  When Jonah answers “two,” I think we all know there isn’t much sight in the left eye. 

The good news, though, is that the doc told us Jonah could have some of his sight restored after the blood cell clouding dissipates.  It just remains to be seen (no pun intended).  He was concerned, though, about a surprisingly low pressure read in the left eye.   He wanted Jonah to get an ultrasound at the other (retina) doc next door, right away.  He called to tell them we were coming — and we braced ourselves for the dire possibilities inherent in this plan.

But Jonah surprised us, happily amenable to “doctor number two.”

He actually sat patiently through two eye exams with two different doctors within 40 minutes of one another:

doctor number one

doctor number one
doctor number two

doctor number two

After the ultrasound, doctor number two said he liked what he saw of Jonah’s eye, and that his right eye looks just fine.

It was a wonderful day.  I suppose it’s a little strange that some of my best and happiest interactions with my son are at doctor appointments, but then both the good and bad can happen anywhere – so perhaps it isn’t strange at all.

Yesterday (in the ongoing heat and humidity that will surely mark this summer of 2013) my mom and I drove down to another wonderful day with Boo.

Good day, sir!

Good day, sir!

While Jonah took his beloved bath, we (meaning mostly me) recited his favorite scene near the tail-end of the 1971 film “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory,” eliciting great smiles and giggling  from Boo.  GOOD DAY, SIR!   I love to hear him laugh.

There was only one incident during car ride to transfer station and I managed to capture it in photos from beginning to end.  No one was harmed during this incident, which was mighty nice.

Still relatively happy

Still relatively happy

We think he didn't like the volume of the song (probably not loud enough for his taste) or the commercial break, or his dislike of the song itself, though it remained a mystery why it made him so desperately upset and sad.

We think he didn’t like the volume of the song (probably not loud enough for his taste) or the commercial break, or his dislike of the song itself, though it remained a mystery why it made him so desperately upset and sad.

Andy's pulling over now.  Jonah is almost on the floor, kicking his legs up the front and beginning to cry.

Andy’s pulling over now. Jonah is almost on the floor, kicking his legs up into the front seat and beginning to cry.

After being bear-hugged and comforted by daddy, Jonah resumes his punk-ass pose.

After being bear-hugged and comforted by daddy, Jonah resumes a punk-ass pose.

This time when mom and I drove back to Albany it was with a light heart, and to my lovely musical selection: Guster Live Acoustic.

He has had a good many days in a row, sweet Boo.  And he gifted me with many hugs and kisses on Saturday, to last me ’til I see him next, on Wednesday, at the same two doctors in a row (this time planned that way).

I am grateful indeed.  Thanks especially to J and P, who as always were a huge help and support.

How I do love my amazing little boy.

* 59

Read Full Post »

Whenever I stop blogging for a week or longer, there is too much to say.  Then another day goes by and more happens, and I start to dread attempting to sift through it all to highlight all the events, which then usually get amalgamated.  So be it.

Sometimes I’m lazy and turn everything into a pictorial.  This will be kind of like that, I suppose.

Last week Jonah had a doc appointment with the pediatric rheumatologist at Albany Med.  I love her and her staff.  They get Jonah right into a room and usually see him quickly.  I’d made sure to buy a whole pile of octopi, so I was prepared with both that and a bag of fruit snacks for Boo.  I called my dad to see if he wanted to come, because Jonah is rarely aggressive at this particular doctor, and I thought Jonah would like to see his “pa.”  So my dad met us there.  But Murphy’s Law being what it is, Jonah came at me at his usual light-speed and grabbed the front of my shirt, nearly ripping it in half down the middle.  Luckily both N and P were there from the school, so they intervened quickly and that was that.  It was enough to send my dad off into the waiting room for the rest of the appointment.  Though I tried twice to convince him to come back in the room, he refused.  His theory is Jonah aggressed because he was there, which may or may not be true…but he was a good boy for the rest of the appointment.

Jonah with his octopus and fruit snacks (and still, the eye shield)

Jonah with his octopus and fruit snacks (and still, the eye shield)
Boo, acting all punk-ass, slouched in the big chair

Boo, acting all punk-ass, slouched in the big chair

It’s a shame my dad did not get to see him for a longer period of time. I think he carries a deep sadness inside him, a kind of trepidation in his gut that simply will not abate.  I understand this, though it’s distressing for me to witness.  Sometimes I wish my parents had adopted another kid or two, so they’d have more grandchildren.

