Two wrongs don't make a right, and all that jazz. Needless to say, my "fall back" approach did nothing to improve the relationship. Up to that point I had exercised radio silence to keep the peace; I tried politely explaining that he was ripping my guts out with some of his behaviors; I tried counseling, and I tried pulling back. There were only two things left to try.
I told him the unabashed truth about my feelings on everything. My graduation, his unemployment, the strippers, the midnight text messages to "business associates," the $300 monthly parties he was throwing ... the works. Things went from bad to worse. We replaced discussions with screaming sessions, and then we stopped speaking all together. At the same time, Caleb stopped eating.
I had tried everything but divorce, and I was fully prepared to take the leap. We formally separated and each began speaking with lawyers. In order to maintain some stability for Caleb, J moved out of our home. We began focusing on Caleb's eating disorder. It was the only place in our relationship where civility still thrived.
To this day, Caleb's progress and challenges are all we can talk about without sparks flying.
John and I were formally divorced last month. It was a very difficult decision to make for a number of reasons. For one, I recently lost my father to a heart attack. He had been dead for more than a month before his body was found. (Note that I was fired from one of my 3 jobs for going to NY to bury my father.) My mother has two progressive diseases: congenital heart failure and Lupus. Now I was also losing my husband.
I anticipated that I would soon be totally alone...and for the rest of my life. Parents are irreplaceable, and how could I trust that any other person would love my son like his own? If I had to choose, I would pick Caleb's happiness over my own everyday and twice on Sunday. He is my family. I had to be strong enough to make the right decision for him.
I contacted a paralegal who would file the divorce paperwork at a reduced cost and found another place to live. I asked for nothing in the settlement (child support, however, is not up for negotiation. The state requires that a child support agreement is reached in order to dissolve a marriage). In fact, I left John with my furniture, with the washer and dryer, and a multitude of other items that I would have to replace. I took only my clothing and Caleb's bedroom furniture.
The divorce was finalized last month. I cried. John got sick. Caleb was notably solemn that day.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
Side Note
I have to admit that continuing along this path is difficult. I have a certain amount of reservation about putting my business "in the streets." I know that some of my and John's mutual friends are following this blog. I suppose this post is for you more than anyone else.
It is not my desire or intention to malign anyone mentioned in this blog. Everyone who makes an appearance in my postings, with the exception of Caleb, has been made aware of the fact that I am writing this blog, and that they are in it. This is my truth. And this is my outlet. It has been such a long time since I've looked forward to anything; it's been even longer since that thing was writing. I am inspired again.
Perhaps when I am in an environment where I have the support of family and friends, I will not need this anymore. But for now, I have this and my son's laugh. So, I won't apologize for anything I'm going to say, and I will only hold back for me.
It is not my desire or intention to malign anyone mentioned in this blog. Everyone who makes an appearance in my postings, with the exception of Caleb, has been made aware of the fact that I am writing this blog, and that they are in it. This is my truth. And this is my outlet. It has been such a long time since I've looked forward to anything; it's been even longer since that thing was writing. I am inspired again.
Perhaps when I am in an environment where I have the support of family and friends, I will not need this anymore. But for now, I have this and my son's laugh. So, I won't apologize for anything I'm going to say, and I will only hold back for me.
Time Flies ... Period
The early part of 2010 is hazy. We had been back in Atlanta for a year. By this point I had three jobs. John had trouble finding work, but finally got the inside track on a middle-management job at a local hospital. His good friend's cousin was hiring for the position. It was not the kind of job that John wanted, but the frequency and severity of our arguments over money was becoming untenable. He took it.
I was studying for my PhD exams. I was supposed to read, digest, and regurgitate a hundred + books, articles, and films. I would be given three days to write three ten-page papers. A week or so later I would stand before my committee for two hours, and answer questions about any and all of the texts, my essays, and my future as a scholar.
The day before my written exam, John told me he had effectively quit his job because it was too stressful. The next morning, I literally wrote him a 'Dear John' letter, and moved into a friend's house for the weekend to complete my exams. By the grace of God, I was able to concentrate enough to write one complete essay, 3/4 of the second, and the introduction for the third on the first day. John called somewhere in the middle of the madness to thank me. He said he didn't know what to do about the job situation, and my letter had given him clarity. He apologized, and essentially asked for his job back.
