Susan Senator

Nat had an appointment yesterday morning with a pediatric ophthalmologist at the recommendation of his pediatrician. Our pediatrician is very dear to me. She is kind of a sister hen — being too young to be a mother hen — very thorough, always coming up with things I should have done to them. You can never get out of her office without a referral for something else in your hand. This is good and bad. On one hand, I feel like nothing about my children’s health gets overlooked. On the other hand, I feel like, enough with the extra appointments already!

I especially love the way she treats Nat. She seems completely at ease with him and also delighted with him, always impressed by his growth and development. She is this way with Max and Ben, too, but when people get Nat, it is an extra special gift to me. (I’ll let you all in on a big secret: he’s just a goofy, pain-in-the-ass teenager. He is difficult to figure out, but then again, so is my other goofy, not-a-pain-in-the-ass teenager. They are what they are, as Popeye would have said. And he should know: don’t you think his mumbly chit-chat was a bit familiar…? A bit self-stimulatory? Has anyone thought about cartoon characters who may have been autistic? Was Jughead an Aspie. for instance? You could make an argument that both Charlie Brown and Linus were autistic, the former with his difficulty understanding NT relationships, his perseveration over kicking a non-stable football; and Linus perhaps was a savant, with his ability to memorize long Bible passages as a kindergartener, his unusual instincts and Grandin-like connection with animals — he could pat birds on the head. And Lucy totally bullied them, the beeyotch. Where the hell were their parents, “wa-wa-wa-wa-wa-wa“?)

Where was I? Okay, the doctors. (shit, I just got coffee on Precious, my laptop, amazing what she will put up with) So Dr. R, the ped, told me I should take Nat to Dr. B, the eye specialist, to get his eyes checked. I didn’t question this; I do not know what an eye exam for a kid is like, and I admit I hardly ever get my own eyes checked. Ned calls me “Squinty.” But the eye docs always say I don’t really need them — yet! So why should I get them? I don’t really have crows’ feet yet —

Argh, tough to focus. But that’s good, because it means I’m happy and brimming with things to say. I am typing in my summer PJs on the screened porch, slurping perfect coffee, looking out at a rabbit who actually let me get within 5 feet of him to snap a few photos, and anticipating Mother’s Day and Dad’s 70th birthday. Going down this afternoon to see my fambly and celebrate, M, D, seeyster, kiddos.

And here is the greatest news: Nat seems so much his old self. He is talkative, smiley, and calm. He has been able to tell me things he doesn’t like, or would like, such as for me to keep the doors closed (this is a protracted back-and-forth we have, because I want the doors open in the spring and summer, and he feels that doors are best when they are closed. So I am trying to get him to adapt to open doors sometimes — Nat’s least favorite word, too wishy-washy — and me to adapt to closed doors more than I would like.) Why is he feeling okay again? Not entirely sure, but getting the Luvox out of his system is probably helping, as well as our renewed use of Social Stories, and our redoubled efforts to think ahead and let him in on what is going to happen, and to be sensitive to his likes and dislikes. As well as his own cycles (?) which are similar to mine. We are, as I’ve said before, very connected. He is very in tune with me.

(Just moved indoors to the window seat because I had to plug in and it got cloudy. Precious needs a new battery; I get like 45 minutes and then she totally peters out. Ben is playing Kingdom Hearts and Nat is watching. I hope it clears up because Ned and Max are going to Fenway Park with Ned’s Dad and stepmom at 1. I am getting us ready to go to Connecticut and I really want good weather for them and for us tomorrow. We’ll probably play wiffle ball and hide and seek. I already told Nat this in his social story, so we really have to do it!)

Ah yes, the pediatric ophthalmologist. Do you get the feeling that that is not what I was meant to write about today? But I want to say that sometimes well-meaning docs make things harder than they need to be. I took Nat to this specialist thinking that the eye exam would be something we need a special person to conduct, but it turned out that Nat didn’t need that at all.

First of all, I wrote a small description of what Nat could expect from the office visit. These days, with Nat being so routine-conscious, I now find that going back to social stories really helps him feel better about whatever he does. So I wrote stuff like, “The doctor will put drops in my eyes. They will feel funny but soon they will feel okay. It will not hurt.”

No eye drops! And the nurse had him read an eye chart, and he shouted out all the letters, first trying to make them into words, which was very sweet. (C A V he read, “cave!”) The nurse, of course, loved him.

Then the doc came in and opened a drawer of toys, (superheroes, little piggies, etc.) figuring this would engage Nat’s interest and she could examine his tracking ability, etc. But the thing is, he has never enjoyed toys, other than Floppy Bunny. She kept asking him questions about the toys, in a little-kid voice that must work well on her usual patients. But for Nat, the questions were a huge distraction and cause for anxiety. I didn’t know what she was after, so I didn’t interrupt. I liked the way she was gentle with him and I know he did, too.

Then she switched on a button which caused a mechanical elephant across the room to go crazy. This was to make him look far away. But Nat was startled. I thought, “Oh my God, she is in the Pinching Zone!” But Nat was fine. I was relieved when it was over, and I realized that we would have done much better just telling him to look here or look there, rather than relying on the childlike distractions that work for other children. She could have just as easily asked him to read a Shakespearean passage; he would have done it and she could have tracked his eyes that way. He is much more familiar and at ease with reading than at talking about action figures.

I felt a little pissed, I must admit. I know she is a kind, skilled doctor, and I appreciate how she and the pediatrician were trying to help Nat. But I feel that there was no real cause to treat Nat with kid gloves, so to speak just because he is autistic. All they had to do was tell us what to expect and what they were looking for, and we would have done it. He’s autistic, not five. And he and I are a pretty good team most of the time.