My autistic son doesn’t like the radio on in the car when I pick him up, so I sit in the constipated late afternoon traffic with no music, news, or conversation rather than get him wound up.
I had a music station on while taking down the Christmas decor. It was making a big task go faster and better and my mood was up. It was too loud and made my wife’s headache worse.
If I’m out of the room, they feel like I’m ignoring them, even if I’m doing something necessary for them.
If I’m in the room, my presence can upset them. That happened yesterday at a doctor’s office. As the nurse went over my wife’s meds, it became clear that none of them were having the desired impact on her condition and symptoms. And we had to drag the autistic kid to the clinic with us, and he was radiating frustration. So my not-so-poker-face showed that I wasn’t liking the situation, either. It wasn’t just about me, it was for them, too. Nothing was helping them. And my face showed pain and irritation and exasperation. Which aggravated Melissa, who was trying to stay positive with her pain pushing 9 on a 10-is-worst scale.
I speak calmly to the autistic kid, and he takes a swing at me.
I speak sternly to the autistic kid, and he takes a swing at me.
I am a constant irritant to those in my care, plain and simple. As the confession in our church puts it, I’ve “sinned by what I have done, and by what I have left undone.”
It would be more difficult for them if I weren’t here; it’s not pleasant for them that I am.
So I am grateful to the Sioux City, IA airport. Their chosen three-letter designation expresses that special way in which care giving more than stinks, both for the care giver and the people cared for. Sometimes, care giving
(Photo credit: Prof. David O’Hara)