Broken CPU

We spent nearly four hours in emergency room last night. Our eldest crushed our youngest's finger in the bedroom door and less than 15 frenzied minutes later we were sitting, sitting, sitting, as one is likely to do in an emergency room. Much to his credit, our youngest took it all in stride, much better than the rest of us. Mama was crying, daddy was crying -- heck, we were all crying. Even our big guy. And that's where my mind has been stuck since those first screams pierced the air just after dinner last night.

One area that is always particularly troubling with our son is his lack of response to situations of high emotion. I recall, the evening before we were to meet with our pediatrician to discuss what we thought was an attachment disorder, skimming through a book and catching a paragraph concerning Asperger Syndrome, a form of high-functioning autism. It gave the example of a child on a playground who, after witnessing another child getting injured, continues to play. When the ambulance arrives, while the other children gather in concern, this child pays no heed. I remember calling my mom and telling her that THIS was my son. It was the very first time I ever considered the possibility of autism.

The door was completely closed when I arrived at my screaming son's side, his finger pinned in the hinge-side. I threw open the door, letting out a shriek as I saw the mangled finger, but also mindful of my eldest son, cowering in the corner just behind the door. It went without saying that he was the responsible party. This was not the first time the two had battled with a door between them, slammed in the heart-broken face of the littlest one. The warning of the injury that could result is definitely one of the more commonly heard in our house.

As with so many of his developmental milestones, it is only in recent months that I have EVER heard my son apologize with any sense of feeling. In fact, it is rare for him to show any emotion whatsoever in response to causing injury. Folks with autism really have to work hard to capture the emotion of a situation. He is usually so wrapped up in explaining his reasoning for his behavior that he completely misses the point. This night was not to be one of those rare occasions.

Following the rushed explanation as we tore out the driveway, his main concern was whether the events we had lined up for the evening would continue as planned. His father and I were not shocked by this line of thinking, we'd experienced it countless times before. The struggle for us comes in how to respond. In the hysteria of the moment, we usually -- and this circumstance was no different -- want to burn in his mind the gravity of the situation. It is so difficult not to berate him with "can't-you-see"s and "don't-you-understand-how"s. (Last night, thankfully, we did not.) He doesn't connect with that anyway. We think he experiences guilt, but we can't fathom how. And we don't think he understands it either. (Someday I will post my thoughts, a heart-wrenching mess though they may be, on the what it is like to approach subjects of a spiritual nature with my son. Right now there are no words, only Romans 8:26-27.)

So what do we do? We explain the cause and the effect of the behavior. We make sure he realizes his responsibility in the situation. And we just let him process. Because that's what he needs to do. It could take hours, sometimes it has taken a number of days. We are learning what to look for, what cues to pick up on. And its clear he is still working through this one.

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On a related note, an interesting read is the novel, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time, by Mark Haddon, though it must be read with discernment. The most poignant piece for me is the autistic main character's explanation as to why he avoids/cuts short social interactions -- it is when that interaction ceases to be productive for his purposes that he considers it to be no longer of value, so he simply walks away. This one revelation has proven to be invaluable to me. Again, read this book at your own discretion.