It was also around this time that Caleb got the first of two Autism diagnoses. I completely checked out. I finally got the gumption to see a therapist (please see my previous statement on counseling). It turns out I had a major depressive and anxiety disorder. To say that I was exhausted would be an understatement. I knowingly pulled back on everything. If my husband refused to bathe my child, so would I. If he refused to get up with him in the morning, so would I. (Disclaimer: My child never went without baths or attention. I hedged my bets.) So, John had to step up. It was John who made the contacts to get my son into Babies Can't Wait. He contacted the Frazer Center for Autism, and got the ball rolling for Caleb's admission there. John contacted the Marcus Center for Autism when Caleb stopped eating. And I didn't feel the slightest compunction about letting him do it. I felt that he had taken what I did for granted far too long, and I wanted him to see how difficult it truly was...Still, he could never truly know what I had gone through. His job let him go; all he had to concentrate on was Caleb...
I was studying for my PhD exams. I was supposed to read, digest, and regurgitate a hundred + books, articles, and films. I would be given three days to write three ten-page papers. A week or so later I would stand before my committee for two hours, and answer questions about any and all of the texts, my essays, and my future as a scholar.
The day before my written exam, John told me he had effectively quit his job because it was too stressful. The next morning, I literally wrote him a 'Dear John' letter, and moved into a friend's house for the weekend to complete my exams. By the grace of God, I was able to concentrate enough to write one complete essay, 3/4 of the second, and the introduction for the third on the first day. John called somewhere in the middle of the madness to thank me. He said he didn't know what to do about the job situation, and my letter had given him clarity. He apologized, and essentially asked for his job back.
It was also around this time that Caleb got the first of two Autism diagnoses. I completely checked out. I finally got the gumption to see a therapist (please see my previous statement on counseling). It turns out I had a major depressive and anxiety disorder. To say that I was exhausted would be an understatement. I knowingly pulled back on everything. If my husband refused to bathe my child, so would I. If he refused to get up with him in the morning, so would I. (Disclaimer: My child never went without baths or attention. I hedged my bets.) So, John had to step up. It was John who made the contacts to get my son into Babies Can't Wait. He contacted the Frazer Center for Autism, and got the ball rolling for Caleb's admission there. John contacted the Marcus Center for Autism when Caleb stopped eating. And I didn't feel the slightest compunction about letting him do it. I felt that he had taken what I did for granted far too long, and I wanted him to see how difficult it truly was...Still, he could never truly know what I had gone through. His job let him go; all he had to concentrate on was Caleb...
Counseling
The problem with marriage counseling changed with each therapist. Our first counselor became so interested in my background as the daughter of an alcoholic mother and drug-addicted father, that he forgot all about the purpose of our sessions. John would sit there in silence as the hippie therapist (still clad in his 1970s give love a chance uniform, no less) attempted to make sense of my upbringing and my present achievements. Both John and I got tired of that very quickly.
We tried again. By the time I reached out to the second counselor, I knew our relationship was in trouble. I decided to find a black male therapist who I hoped would referee our arguments. I figured John couldn't pull the race or gender cards if another black male told him he was falling short of the marks of husband and father. Boy did I make a mistake. It turns out that I had found the world's most chauvinistic therapist this side of the equator. He advised me that it was my JOB to care for the child and the house. (Again. Confused. If those were my jobs then shouldn't John be required to work, pay the bills? Shouldn't I, then, have the option of staying home to be a home-maker? I mean if we are going to go chauvinist, let's go the whole 9 yards.) He also suggested that John be permitted to spend more money in clubs, and that I should tighten my belt by starting my day earlier to prepare a bag lunch before I left for campus. In the end, I wrote old DR. GRANBERRY a letter stating that his lack of professionalism was affecting our therapeutic results. If he wanted to continue with us, there would have to be some changes. Once John read over my letter, he was too embarrassed to return to DR. GRANBERRY'S office. So, we were on to another counselor.
