Feed the Beast

‘When in doubt,... panic!’

This idiom is a local one, coined by my Dad.

The words are well lodged in my brain, down deep and entrenched. The White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland is my twin. When you see a woman running around in circles, flapping her hands and repeating ‘oh dear me,’ that in fact would be me, or rather it would be, if I had allowed the idiom to rule my response. Instead I ignore it, stomp on it and resolve to vanquish it forever.

I haven't always been a nervous type, despite this early introduction to the concept. Nor would I describe myself with that delightful term 'laid back.' I'm somewhere in the middle, or at least I used to be, until I found I was surrounded by children and outnumbered.

I tell you this, because it becomes clear to me, that whilst I may or may not be the source of my son’s OCD tendencies, I should nonetheless, have the power to help him.


I receive sage advice from other people in the trenches regarding OCD. I remind myself that this is familiar territory. The difference is just that this is a different version from the one I’m used to. I'm used to a three or four year old's version. That version was his little brother. I need to dig up and brush off those strategies to apply them to his older brother.

In the meantime, I resolve that whilst I may not be able to help him immediately, I can work on my own attitude.

During the course of the average day I am 25% annoyed, 25% irritated, 10% cross, 10% frustrated, 10% dithering, 9% grumpy, 5% confused, 5% switched off, and 1% falling about with hysterical laughter. This little glimmer, lights up the whole day and makes the other percentages dissolve. I believe this to be a fairly typical, moaning Minnie, British type.



That said, I have also noticed that as we simmer, bubble and boil during the average day, it’s like existing in a high octane tank. Any stray spark is enough to ignite the whole caboodle. They are so volatile. What triggers a meltdown this minute may be of no consequence on a different day or a different time. As a result I am hypervigilant too, waiting for the shoe to drop, or rather be hurled across the room. Lets face it, shoes are torture for some people.

I spend my waking hours chanting ‘om’ in my brain. I string together a whole slew of lies, ‘you can do this, I know you can,’ ‘remember to breath, this is easy,’ ‘concentrate, don’t lose it now,’ 'try, try, try again.'



The words I say to myself are generally the same words that I say to my children, which is convenient but a little patronizing.

When that moment comes, as it so often does, instead of spontaneous combustion, I find I drift and rise into a state of balmy calm. The petty irritations and annoyances bleed away. I am almost weightless. I am left clear headed and untroubled. I can suddenly see that everything really is fine and that all is well. I becomes easy to make the right decision, to prioritize and cope with whatever it is this time.

It is a very reassuring ability to have acquired. The first time I felt this response viscerally, was when I lost one of them in a park. The family we were with, were in a state of panic, bless them. Not me, not externally. Rushing around like a headless chicken wouldn't help. There was an emergency broadcast system, why not use it and lock the place down? It sounds so cold blooded and maybe it is? Same as when the house caught fire. What to save? Why the children of course and then start the hosepipe once I heard the fire brigade were on their way. I could list any number of ordinary domestic and family disasters over the years. What do you do if an acquaintance sits on your chest and tries to strangle you? Well yelling isn't possible and she's almost double your body weight. Tickle her of course.

A clear head, that's what you need, and when you need it, there it is.

I've had my fair share of days of being a blubbering heap on my own kitchen floor, incapable and incompetent but when that next feather floats down, the little chip or straw tips the balance, we have no option but to cope. I don't care if it's adrenalin or laughter, it's always enough to part the foggy clouds.

Now, what I need to do, is to artificially import that attitude to the other 99% of my day.

I wonder if there is a ‘step by step’ guide on-line? I’m sure I can find something to download.

Maybe I’ll upload instead?

Easy peasy!

For a glimpse of "not coping with OCD" and "general grumpiness" you can visit "here."

If you've struggled this far to load this page, then you may wish to try my new duplicate blog next time, over "here."

