Feeling Better

Yesterday was a non-violent day, so I'm feeling a bit better. It's just all so moment-to-moment; there seems to be nothing to hang on to.

Today Max is having some oral surgery, which means he won't be allowed to eat or drink for 3 hours prior; this is an eternity for him. I will have to choose between letting him eat (and explaining myself to our great oral surgeon) or placing myself in harm's way, between Max and the pantry. It's something the therapist-types never understand. They say I should just firmly set limits, and not let Max get to the food. If I tell them that he will draw my blood, they look confused. Did they think I didn't learn how to say no when I was 2? I know how, I just have difficulty allowing harm to come just to make a point.

I have grey bruises on my arm, just healing from a few days ago...I didn't even say no, then. I still don't really understand what happened in the car that made Max decide he undo his brother's seatbelt and try to crash the car. There is no understanding Max's motivations; he has autism, after all.

But today is okay, so far. okay is relative, of course. Offended by the limitations of a Pokemon trainer, he destroyed some Lego instructions that belong to his brother, and kicked some Lego ships, but hasn't hurt anyone yet. And he's taken his now-pared-down meds. Lately we find ourselves wondering if the meds are doing anything. Take them/don't take them. Nothing ever changes here, when Max is home. I wonder if anything ever will. I almost never think about the future; how can I, with a life like this?

This day is like knowing that a twister is coming...in 40 minutes, Max needs to stop eating for 3 whole hours. The twister might hit the house; we are certainly in its path. But it might veer around us; sometimes Max can really rise to the occasion, especially for medical procedures. And how much should I let him hurt me before I just give him the damn chips? How much shall I prove myself as the perfect mother-of-autistic-child? Do I let him break my fingers, scratch until I bleed?

Do I have the self-control to stay calm while he hurts me, to take the abuse and torture? I'm the Michael Weston of the parenting milieu. I can stay calm, keep it together, act like I'm not wounded, tie my feelings up and swallow them down, choking only a little.

When I described this technique of coping, in front of a whole "parenting group", the facilitator, Jonathan, asked me what I thought the long-term effects of this emotion-swallowing could be. I told him, "I'll probably get cancer some day". He looked shocked by this confession, like he thought he'd explain some magical mind-body connection to a lowly parent like me.