It was becoming more and more difficult to attend therapy because no counselor wanted to hold sessions with the child present. Unfortunately John and I had no support system down here, and very little money for sitters. Still, we made it happen. The next counselor was fairly non-descript. She had us engage in mirror exercises wherein one of us would speak for 5-7 minutes while the other listened. At the end of the "sending" period, the "receiver" would then repeat what s/he had heard her partner say. We got that down, but there was never a single moment when we addressed what the other party had said. It was a waste of money and time. So, we quit again, and would not revisit the issue until after I had asked for a divorce.
Perhaps you are thinking... isn't this supposed to be a blog about motherhood and autism? Yes, it is. What I am getting at here is that life didn't pause because Caleb was unable to walk or talk. We had to deal with these very weighty issues while trying to deal with our son. What I have noticed in writing these stories is that I am either writing all about Caleb or all about John. Truthfully, I can barely remember what was going on with the one when I was totally caught up with doing for the other. That remains a challenge for me. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
....Back to the divorce....
We tried again. By the time I reached out to the second counselor, I knew our relationship was in trouble. I decided to find a black male therapist who I hoped would referee our arguments. I figured John couldn't pull the race or gender cards if another black male told him he was falling short of the marks of husband and father. Boy did I make a mistake. It turns out that I had found the world's most chauvinistic therapist this side of the equator. He advised me that it was my JOB to care for the child and the house. (Again. Confused. If those were my jobs then shouldn't John be required to work, pay the bills? Shouldn't I, then, have the option of staying home to be a home-maker? I mean if we are going to go chauvinist, let's go the whole 9 yards.) He also suggested that John be permitted to spend more money in clubs, and that I should tighten my belt by starting my day earlier to prepare a bag lunch before I left for campus. In the end, I wrote old DR. GRANBERRY a letter stating that his lack of professionalism was affecting our therapeutic results. If he wanted to continue with us, there would have to be some changes. Once John read over my letter, he was too embarrassed to return to DR. GRANBERRY'S office. So, we were on to another counselor.
It was becoming more and more difficult to attend therapy because no counselor wanted to hold sessions with the child present. Unfortunately John and I had no support system down here, and very little money for sitters. Still, we made it happen. The next counselor was fairly non-descript. She had us engage in mirror exercises wherein one of us would speak for 5-7 minutes while the other listened. At the end of the "sending" period, the "receiver" would then repeat what s/he had heard her partner say. We got that down, but there was never a single moment when we addressed what the other party had said. It was a waste of money and time. So, we quit again, and would not revisit the issue until after I had asked for a divorce.
Perhaps you are thinking... isn't this supposed to be a blog about motherhood and autism? Yes, it is. What I am getting at here is that life didn't pause because Caleb was unable to walk or talk. We had to deal with these very weighty issues while trying to deal with our son. What I have noticed in writing these stories is that I am either writing all about Caleb or all about John. Truthfully, I can barely remember what was going on with the one when I was totally caught up with doing for the other. That remains a challenge for me. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
....Back to the divorce....
Help-less Part II
I was back in school taking a full course load, so I didn't have the mountain of available time that I did in Pennsylvania. John wasn't working, so the understanding was that he would care for the baby while I was teaching or taking classes. The problem was, there was no quid pro quo in this relationship. He felt no obligation to care for me in the manner that I did for him when we were in PA. Though we were living solely on my income and my student loans, John would go out 4 nights per week, have drinks (here comes the Crown again), and buy drinks for others. This, he told me, was called networking. I was confused. From where I sat it looked much more like notworking.
Because his networking activities tended to keep him out until the wee hours of the morning, John would frequently be too tired to take care of Caleb. So, I would get up early on the days that I had class, feed and change Caleb, and then wake John up to take the reigns. More than once I came home to find that my son was sitting in the very same booster seat I had placed him in when I left. Caleb was watching Barney (the only dvd we owned that would restart itself) and John was knocked out on the couch. It infuriated me.
If that wasn't bad enough, John advised me that we needed to put Caleb in daycare part-time so he could "politic" during the day. I couldn't believe my ears. I had held our son down when it was most difficult - when he wasn't sleeping through the night, when he was frightfully underweight, when he suffered from severe GI problems. And now we were talking daycare... and we had no money.
