This week Ben had an appointment with a new doctor. It was not for lack of a medical entourage. He already has a primary care physician, an endocrinologist, a TSS, an MT, a developmental pediatrician, a speech therapist, an occupational therapist and a behavior specialist. But a shift in
insurance led me to ferret out yet one more member of Team Benjamin.
I found a practice in the network and plunked it on the calendar. When the actual day arrived I appeared at his school to fetch him. He was not ready. The secretary was out and the sub was unsure about the procedure. I got antsy while he made a few calls to find the teacher. After fifteen minutes with no tall boy coming around the corner I was nervous about the time. The rain was picking up and while I
had Google Maps to guide me I am always a tad nervous navigating new terrain. Finally Ben arrived and we booked it to the parking lot. I had brought the smaller car, to save a little gas, the one that takes every muscle in both arms to turn the wheel. The rain was pelting now and the radio reported a tornado watch. The GPS announced my destination, but all the buildings were specialty shops. I pulled over and called the office for further instructions.
"Hello, I am
trying to find your location. Can you tell me some landmarks?"
"Sure, honey. We are across from a car dealership." Like there are so few of those. I kept driving and pulling laborious u turns in the now blinding rain, expressing my expectation that we will probably get killed. Ben picked up the torch and started wailing about the other drivers. I had scant energy to calm him, and stopped to call again.
"Me again. What is the cross street?"
She named a street that rhymed with Lemon, I think, given the thumping windshield wipers and the rain and Ben moaning. After awhile the numbers that had been going down now started going up and I had hopes of finding the right 201 York Road. As opposed to the wrong one. Memories began pouring in of the literally hundreds of appointments I have ferried him to over fifteen years, in Los Angeles traffic as well as Philly. One time, just for fun I counted them. At that point we had trekked to ninety
in six months, at twelve locations.
The office building appeared on my left, with a car dealership as promised. We bolted from the car to the door, and found the right suite. I was panting. Then I looked at the clock. Then I looked at my calendar. Oops. I was not fifteen minutes late. I was forty five minutes early. Ben was ranting about dying while I simultaneously laughed and berated myself. No wonder his teacher had not sent him out. I deleted my criticism of
her.
I wondered if Ben could last for an hour of waiting, but the nurse called us back promptly. He was cooperative and she was kind. Sometimes I am glad his autism shows. When the doctor came in my heart rate was normal, and he was wearing a bow tie. One of Ben's sweetest doctors at Cedar Sinai Hospital had always worn a bow tie. I liked him already.
"I see no immunization records," he stated.
"I don't
immunize. I believe there is a correlation with autism."
He rolled his eyes. "There is not!" His voice was angry. "Did you know a child died of meningitis last year?"
I wanted to say, but my voice failed me, that autism in now one in sixty boys, and there is no cure.
"You put him and everyone in my practice at risk."
"He has been quite healthy..." I stammered.
"You are
lucky. Does Ben have siblings?" He returned to the paperwork.
"Eight." Sometimes this small factoid elicits awe, respect or at least conversation. But now it drew more eye rolling. I could see him bemoaning my feeble parenting, of not one but nine neglected, disease prone children. A lump appeared in my throat. I wanted to shout about the hundreds of appointments I had taken him to, the thousands of meals I had placed in front of him. I wanted to dare him to guess how
old Ben was when he finally mastered toilet training, and ask how many diapers he has changed on a child wearing boots? But none of that mattered to him. Contempt preempted any paltry efforts I may have made on behalf of my child. I dragged home, feeling beaten down, worthless.
An
article in the Huffington Post nails it. Eye rolling is indicative of a feeling wholly incompatible with healthy
interactions. Use willpower, use scotch tape, use horse blinders. But keep your eyeballs steady.
.
