|And again I spare you with a cut...
||[Oct. 1st, 2004|03:55 am]
There's just too much going on in my head not to put it down somewhere.|
Fuck, shit, god damn, sonofabitch, rat fucking bastard, bloody hell!!!!!
My first appointment with the therapist is October 15th at 3pm. Yes, I said "my". I spent about 30 minutes on the phone with him and I really like the guy. He informed me that the first appointment, I am to leave Max at home. It will not endear him to this nice old gentleman if he is subjected to an hour either A.) Sitting in a waiting room wondering what the hell is going on or B.) Sitting in an office and listening to Mommy talk "about" him right in front of him.
It's story time again, folks. Get comfy.
This is a story about a woman named SMC. (No, that's not her real name...) When I first met her, I really wasn't sure about her. Not at all. Let's get right to the truth. She didn't look a thing like I expected her to. I had heard so much about this "girlfriend" of a friend of mine. I wasn't prepared. That's the damn truth. Now, I'm not a person to make judgments right off the bat based on something as insignificant as appearance. I'm just sayin'...I wasn't sure *what* I was supposed to think. Or say. Or do. Caught me off guard.
After I got over *that* whole moment, I spent the rest of the weekend hearing things come out of this woman's mouth that made me think "Holy crap! Did she just say that???" Now, this is me, right? Queen of "what the fuck do you mean that's not appropriate???" I'm open. I wear my heart and soul and life like a badge for the world to see. How I could have possibly been boggled is *still* beyond me.
I went home thinking "I really cannot form an opinion. I'm at a loss. I don't know what I think."
Time went by and I discovered this person had a journal. Truth be told, my sole intent for browsing this literary corner of cyber-space was to see exactly who this person my old buddy was dating was.
One day, I woke up. I checked the journal. I realized I hadn't read a single thing she'd written that didn't make me laugh, smile, grit my teeth in agreement of some bullshit involving society and the gene pool.
Since that time, what I know of this woman has blossomed into an immense amount of respect.
Tonight I called her and said "Help me." And she was there. For 2 1/2 hours, she listened to me replay the last 6 years of life. She offered encouragment, education and a no-bones-about-it-things-may-not-ever-get-easy insight into what I might expect.
The first one of you to jump up and yell at me "But you don't even KNOW if that's what it is yet" can just hit the fucking door running. I'm well aware that the mark may be so far off it's almost right on. If you'd care to continue reading and understand that I'm hashing this out in *MY* head....thanks. I appreciate it.
There are so many details about my son's short time on this planet that, for years, have made me go "HUH???" I always found reasons for *that* particular thing at the time it occured. We moved on. Now throw those things all into one big pot and you have a big helping of "Duh Stew".
When he was about 2 years old, he went to Miss Kim's. My mother had found her while he was visiting in August of 2000. I was having a hysterectomy. At some point during his stay, Miss Kim moved. I get a frantic call from my mother that "Everything is fine. They found him." He had managed to unlock the door and wander out into the neighborhood to walk to her "real" house. He knew how to get there. He didn't know what could happen to a 2 year old, alone and crossing intersections.
Anyplace we've ever gone with any regularity, he can tell you how to get there. He may not know the street names, but he damn sure knows what they look like and isn't keen on taking alternative routes. It throws him off. It freaks him out.
He does NOT cope well with change.
He has severe speech problems. (They are 90x better than they were last year after a year of speech therapy. They are still quite apparent.)
He says things that, to everyone else, seem totally out of place or unrelated. He mimics what he's heard, but isn't sure of the proper application. He wings it. He guesses a lot.
He must retreat to a "Max Zone" frequently. He must go upstairs for 5 or 10 minutes to "reset". He occasionally would prefer to invite others to his turf to play. On his terms.
So many things. So very many things.
Now, as I sit here, having talked two people's ears off and put all these puzzle pieces together...I'm faced with the realization that life may quickly become very different for me. My "it'll all just work itself out" strategy may have to undergo some serious alterations. My entire way of dealing with certain things just flat out might not work.
I don't blame myself. I don't blame anyone. He is my son and he is beautiful and I will continue to love him just as much as I did the day he was born. I do, however, want to kick myself because I kept throwing out the details and missed the entire picture alltogether. I don't tend to do that. How did I pull that off?
If one more soul tells me, right now "Oh, but it's just a MILD case, if it's even that", I'm going to blow a gasket. That's kinda like saying "Oh, it's just a mild case of war." War is war and war is hell. No two ways about it.
Sure, he might just be traumatized by something I managed to miss in his lifetime. He might just be totally quirky. He is still my son. No matter what is bugging him, it's important. It's my job to protect that heart and soul and mind to the absolute best of my ability.
On the always-present lighter note that I seem so apt to find....Poor Morgan. If her brother turns out to have some label such as autism or heebeegeebees or whatever....She's got the label of being the most average human being under this roof. Lesbian, FTM Trans who carries half a gene that causes a 1 in a million disease, guy with "military spine" who carries the other half and just happened to marry said FTM, 1 girl with severe physical discomfort that is incurable and misunderstood, 1 boy with hefty developmental delays and kinda stands out around here because he's got quite a bit darker tan than the rest of us pasty folk, 1 boy who can't quite process information on the same plane as we do....and one very normal little violin playing 4th grader who likes make-up and Mary-Kate and Ashley.
As a PSA to you all.....be really fucking careful when you say you are "bored".....you might just be cursed with never knowing boredom again.