I got some part-time work grading foreign language exams online to supplement our income, and found a daycare that I thought was suitable for Caleb. Yes, I acquiesced. I did it because I preferred to have my son cared for by people who were actually required to do the job. He'd be safer in daycare. Besides, I could watch him on the webcam throughout the day.
John and I continued this power struggle. There were things he refused to do, and there were things I expected him to do. He would NOT bathe Caleb (he just didn't like to, he said). He would NOT get up with Caleb in the morning (he would consider it if I were willing to wake him up when I heard Caleb screaming, but wasn't the point of him getting up with the baby that I would get to sleep in some mornings?). To me, he was useless, and I was helpless. It was time to go to counseling.
Because his networking activities tended to keep him out until the wee hours of the morning, John would frequently be too tired to take care of Caleb. So, I would get up early on the days that I had class, feed and change Caleb, and then wake John up to take the reigns. More than once I came home to find that my son was sitting in the very same booster seat I had placed him in when I left. Caleb was watching Barney (the only dvd we owned that would restart itself) and John was knocked out on the couch. It infuriated me.
If that wasn't bad enough, John advised me that we needed to put Caleb in daycare part-time so he could "politic" during the day. I couldn't believe my ears. I had held our son down when it was most difficult - when he wasn't sleeping through the night, when he was frightfully underweight, when he suffered from severe GI problems. And now we were talking daycare... and we had no money.
I got some part-time work grading foreign language exams online to supplement our income, and found a daycare that I thought was suitable for Caleb. Yes, I acquiesced. I did it because I preferred to have my son cared for by people who were actually required to do the job. He'd be safer in daycare. Besides, I could watch him on the webcam throughout the day.
John and I continued this power struggle. There were things he refused to do, and there were things I expected him to do. He would NOT bathe Caleb (he just didn't like to, he said). He would NOT get up with Caleb in the morning (he would consider it if I were willing to wake him up when I heard Caleb screaming, but wasn't the point of him getting up with the baby that I would get to sleep in some mornings?). To me, he was useless, and I was helpless. It was time to go to counseling.
Help-less
. John and I had been separated for the first seven months of my pregnancy. I was finishing up my course work at Emory University (in Atlanta), and John, navy lieutenant turned civilian, had just gotten a job at Amazon in Pennsylvania. I had been seeing doctors in Atlanta, of course, to monitor my pregnancy. By the fifth month, the doctors "discovered" that I have hypothyroidism (a disease I'd been diagnosed with 13 years earlier, so it was in my chart). I discovered that thyroid disease places one in a high risk category for pregnancy. For the safety of the child, I was required to go to the hospital three times per week so the nurses could examine Caleb's heart rate and movement. Though I had come to know and like the nursing staff and the OBGYN's at this hospital, I realized that my having some family in the room with me when I delivered was as important as liking the people who would deliver my child.
I decided to move to PA after I turned in my final paper. What you must understand is that this was a true act of faith on my part. I was beyond ready to end my relationship with John before I took the pregnancy test(s). By that time we had been together for 1.5 years, and I had suffered a myriad of indignities in the relationship. When I graduated from the University of Georgia with my Master's degree, he was unable to attend the ceremony because he was in New York at a hip-hop conference. Though he returned on the day that I graduated, he opted to get a hotel room and spend my graduation night with an old female friend who was celebrating her 29th birthday. In his camera I saw pictures of this woman's cleavage. When I asked him about it, he simply replied, "Sorry. I couldn't help myself." Despite what had happened the month before, I was fully prepared to do it up big for his 30th birthday. But instead of spending time with me, he went to a strip club with a friend of his, and ended up spending the night at some woman's house -- no phone call.
So, I was ready to leave him. However, I had been hard wired to avoid becoming a statistic. I was one of two people in my old neighborhood on the lower east side of NY to graduate from college. I was the only person in the hood to receive a graduate degree. I had moved out of the projects and into the ivory tower. Why should I now choose to become a "baby mama?"
I had heard of women who attempt to get pregnant when they know they are about to lose their significant other, in the hopes of rekindling some romance. I always thought they were stupid. But here I was, hoping that a child would change things between John and I. When I broke the news, J went out, bought a bottle of Crown Royal, and got sloppy drunk. He would not call me or visit me. For two days our conversations were limited to texts. It was rather an inauspicious start to our "new" relationship.