ABA

[From a couple of years back]
My incoherent speech delayed youngest son howls at me. His words, if they are words, are so distorted that I can’t make out their meaning? He’s at full volume, [translation = level 10, where level 1 would constitute a whisper] due to inferior milk temperatures. I make a mental note to summarily dismiss the cook. ABA save me! [translation = not the American Bar Association, Bankers, Basketball, Booksellers nor Birding.]

I hear the dulcet Irish tones of ABA guru [translation = Applied Behavioral Analysis chappie ] float over me; “and what is the functionality of the particular behavior exhibited?” Haven’t the foggiest notion [translation = clue] right now, unless it’s to drive me completely batty, in which case, he is exceeding expectations. “We need to figure out the function of the behavior. Is it for attention or a tangible outcome, is he avoiding or escaping something, has this become a ritual (self stim behavior)?” This kind of language to the parent of the newly diagnosed!

Probably, all of the above at this stage, but who knows? Certainly not me, especially when the noise level is high enough to make the few brain cells I have left fuse together. What is the cure for autism? All I can think of is ear plugs or protectors, but I think his need is as great as mine. When he was born in the hospital, the nurse said he was the loudest she’d ever heard. I thought she was joking. They should never have let me leave the maternity ward without ear muffs at the very least. Expelled and ejected from the hospital in a wheel chair, swaddled baby, ear muffs and 96 degree heat.



“I am having a bad day!” he manages to bellow. Horray! Coherent speech. You and me both, matey. [translation = guy] It is at moments like this i.e. frequently, that I want a time machine to whiz me back a couple of decades so that I can change careers to something more useful. There again, I’ve already been fired from my post as cook.
I reach over for his 5 point scale, [see Ref 1] and rub his back with my other hand until I can persuade him to glance at me. He obliges me with a quick flit of the pupils to see it in my hand. I point to the five, the red square which indicates to him that I know that he’s in the middle of an explosion. This is to help him recognize that what he is currently experiencing, is a five, that this is what it feels like to be exploding. [translation = bio feedback something or other – see Ref 1 Psychobabble]

I use no words, and neither does he. This is more effective. Speech can be a dreadful impediment to effective communication. After a few more minutes, the noise dissipates as I rub his back. I point to the four, orange, as he gradually comes down the scale. As he sits up from the floor the noise actually stops. He points to the three, yellow. I encourage him to take deep tummy breaths which he co-operates with. [translation = stomach breathing for alternative types] I flip my finger between two and three, as I’m not sure where he is? He helps me by pointing to the 2, blue. I tell him that we’re going to clean him up now, and fetch a tepid wet flannel, [translation = wash cloth] to wipe his face. We avoid the tricky areas of nose blowing, as well as eye dabbing, to ensure that we don’t inadvertently provoke an additional meltdown. I have learned that anything that might loosely be described as a ‘cavity’ on this child, is a ‘no go’ area. But that’s because Brits are ‘medically challenged.’

We spend an additional seven minutes tinkering with the milk temperature, if not calmly, at least without the screams. Eventually, I get it right. He sucks his hot [translation = 1 minute and 7 seconds in the microwave] chocolate milk through a straw. His delicate little mouth shuns the texture of the lip of a cup. It also has the fringe benefit of free therapy, by practicing his lip closure. His fingers avoid contact with the cup and the straw. Hands free beverage consumption. Now there’s a skill I didn’t know existed? One tentative and brave digit, reaches out to brush the 1, green. Hallelujah!



Ref 1 I am unsure if it’s acceptable to mention the ‘Incredible Five Point Scale’ or whether that constitutes ‘flagrant advertising’ resulting in carnage to the blogging system? [translation = please advise?]
Ref 2 Psychobabble – phrases and terminology used effortlessly and accurately by all American persons from birth onwards, but the rest of the world finds
A] incomprehensible
B] laughable
C] tunes out
D] any / all / none of the above

I apologise for any stray 'u's that I may have missed. Ignore the zeds.