{"id":1592,"date":"2010-05-18T23:01:49","date_gmt":"2010-05-19T03:01:49","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/susansenator.com\/blog\/?p=1592"},"modified":"2010-05-18T23:13:22","modified_gmt":"2010-05-19T03:13:22","slug":"just-my-imagination","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/susansenator.com\/blog\/2010\/05\/just-my-imagination\/","title":{"rendered":"Just My Imagination"},"content":{"rendered":"

Having a rich imagination sometimes works well with autism — and sometimes it doesn’t.\u00a0 With my ability to think, dream, and create, I have been able to imagine the way some things could be for Nat, a bit like Jack Kennedy, only I dream of things that might<\/em> be and ask, “Why not?”\u00a0 My imagination has helped me have breakthroughs, in that I would give myself new ways of seeing old things, and continue to hope.<\/p>\n

My imagination can also be my worst enemy.\u00a0 The way my autism upbringing began, the evaluating doctor told me a lot of “we don’t know, so you’ll have to find out what’s true for Nat.”\u00a0 That was the perfect bit of (non)guidance for me in that it fueled my already profound sense of my own intuitive ability.\u00a0 But you might also say that it ignited my morbidly obese imagination.<\/p>\n

Tonight, while talking to Nat on the phone, I detected a scratchiness to his throat.\u00a0 He was hoarse.\u00a0 I asked him, “Nat, do you feel okay?”\u00a0 And he said, “No.”\u00a0 He did not respond in his usual rote way, tossing off a casual “yes” the way he does even when the truth was a dire “no.”\u00a0 Tonight, he answered “no” right away.\u00a0 I then asked, “What is hurting you?”\u00a0 And he answered,”Your froat.”<\/p>\n

Stunned, I asked Nat to give the phone back to R, the staff person he was working with tonight.\u00a0 Nat understood that he was saying good-bye to me, and he said, “I love you,” which is what I say when we get off the phone, and what Nat says if prompted. Every now and then he says it unprompted, like this time. But I was too overheated to mark it.\u00a0 I asked R to take Nat’s temp (normal) and to check on him in the morning.\u00a0 Had he come down with strep, like Max had a few days ago?<\/p>\n

I went through the rest of the night with Nat not far from my consciousness, wishing I could know for sure <\/em>if he was feeling awful.\u00a0 Knowing for sure is, for me, the Holy Grail.\u00a0 I don’t know if I’ll ever know anything for sure, and all my life I’ve been able to drive myself crazy with that quest.\u00a0 Having autism in my life has provided a never-ending list of things I will never Know For Sure. Tonight, I suddenly thought, “What if Nat is lying in bed, in pain from strep, and feeling like the night will never end, and his pain will go on and on, because he’s not home? How do I know he’s not sad and scared?”<\/p>\n

I brought this to Ned, of course, because I was immediately filled with too much pain to bear.\u00a0 Ned said, “Why would he think that?\u00a0 He knows the drill by now.”\u00a0 And — splash!\u00a0 Out went the fire.<\/p>\n

I realized that it is just so easy for me to work myself up, believing the worst, imagining an entire Dante-like world of horror in Nat’s mind, simply because I don’t know for sure.\u00a0 And what’s more, it seems like in doing so, I miss out on the perfect little gem of reality that Nat put in my hand tonight:\u00a0 not only the “I love you,” but even better:\u00a0 he told me how he was feeling, for real.\u00a0 He took care of himself.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Having a rich imagination sometimes works well with autism — and sometimes it doesn’t.\u00a0 With my ability to think, dream, and create, I have been able to imagine the way some things could be for Nat, a bit like Jack Kennedy, only I dream of things that might be and ask, “Why not?”\u00a0 My imagination […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1592","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/pSTth-pG","jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack-related-posts":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/susansenator.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1592","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/susansenator.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/susansenator.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/susansenator.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/susansenator.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1592"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/susansenator.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1592\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1595,"href":"https:\/\/susansenator.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1592\/revisions\/1595"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/susansenator.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1592"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/susansenator.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1592"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/susansenator.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1592"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}