I felt beyond slighted. I recalled him telling me about his college girlfriend (who was his last girlfriend before I entered the scene) getting pregnant. He got all choked up when he got to the part where she had an abortion against HIS will. I wondered if it was the fact that this ex of his was the daughter of a millionaire (her father was the VP of CBS) that made him think he could handle the challenges of parenthood in his early twenties. Clearly he was not prepared for the responsibility in his early thirties.
All of this was operating in the background when I decided to go to PA. Immediately I was placed on bed rest because Caleb was not gaining weight. I was only allowed to get out of bed for my 3 weekly appointments. It was at one of these appointments, which had become the bane of my existence, that I was told that Caleb's heart rate was off. "How do you feel about having a baby today?" Uh...It was six weeks early, so I didn't feel too good about it at all. But there's nothing like no choice to make you do something. I was induced. Five hours later I had a baby.
Caleb spent a month in the NICU; I was released four days after delivery. I cried, well, like a baby when I had to leave him. I visited the hospital two to three times per day to feed and play with my baby. Unfortunately, Caleb wasn't able to maintain a normal body temperature, so I was only permitted to have him out of the incubator for 15 minutes at a time. When he was released, my son weighed a little over 3lbs. I had to sit in the back seat with him for even the shortest trips to ensure that he didn't stop breathing (doctor's orders).
When he gained enough weight (that it is to say when he was roughly 5lbs) for my fear to abate, I set myself on this ridiculous course to be the real life June Cleaver. My priorities were pumping milk for Caleb, fattening him up, keeping the house clean, cooking multiple course meals, and looking cute when my husband came home. What did I get for my efforts? One week after I had Caleb, John began asking how long it would take me to lose the weight. After I lost 20lbs (in 14 days!), he would tell me that if I wanted to be intimate with him I would have to "dress sexier." When I bought sexy pj's, he would tell me that he was too tired to "go there."
Still, I kept trying to be the best mother/wife I could be. Of course, I was totally sleep deprived; I only got a break from being awakened every two hours for feeding when I was extremely ill (twice in 7 months). Caleb's mouth was too small to latch on to my mountain-sized breasts, so I had to pump every two hours (and it took an hour to fill up a bottle) and feed Caleb every two hours (and it took an hour for him to finish a bottle). Still, I managed to achieve my goals everyday without fail. Except for one. I was taking a Directed Reading Course so that I would not be behind on my course work when I returned to Emory from my maternity leave. That fell by the wayside. How did Claire Huxtable manage to juggle 5 kids, a marriage, and a career?
There was a light at the end of the tunnel. John had decided not to renew his contract with Amazon. He wanted to keep the family together and get back into music production, so he quit his job in December and prepared to move back to Atlanta with Caleb and I in January. He had no job prospects, but we were confident that he would be able to find something in Atlanta. We were wrong...
I decided to move to PA after I turned in my final paper. What you must understand is that this was a true act of faith on my part. I was beyond ready to end my relationship with John before I took the pregnancy test(s). By that time we had been together for 1.5 years, and I had suffered a myriad of indignities in the relationship. When I graduated from the University of Georgia with my Master's degree, he was unable to attend the ceremony because he was in New York at a hip-hop conference. Though he returned on the day that I graduated, he opted to get a hotel room and spend my graduation night with an old female friend who was celebrating her 29th birthday. In his camera I saw pictures of this woman's cleavage. When I asked him about it, he simply replied, "Sorry. I couldn't help myself." Despite what had happened the month before, I was fully prepared to do it up big for his 30th birthday. But instead of spending time with me, he went to a strip club with a friend of his, and ended up spending the night at some woman's house -- no phone call.
So, I was ready to leave him. However, I had been hard wired to avoid becoming a statistic. I was one of two people in my old neighborhood on the lower east side of NY to graduate from college. I was the only person in the hood to receive a graduate degree. I had moved out of the projects and into the ivory tower. Why should I now choose to become a "baby mama?"
I had heard of women who attempt to get pregnant when they know they are about to lose their significant other, in the hopes of rekindling some romance. I always thought they were stupid. But here I was, hoping that a child would change things between John and I. When I broke the news, J went out, bought a bottle of Crown Royal, and got sloppy drunk. He would not call me or visit me. For two days our conversations were limited to texts. It was rather an inauspicious start to our "new" relationship.
