Susan Senator

Nat has been pretty much chugging along, progressing, managing his sensory overload, communicating in many different ways to those around him. I can’t tell you how often I now hear him say, “Want some help, PLEASE!” and (knock wood) he does not even get close to an outburst. In his House he has had a few, but that is no surprise: they are making many more demands on him than we are; plus, there is so much structure there that when it is broken, Nat really notices. Last week he was so upset over a change in the routine that he stumbled and hurt himself. (I questioned the staff many times, and Nat, to be very sure of precisely what happened.)

The most comforting thing of all was asking Nat.
“Nat, where did you get hurt?”
“On your arm.”
“But what happened?”
“You got hurt.”
“Where?”
“On your arm.”
Who’s on first??
Before the whole circular echolalic thing could burst into full fruition, I changed tactics. “What did you hit with your arm?”
A long pause. “The wall.”
Ah. So it seemed that Nat had somehow hurt himself by falling against a wall.

I checked with the staffer that had worked with him and he told me something like this: “Nat tripped over his dresser drawers (still open, always open) and fell, scraping his arm on the wall.” The catalyst was that the staffer had had Nat lay out his clothes for the next day, as always — but he did it after his shower this time, rather than before, and so when the clothes were out on the bed, Nat thought he was being asked to put them on. This, of course, made no sense to him, but that is what he does with laid out clothes. So he got upset.

In Nat’s outbursts these days, he gets upset with himself. He bites his arm and screams. He does not go after other people. He has learned not to do that. I truly believe he is biting himself out of frustration — with the event and with himself for not getting it, for not being understood, either. I can’t imagine how terrible that must feel. I remember when I was a girl and my hair was just horrible, not doing the right thing at all, I pulled and pulled it, hurting myself terribly. That kind of rage is so rare for me now. But that is where Nat goes once in a while — perhaps once every six weeks. Not bad, but still, pretty bad.

However, I am just so proud and relieved that most of the time, he manages to find the words and get some clarity or help, before becoming enraged. It takes a real man to ask for help. I bet Nat would ask for directions, too, if he were lost while driving.