This was the second doc appointment that week, the first being the amazing one I’d talked about last post, so I got to see Jonah 4 times in one week, most of which were affectionate and joyful visits.

Though his retina doc still wants Boo to wear the eye shield, we got permission for him to go swimming with a life vest on (so he wouldn’t go too much underwater), and evidently Jonah was okay with that, even though he has never in his life needed a life vest.  I thought he’d pitch a fit, wanting to go deep under and swim along the bottom as is his preference…but I suppose he was in no mood to look this gift horse in the mouth (even one which forced him to compromise).

I missed him so much after that — maybe because I’d gotten to see him so many times the week before.  So I was really looking forward to yesterday.  When my mom and I were driving down I was in an awesome mood.

But the visit was tough.  Jonah was on the playground when we arrived to pick him up, and though I held my arms out wide for a big hug, he ran straight into daddy’s embrace.  This I can handle and understand; he is with his dad more than he is with me, but still I can’t help wishing he’d run to mama once in a while.

We arrived at the apartment and all seemed okay.  I was proud of myself because once he tried to lash out at me and I deflected his swing “Karate Kid” style, wax on-wax off, just like Daniel-son.  But then he got me good a few minutes later, coming at me with two fists and tightening each on a wad of my hair.  I called out and Andy came running, lowering Jonah to the floor and telling me to come with them (as if I had a choice).  I grabbed each of Jonah’s fists and pushed them into my head so as to lower the pain level and ensure he didn’t dig his fingernails too deep into my scalp.   While Andy was trying to disengage Jonah’s fingers and my mom tried to reason with him (Now Jonah, don’t hurt mommy), I writhed on the floor and cried like a wimp.

Then Jonah scratched up my eyelid (my eyes were closed tight) and bit my left arm, twice, hard, leaving painful welts I can feel today.  His shoes were still on, so I got a few nice hard kicks to the stomach as well.  Finally Andy disengaged him and I ran into the bathroom and closed the door.  If I’d had a sense of humor about it at the time, I’d have taken my camera into the bathroom and shot pics of myself.  My hair looked Halloween-crazy, teased into a mountain of snarls and tangles.  I carefully combed it out and removed a huge handful of hair from the comb,  washed my face with cool water, took a few deep breaths, and came back out to the kitchen.

After that he was mostly okay.  I’d bought him a train video (a double DVD of real trains) and he liked that.  We took Jonah for a car ride (my mom stayed back after I helped her log into Facebook so she could look up some relatives) and Andy gave him an eye drop, and for a while it was peaceful enough.  Later we had to pull over twice because Boo started crying and asking for one of his favorite caretakers at his residence.  Each time Andy got out of the car and hugged him tight, letting him cry.  I breathed deep.

We'd taken the eye shield of to give him his drop but you can see how it looked all gooky

We’d taken the eye shield off to give him his drop, but you can see how it looked all gooky

We have two more eye doc appointments next week – one at the glaucoma doc and another back at the retina doc.  I hope and pray the blood in his eye has abated, and that he will have some sight left in the eye, and that he can swim as he likes for as long as he likes.  My poor Boo.

Someone at his school called me last week to see if I had any questions about Jonah’s progress or anything I was concerned with, and I mentioned the medications and the aggressions-sans-antecedents, and she assured me that it was a fine idea to speak with Boo’s med doc, though I still want to wait until his eye situation is under control.  Also, the pediatric rheumatologist saw no problems with his joints, so if he does not need it for the eye, we may be taking him off the Humira and possibly also the Methotrexate.  So I don’t want to monkey with his psych meds at the same time.

It is hot today and I am smiling just picturing him able to go in that pool – not being left behind as all the other kids get to swim.  I hope he is having a happy day.  I’m still doing well and shrugging off the incidents where he hurts me.  I know he does not mean to hurt his mama.  I know he loves me and I love him and we are all doing everything we can to ensure his happiness, safety, and well-being.

I know we are lucky – especially when I broaden my perspective and think of the rest of this planet.

Every morning I wake up and the first thing I think is thank you.  My new job has an overwhelmingly positive effect on every single piece of what I think, what I do, and what has become most important to me.

Andy may bring Jonah up this week to swim in my mom’s neighbor’s pool.   We just have to borrow a life vest from someone.  I will get in the pool with him and we’ll have a blast.  At least this is what I hope.

“We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.”

~ Martin Luther King, Jr.

Read Full Post »

“Likely as not, the child you can do the least with will do the most to make you proud.”