I felt beyond slighted. I recalled him telling me about his college girlfriend (who was his last girlfriend before I entered the scene) getting pregnant. He got all choked up when he got to the part where she had an abortion against HIS will. I wondered if it was the fact that this ex of his was the daughter of a millionaire (her father was the VP of CBS) that made him think he could handle the challenges of parenthood in his early twenties. Clearly he was not prepared for the responsibility in his early thirties.
All of this was operating in the background when I decided to go to PA. Immediately I was placed on bed rest because Caleb was not gaining weight. I was only allowed to get out of bed for my 3 weekly appointments. It was at one of these appointments, which had become the bane of my existence, that I was told that Caleb's heart rate was off. "How do you feel about having a baby today?" Uh...It was six weeks early, so I didn't feel too good about it at all. But there's nothing like no choice to make you do something. I was induced. Five hours later I had a baby.
Caleb spent a month in the NICU; I was released four days after delivery. I cried, well, like a baby when I had to leave him. I visited the hospital two to three times per day to feed and play with my baby. Unfortunately, Caleb wasn't able to maintain a normal body temperature, so I was only permitted to have him out of the incubator for 15 minutes at a time. When he was released, my son weighed a little over 3lbs. I had to sit in the back seat with him for even the shortest trips to ensure that he didn't stop breathing (doctor's orders).
When he gained enough weight (that it is to say when he was roughly 5lbs) for my fear to abate, I set myself on this ridiculous course to be the real life June Cleaver. My priorities were pumping milk for Caleb, fattening him up, keeping the house clean, cooking multiple course meals, and looking cute when my husband came home. What did I get for my efforts? One week after I had Caleb, John began asking how long it would take me to lose the weight. After I lost 20lbs (in 14 days!), he would tell me that if I wanted to be intimate with him I would have to "dress sexier." When I bought sexy pj's, he would tell me that he was too tired to "go there."
Still, I kept trying to be the best mother/wife I could be. Of course, I was totally sleep deprived; I only got a break from being awakened every two hours for feeding when I was extremely ill (twice in 7 months). Caleb's mouth was too small to latch on to my mountain-sized breasts, so I had to pump every two hours (and it took an hour to fill up a bottle) and feed Caleb every two hours (and it took an hour for him to finish a bottle). Still, I managed to achieve my goals everyday without fail. Except for one. I was taking a Directed Reading Course so that I would not be behind on my course work when I returned to Emory from my maternity leave. That fell by the wayside. How did Claire Huxtable manage to juggle 5 kids, a marriage, and a career?
There was a light at the end of the tunnel. John had decided not to renew his contract with Amazon. He wanted to keep the family together and get back into music production, so he quit his job in December and prepared to move back to Atlanta with Caleb and I in January. He had no job prospects, but we were confident that he would be able to find something in Atlanta. We were wrong...
Sunday, April 24, 2011
No one with a scientific mind will ever believe me, but I knew by the time he was three months old, that something was going on with Caleb. His eyes would roll back in his head inexplicably. When I mentioned this to the team of pediatricians he was seeing on a weekly basis, they ignored me. The focus was always on his weight and other measurements.
Guilt.
I used to blame myself for not pushing the issue. Because I was a new parent, I was extremely conscientious about not appearing too anxious about motherhood. Then again, I'm anxious about everything in which I'm invested. In hindsight, I realize we caught Caleb's "disability" much earlier than the average parent. It was my anxiety that would not permit me to accept the wisdom of more experienced parents who told me to calm down:
"Boys are just lazy. Ain't nothin' wrong with him."
"He'll walk/talk/eat when he's ready. That boy is just willful."
"My child didn't talk 'til s/he was 20 years old and now s/he's at MIT."
Okay, maybe I exaggerated on the last one, but the message is the same.
Anyway, guilt was not something I expected to contend with on the same level after I had Caleb. When he was growing inside my body, I worried about the quality of the food I ate, the amount of sleep I got, the temperature of my bath water. Who knew that I would long for those days again. At least then I felt like I had some control.
