Blind Hope
We finally had to take Brian to the pediatrician today. He has been lethargic, glassy eyed and fatigued for three days. Every time we asked him how he was, he gave the same response: “better”. Brian despises going to any doctor’s office. It has nothing to do with the doctors or staff at the office to which we go – they are excellent. It has everything to do with the lurking possibility every time we go to the doctor that he will either have to have his throat swabbed or even worse get a shot. He hates both. To the point of hysteria. My husband always has to go with us to both help calm Brian and in the worst case restrain him. So we knew his “better” answer was a well-planned diversionary stalling tactic. His nervous energy began building the minute we got in the car. He knew where we were going and he was anticipating the worst. When we got to the office, he paced the waiting room and frantically worked his reet in his fingers to work through his anxiety. His oral stimming was loud and intense. When we got called to the exam room he reluctantly went in for the formalities. He was weighed, the doctor listened to his breathing and looked in his ears. The whole time his stress was building. He employed his other favorite tactic and began asking for fries which he gets every time we leave a doctor visit. But the moment of truth came and he had to say aah and let the doctor look into the back of his throat. This procedure does not bother him — it is the potential of what can come next. Of course his throat was white and splotchy. The next course was the throat swab and if that was positive for strep a shot. Brian knew it by our voices and looks. He knew it before we left the house. This has happened in the past but we always could work through it and do what needed to be done. But now he is fifteen and a strong young man. And now he had a panic attack. That had never happened before. His arms turned red. His neck spontaneously broke out into red spots. His breathing became labored. It was truly frightening and heartbreaking. He charged out of the exam room into the hallway. It took what seemed like an eternity to calm him and coax him back into the exam room. The nurses came in with the throat swab. He allowed them to get the swab in his mouth but immediately clamped down with his teeth preventing the swab from getting any where near the back of his throat. After two unsuccessful attempts his panic returned and he charged out of the exam room, down the hall, and back into the waiting room. When the nurses came into the waiting room, he charged out of the building, into the parking lot and sprinted to my husband’s car, losing one of his shoes in the process. As he sat in the car, the nurses came out again and tried the swab one more time. They got a slightly better swab but still not any where near what they wanted. But at that point it was over. My husband took him for fries and I waited for the lab result on the half swab. I realized that this will not change. I said to the nurses……”this will never get easier, will it?” He is only going to get bigger and stronger. Like so much of this autism experience, there is no answer. We will deal with it the best we can, but the bottom line is something as simple as getting a throat swab to check for strep is a monumental challenge. It is draining on us and ten times more draining on Brian. It caused him to experience a panic attack while he already was fighting a throat infection at best and strep at worst. We can only hope that as he further matures this process will become less terrifying for him. We have learned from experience not to rely too much on such hopes. My husband told me about a line in an ancient Greek play about Prometheus. (He reads that stuff) The myth was that Prometheus was a god who gave the gift of fire, the arts and sciences, and civilization to man. But Prometheus in this play says one of the greatest gifts he gave mankind was blind hope.
Amen to that.
Amen to that.
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| Brian sleeping off a summer sore throat 🙁 |