Mignon McLaughlin

It was the first thing Boo asked for when I met him at the car; Andy had just driven up to the eye doctor’s office and I was there, yesterday, waiting for them.  “Octopus?”  he said when he saw me, reaching out his hand.  “Hi, Boo.  I’m sorry.  Mama forgot the octopus,” I answered, cursing myself.  I’ve bought him so many octopi and he destroys or loses them all, or they get so grimy and un-washable we have to toss them away.  But next appointment I’ll be sure to have one at hand.

Jonah and his "octopus."

An older picture of Jonah and his “octopus.”

This is a picture of what Jonah calls “octopus.”  Any kind of those squishy rubbery toys with nub or finger-like appendages will fit the bill – even those that look like caterpillars or balls.  To Jonah they are all octopus.

He was a good boy in the car ride up, and a good boy at the eye doc office, even though we had to wait a good while in a small room.

Daddy played 'push and pull' Jonah's legs while we waited.

Daddy played ‘push and pull’ Jonah’s legs while we waited.

After a while, Jonah started turning his circles in the small area, becoming less patient.

You can see where we've cut the hair along the top of his head to keep it away from his eye shield.   What he needs is a buzz cut for the summer.

You can see where we’ve cut the hair along the top of his head to keep it away from his eye shield. What he needs is a buzz cut for the summer.

We sang “I’ve been working on the railroad” for a while, trading lines, but then he stopped and said “no,” clearly done with that entertainment.  Finally, I thought the taking of the pictures themselves might occupy him. Sometimes it makes him mad, so usually when I take photos I do so surreptitiously.  But this day he enjoyed it.  I took one of him with his daddy and then daddy took one of him with me:

Coming in for a hug with daddy.

Coming in for a hug with daddy.

Sitting on mama's lap

Sitting on mama’s lap

Eventually Andy went into the hallway to tell someone that Jonah was fixing to have a tantrum (though he really was still being good) — we knew the longer he was left in the room, the harder it would be for the doc to examine him once she arrived.  Soon afterward the doc appeared.  She had me take all the tape off his eye shield and remove it altogether; I hoped against hope we could leave it off for good this time.  But his eye still looked bloody and the pressure was too high (around 32) – both of which things, she told us, were to be expected.

She put two kinds of eye drops in his eye, one of which stings, and did an ultrasound with blue goo all over a wand against his closed eye.  All of these things would bother an adult, let alone a child of 11 with autism.  But my little trooper was so good – he patiently let her examine, shine lights, and more while Andy and I waited anxiously.

She said the ultrasound looked like things were much better, and she wanted him to have two more appointments, a week apart.

Unfortunately, we had to put the eye shield back on.  Jonah seemed resigned to this and happily gave both of us kisses when it was all over.  I needed to return home to work, but Andy brought him to see grandma, and then back to his residence, without much trouble at all.

I was so proud of my Boo.

Thank you to all of you who sent prayers and well wishes through comments, or through my facebook page, or by e-mail, or live and in person, or in your hearts.  Jonah loves you all, unconditionally.  Mama promises.

Read Full Post »

There is a lot to say, and I’m in one of those slumps where writing is effort and, more than effort — an exercise in telling when it is easier to stay silent.  When it is preferrable to play an online scrabble game instead, or watch another episode of All in The Family.  To bury my face in a familiar book and re-read it for the fifth time.  To sleep.

Today is M’s birthday; tomorrow we’re going to see Lewis Black, a comedian we both love.  And on Monday I went to see the Beatles band Rain at the same venue with my awesome friend K, her husband, and his sister.  Had a wonderful time, and ate, appropriately enough, at the Old English Pub first.

K gave me a gift bag when she picked me up for the show.  I had no idea why, until she explained it was a birthday present for Jonah.  Stunned, I looked inside.  She’d gotten him two cool rubbery sensory toys, a tennis-ball sized bouncy-ball that lights up, a big bottle of bubbles, and some sidewalk chalk.  I was hoping she wouldn’t see as I tried hard to keep it together but tears escaped my eyes anyway.  At least I was quiet about it.  Only a scant few times, since Jonah was three, has anyone outside my family given Boo a birthday present – or even acknowledged or mentioned his birthday.

On his third birthday, the last kids’ party I ever had for him, he was so completely disinterested.  Jonah didn’t care about the party at all.  As the kind parent guests arranged games for the little kids, I was upstairs trying to coax Jonah back to the party when all he wanted to do was sit and stare out his window.  After that I only had family parties, and, a few years later, no parties at all.  At least he had a good one this year at his residence, with presents, pizza, and balloons.