Now, besides sadness, I am overcome with anger. I know I'm not supposed to admit that (just like I am not supposed to admit that I thought my son looked like the love child of Alf and a Wishnik when he was born), but if I can't be honest with myself, who can I be honest with? I'm angry because I see countless parents who consider cursing to be a reasonable form of communication with their kids. I see women who smoke and/or drink during their pregnancy. I read news stories about parents who do horrendous things to their children, and I, who read every book, article, and journal to educate myself on the proper ways to care for a fetus, an infant, and at toddler, I, who deprived myself of everything from deli meat and warm showers for fear of injuring my baby, I, end up with a beautiful, sweet child who suffers. And I suffer with him.
Guilt.
I used to blame myself for not pushing the issue. Because I was a new parent, I was extremely conscientious about not appearing too anxious about motherhood. Then again, I'm anxious about everything in which I'm invested. In hindsight, I realize we caught Caleb's "disability" much earlier than the average parent. It was my anxiety that would not permit me to accept the wisdom of more experienced parents who told me to calm down:
"Boys are just lazy. Ain't nothin' wrong with him."
"He'll walk/talk/eat when he's ready. That boy is just willful."
"My child didn't talk 'til s/he was 20 years old and now s/he's at MIT."
Okay, maybe I exaggerated on the last one, but the message is the same.
Anyway, guilt was not something I expected to contend with on the same level after I had Caleb. When he was growing inside my body, I worried about the quality of the food I ate, the amount of sleep I got, the temperature of my bath water. Who knew that I would long for those days again. At least then I felt like I had some control.
Now, besides sadness, I am overcome with anger. I know I'm not supposed to admit that (just like I am not supposed to admit that I thought my son looked like the love child of Alf and a Wishnik when he was born), but if I can't be honest with myself, who can I be honest with? I'm angry because I see countless parents who consider cursing to be a reasonable form of communication with their kids. I see women who smoke and/or drink during their pregnancy. I read news stories about parents who do horrendous things to their children, and I, who read every book, article, and journal to educate myself on the proper ways to care for a fetus, an infant, and at toddler, I, who deprived myself of everything from deli meat and warm showers for fear of injuring my baby, I, end up with a beautiful, sweet child who suffers. And I suffer with him.
Autism and Marriage
2010 was a horrendous year for me. My mother was extremely ill, my marriage was dissolving, I was overwhelmed by the pressures associated with passing my PhD exams, and I had become depression's victim. All of these balls were in the air when I received the news that my son is Autistic.
I happened to be on campus when my husband called me with the results from Caleb's psychological exam. Despite the fact that things outside of my control rarely operate in my favor, I was certain that my son's test would come back negative for Autism. "Yeah, Caleb is Autistic." For a moment I was stunned. Perhaps it was the calm with which J delivered the message. Maybe it was due to the fact that I knew so little about the disorder. For a moment, just a moment, I felt nothing. But when I hit the red button on my cell phone, I felt the most crushing pain I had ever experienced in my life.
He had already been through so much. An underweight preemie, Caleb spent four weeks in the intensive care unit with a feeding tube in his nose, an IV in his arm, wires monitoring his oxygen levels and heart rate, and a blindfold to protect his eyes from the bright, jaundice-curing light that dominated his incubator. He was 2lbs, 7oz.
I'm a bit overwhelmed. I have to continue tomorrow....
I happened to be on campus when my husband called me with the results from Caleb's psychological exam. Despite the fact that things outside of my control rarely operate in my favor, I was certain that my son's test would come back negative for Autism. "Yeah, Caleb is Autistic." For a moment I was stunned. Perhaps it was the calm with which J delivered the message. Maybe it was due to the fact that I knew so little about the disorder. For a moment, just a moment, I felt nothing. But when I hit the red button on my cell phone, I felt the most crushing pain I had ever experienced in my life.
He had already been through so much. An underweight preemie, Caleb spent four weeks in the intensive care unit with a feeding tube in his nose, an IV in his arm, wires monitoring his oxygen levels and heart rate, and a blindfold to protect his eyes from the bright, jaundice-curing light that dominated his incubator. He was 2lbs, 7oz.
I'm a bit overwhelmed. I have to continue tomorrow....
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