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Posts Tagged ‘The Wheel’

“The wheel is turning and you can’t slow down,
You can’t let go and you can’t hold on,
You can’t go back and you can’t stand still,
If the thunder don’t get you then the lightning will.”

~ The Wheel by the Grateful Dead

I’ve probably quoted that before in this blog.  A funny fact is that I’ve never read my blog straight through from beginning to end.  I could be repeating quotes, stories, ideas…hell, all kinds of shit.

Well it appears our 15 minutes of fame are over.  Jonah’s been swept off the top ten stories of HLNtv.com by famous people and real news. And here I’d dreamed of some publisher happening upon our story and offering me an advance of $25,000 to edit the blog into a book…but not a one has materialized, thus far.  Heh.  I did, however, connect with all lots of amazing new people. People just like me. And supportive souls. And adults on the spectrum.  We’re all in a magical, leaky, strangely expanding ship – the S.S. Autism.

The whole experience, though, was a jolt of affirmation I really needed.  (I thrive on affirmation; it’s damn near Pavlovian).

The thing is someone gave me a chance to tell my story, and I’m grateful for that chance. Thank you, KC.

But the wheel turns, and comes a time for things I don’t want to think about.  Jonah’s first visit to a rheumatologist in this area on Friday, and, on Monday, exploratory eye surgery. I pray to God those same two awesome people who drove him up last time, E and J, will be there.  With them everything will be okay.  It will be okay if Jonah kicks and it will be okay if I burst out sobbing and I don’t have to worry about keeping it together because they will help, they will know what to do and what to say and how to navigate the whole mess.  They have compassion and knowledge and heart, these people.  They love.  Thank God, they love.

Because without them I’d fall apart again. I can’t stand the thought of Jonah scared. In pain.

I remember holding him in my arms  for his first eye surgery, when they implanted the Retisert – how he looked at me with this deep, intense fear in his eyes as I placed him on the operating table…how I watched him go limp-that-looks-like-dead as the anesthesia took effect.  I kept it together long enough to look the surgeon in the eye and whisper “please help my son.”  She held my gaze and promised me, silently, nodding.

I remember closing the door and flattening myself out against the coolness of the wall on the other side.  Telling myself to breathe.  To trust.

Throughout these last ten years I have entrusted my child to so many people.  I am so lucky, so grateful.  I trust and I trust.  To do anything else is to deliberately envision (create?) a worse reality. At least with trust there is hope.

“You must trust and believe in people or life becomes impossible.” ~ Anton Chekhov

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I’m told that someone once asked the Buddhist Monk Thich Nhat Hanh to explain Buddhism in one phrase, and he paused and answered:  “everything changes.”

Several things are changing now, actually.  Got very good news about my position changing at work (in a way that I am very appreciative of and happy about) and also have an appointment this morning to visit St. Colman’s residential educational placement school, which is only about 10 minutes from my home, as opposed to the 4 or 5 other residential schools we’re applying to, which are all at least an hour away.  It would be so much nicer to be able to see Jonah pretty much whenever I wanted, and I hope the tour goes well and they have a place for him.

When I was in the hospital, the nurse who handed out meds had seen my file and knew my story.  She told me that she doesn’t usually share personal information with patients, but that she had placed her son (who also had autism) at St. Colman’s when he was 7.  Now he is 21 and about to age-out into an adult home; she had nothing but wonderful things to say about the place, how far he had come, how wonderful the staff was, how much she appreciated everything they had done for her son.  I swear everything happens for a reason.  It is no mistake that I met this woman.

On Wednesday Jonah had 9 aggressions at school, and Andy picked him up early to take him to the doctor for something the nurse said was patiki eye…tiny dots on his left (bad) eye…the redness was traveling down his face and the nurse was concerned.  But they never made it to the doc; Jonah attacked in the car halfway up the Northway and Andy called me from his cell phone and told me to cancel the appointment; I could hear a struggle in the background and sighed.   When I went to the house after work, Andy wasn’t up to reliving the details – Jonah had fallen asleep by then and his face did look a little red but he didn’t seem to be in any pain, so Andy said he’d try to take him again tomorrow if he needed to.

Yesterday there was no call from the school nurse, but Andy’s car broke down on Colvin Avenue, which is about 3 miles from our house.   He called AAA (thanks, dad, who always gives us each a membership for Christmas) and then had the car towed to a nearby repair shop.  He called me to tell me what had happened.  I asked if he wanted me to come pick him up but he said he was going to go for a walk anyway that day, so he walked home.  Just one more thing to deal with.  The big property tax bill came too, and now a car repair.  Good thing neither Andy or I really mind not having much money.

Then Jonah’s log book said he’d had 10 aggressions that day- 9 at staff and one toward a peer.  This frequency is as bad as it was before we started him on medication, and I’ve become almost numb to this kind of news.  It only serves to make me feel sorry for Andy, for the people at Wildwood, and to underscore the necessity of placement.  It gives me an all over, bone-deep, constant anxiety that feels like a new kind of normalcy now.  I’m on anti-anxiety meds but I find myself wanting to mainline them straight into my veins – to sleep, perchance to wake with life as it was 8 years ago or so – a small but comfortable house, a sweet beautiful baby in my arms, a happy husband to come home to me each night after work.

But everything changes.  The wheel turns, and those squashed at the bottom will rise again.  I just wish the wheel would turn a little faster…

“The wheel is turning and you can’t slow down,
You can’t let go and you can’t hold on,
You can’t go back and you can’t stand still,
If the thunder don’t get you then the lightning will.

Small wheel turn by the fire and rod,
Big wheel turn by the grace of God,
Every time that wheel turn ’round,
Bound to cover just a little more ground.”

~ The Grateful Dead

For my peeps at the hospital, wherever you are — for everyone reading this, leaving comments, praying for us, thinking of us, calling me, sharing your own stories, expressing your compassion, wanting to help — I thank you.  It means more to me than you will ever know.

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