I have learned not to care so much whether or not people remember his birthday.  I get it, after all.  People don’t know what to get for a kid with autism.  Or they hear me say “he doesn’t know his birthday from a hole in the ground” and so they figure I don’t think his birthday matters.  I understand, and don’t expect.  Hell, I forget birthdays all the time.  But K’s gift sure was a wonderful surprise.

I took one of her gifts with me today when I met Jonah (driven and accompanied by J & E from school) at his retina doctor’s office.  E told me Jonah had an aggressive incident at school today and had to be held.  But he was a very, very good boy for the appointment, for all the eyedrops and demands to look here and there, the bright lights, the plastic thing to be held over each eye as we request he read letters and numbers over and over, the machine he must put his chin inside.  All of it.

Jonah was a very good patient today.

Jonah was a very good patient today.

Because he was so good, the doctor got a better look inside his eye then she ever had before.

I’m sorry.  That’s all I can write tonight.

I’ll come back tomorrow, or the next day.

I love you, precious Boo.

Read Full Post »

“I been talkin’ to Jesus, but he’s not talkin’ to me…”  ~Guster

Wednesday morning I met Andy and Jonah at the Retina Care Center at 7:30am for Jonah’s eye exam.  The last couple times Andy tried to drive him, they never even made it to the building because Jonah was violent, so we hadn’t been there for a while.  And even though we always ask for the first appointment of the day and it is the crack of dawn, there are always about 9 other patients waiting; I don’t think Jonah’s ever been the first patient actually seen by the doctor.

The staff knows Jonah falls apart quickly – they’ve certainly seen it many times before.  And when I say “falls apart,” I mean falls the fuck apart, aggressing so that Andy has to get him out – biting, scratching, kicking and thrashing – and screaming so piercingly, frighteningly loud you could sell the sound as a special-effects scream for a horror movie.

But Jonah did well this time.  He only needed to be re-directed about 40 times during the course of our 15-20 minute wait.  He begged repeatedly for “ride brown car-ah,” dumped the container of glaucoma brochures, nestled his little face against his daddy’s, asking for hug?, yelling MEOW, walking over toward the exam room and back to mama, announcing boobie!, flopping and flailing on the carpet at least twice.  All this on medication to calm him.

(My friend K just e-mailed to tell me it looks like Thing from The Addams Family is crawling on Jonah’s head, and I laughed my head off.  It totally does.  Creepy!)

It’s funny how you go from being embarrassed by your child’s behavior to not really giving a damn if people think you’re bad parents or your kid is an unruly retard.  It took me a good while to get to the place where you don’t give a damn.  It feels better here.

When they finally gave Jonah his eye exam, though, I was impressed at his cooperation to deal with the dilating drops, more waiting in another waiting room, sitting in a strange chair in a small exam room in the near-dark, holding the black plastic thingee over one eye, reciting his letters.  (How do they get this information from non-verbal patients?)  He tolerated the different slides of  smaller and smaller letters – with both eyes, even.  The doc told me later that his eyes were about 20/25.  After she examined his eyes in another exam room (with fancier equipment he also tolerated admirably), Andy and Jonah went bye bye doctor and I stayed behind to talk with her.

She’s kind, sharp and smart; she was the one who operated on Jonah’s left eye.  I trust her.  I made an appointment for October and left, holding the card in my hand, thinking the next time we bring him, it will be after picking him up where he’ll be living, an hour and a half away, at the Anderson School for Autism.  Halfway down the hallway stairs I stopped walking and turned the card over and over in my hand.  “…where he’ll be living, at the Anderson School for Autism…”

I revisited the thought from a place of detachment, kind of the way you do when you first hear about the death of someone close. There isn’t a right way to react to all that has happened during this past year.  I’ve gone into a mode where I’ve ceased to be surprised by anything at all, where every part of me knows that anything can happen, at any time, to anyone.  Everything comes at us so quickly now, and there is a sense of unshakable urgency.

Yesterday after work Andy and I took Jonah for a car ride, and on the way home there was a beautiful rainbow.  (Whenever I see a rainbow, I stop whatever it is I’m doing to take a picture – even if it means running out into the parking lot at work and getting all wet to do it).   I pulled the car over and took as many pictures as I could before I started to feel like that double-rainbow dude on Tosh.O.


I need to continue to notice things, be grateful for things, believe things.
There is no other way right now.  This is my necessary path.

Read Full Post »

%d bloggers like this: