I'm taking a break from blogging. Perhaps a permanent one. I think I'll print out all my posts, try to make some chronological sense of it, then take out the bloat and write a book. I guess I don't really like blogging right now. Besides, I think Alex's story is ultimately one that needs to be in a book. I've found plenty of information connecting vaccinations to autism and seizures, but virtually nothing on my radical approach. Stop vaccinating completely, and instead vaccinate with homeopathy. And undo the vaccine damage--including seizures--with homeopathy. Perhaps by the time I get the book written, we'll have some closure to this whole seizure thing ...
I was going to pull my blog completely, and since Alex said he'd like to blog, I offered to let him take over. He said no way. He doesn't want me to pull it. He wants me to keep blogging, but he keeps forgetting that I'm the boss of him. So I'm compromising. I'll let it just sit idle for now, so he can go back in and read earlier posts, which he loves doing.
If anyone new finds this blog, it makes the most sense to read it in reverse order, because it's all about Alex's journey through autism. Someday, after my book is published, Alex and I will probably co-blog at this spot in case anyone cares to follow his progress.
In the meantime, I'll be working on my book, which may or may not be called "Alex is All Done Screaming." Perhaps that'll just be my working title. Perhaps I should call it "Those Bastards Fucked up my Son with their Vaccinations."
We'll see ...
So I had Alex tested Friday by Annette, our homeopath. Very interesting.
My first concern was that because he'd been taking so much of his remedy, perhaps we'd worsened the seizure situation. But here's the deal. We know, because we asked for specific answers from his body. He's definitely at the core, and he definitely still has vaccination issues right now, so it's best to keep him away from all vaccinations while he heals. But we've inadvertently exposed him to flu shots because we accidentally let him out of his bubble. He started hitting his remedy harder, like I mentioned before, which is a good way to blow a particular issue right out of your system. So, did we actually cause his seizures? No. Definitely not. His body said he simply had to go through these seizures to be rid of the cause once and for all. Period. There was no away to avoid seizures while we detox him from his original vaccine damage. We asked if he increased the severity of his seizures. Again, no. They were exactly what they would have been. Period. The only thing he did by taking his remedy so frequently was to make them happen closer together. He had four seizures in three months, and his body said it would have taken much longer for those seizures to occur otherwise. Perhaps one year, perhaps two. Who knows? Knowing Alex, I'm sure he subconsciously did that because he just wanted the damn things gone. He wants to be done with seizures so he can get on with his life. He's got plans.
I'm all in favor of upping a dosage to blow something through quicker, and I do it myself, but when the detox symptom is a seizure, that gets a little tricky. It's not like it's a stuffy nose or a sore throat. Hence, we're taking his remedy exactly as his body wants it.
So he's got a new remedy. We tested him from scratch, and he's still got the vaccination issues, including lots of pertussis (the "P" in the DTP shots that first started damaging him at two months). We've already been dealing with the diphtheria and tetanus issues (the "D" and "T" in DTP), so we're definitely on the right track. But he also has some digestive stuff going on, some brain stuff, autism, learning disabilities--the usual things we find. All being addressed in his new remedy. He also has a problem with diesel engine fumes. Interestingly, our stupid neighbor idles his diesel truck every morning from 30 to 60 minutes. The idiot. He stinks up the whole neighborhood. You just can't get away from the crap, which is why we're cleaning him up.
Alex says he feels more seizure-free than ever before. He says he's never felt like this. He feels great. He takes this new remedy for 30 days, and then he gets checked again to see where we're at. His body claims he'll eventually be able to be around vaccinated animals and people and not have a problem. That's why we're doing this. We're finding a cure by reversing his vaccine damage.
So. If we'd never used homeopathy, it's hard to say what he would have experienced thus far. Annette says it's safe to assume it would include some major stuff, including many more seizures. We thwarted a bunch of stuff, I know, by starting homeopathy when he was two.
You want to know what breaks my heart? When he got his first DTP shot at two months, he tried to tell me. Right from the start, he screamed and cried and thrashed around so much at shot time that it started to take three of us to hold him down while the doctor jabbed him. He knew. He knew it was bad for him, but I had no idea. After that first shot, his little thigh got rock-hard, swollen and red for days. Then we did it again at four months. And six months. And so on. See why I'm so hell-bent on listening to his body these days? The body knows. It's just when we listen to propaganda from the "professionals" that we get in trouble. Never again. Never.
So I asked Annette, "If someone else wants to detox their autistic kid through homeopathy, they're probably not going to be able to avoid seizures, are they?"
"Probably not."
But see, almost half of them have seizures anyway. Alex's didn't start until he was 15, but he probably would have started much sooner.
Always thinking ahead, I was trying to envision someone else going through this, even after all this is safely behind us, and they know of our success. It's taken us 15 years to get here--the last 10 or so with Annette, who is a Godsend. Gifted. I just don't know if people will be willing to do it. Had I known up front what I was getting into, I doubt I would have tackled it. I was on my knees screaming "uncle," with just a hint of a thought towards seizure meds. Knowing full well that that only makes things worse. I was blaming the homeopathy for not working, when in reality, it was working only too well. Annette warned me two years ago that he'd have to go through it, but I didn't believe it. I couldn't. I was convinced that each one was the last. Sort of.
Alex says it's over. On testing, his body says the same thing. His body says he will never have another seizure again. Ever. Of course, there's no proof of that. He could be going along swimmingly, then come across a random flu shot and, wham. But I haven't forgotten my message that he had to have seven seizures. I'm going to cling to that. I have to. Otherwise, I'll go nuts. I'm not going to stop testing him until he's cleaned up.
He still has three miasms, which are the weird, nasty little problems passed on to us via our parents. Two of them are vaccination ones, which is why he actually contracted autism in the first place, I think. Dan and I passed on these issues, which were passed on to us by our own parents. But we're getting him cleaned up. He had others, but I can't remember how many. Once we get him cleaned up, they're gone. He won't pass them on.
And that's why everyone's child doesn't get autism from their shots. Everyone has a different set of miasms. Even my own sisters' and brother's kids didn't get it, even though as siblings, we all basically have the same set of miasms. The problem started when I added Dan and his set of miasms to the mix. Apparently, my siblings' spouses didn't make a similar lethal combination.
Hey! That means I can blame Dan ...
So anyway, here's my plan. If this is all too much for someone to tackle with their own child, I understand. I was hoping for something that would help every one of those kids. And ultimately, it would. But there's a helluva price to pay, which I've been experiencing firsthand. So I understand. Perhaps my message is simply to educate parents on just how dangerous traditional vaccinations are. "Greening" them is not enough. Very, very few people know you can vaccinate homeopathically. Even our chiropractor, who refused to vaccinate his own child, didn't know it could be done homeopathically. He just felt the diseases were a safer risk than the vaccines.
We've simply got to stop letting doctors tell us they're safe. They're not. And it's quickly becoming an epidemic. Parents simply need to stop vaccinating traditionally and start vaccinating homeopathically. Before they make it illegal.
What do you want to bet John Travolta's son, Jett, was vaccine damaged? He had seizures all the time, apparently whether or not he was on depakote, and apparently, family and friends thought he suffered from autism. And now he's gone.
When will it be enough?
A thought came to me out of nowhere about a week and a half ago. I suddenly had the distinct feeling that Alex was supposed to have seven seizures, and then no more. The biblical significance of the number seven was not lost on me. I even looked it up. It means spiritual perfection, and is used repeatedly in the bible. So, Alex had had exactly six seizures, and I certainly didn't want any more. I tried to reason that the one he thwarted in the restaurant right before his last one probably counted as his seventh. Yeah, that's it. I almost convinced myself it was true.
The next day Dan, Ave and I were working in the basement. Alex had just gotten out of the shower, and I could hear him wandering around upstairs. We're always exceedingly aware of his every movement, and we're usually in the next room at the very least. Suddenly, I heard a rhythmic pounding on the floor above.
"What's that?" I stopped cleaning and strained to hear better. "Alex, are you okay up there?" Nothing. I jumped up and ran to the bottom of the steps. "Alex, are you okay?" Nothing. I raced up the stairs knowing exactly what I heard. I found him on the kitchen floor on his side, mid-seizure. He was perfectly situated between the stove and the table, on the carpeting, having hit nothing. As usual, I started giving him his seizure remedy, but this time he didn't respond immediately like he has with the last few. When he came around, he was tired, and he slept for a couple of hours. Which is okay in the real world, but he's usually much more responsive than that with the homeopathy. He seemed okay later, but just slightly duller than usual. This went beyond his disappointment at having had a seizure right in the middle of snowmobile season. My first thought was brain damage.
Did I mention that a friend stopped over for a few hours on Christmas Eve for a nice little visit? About an hour into her visit we learned that she'd had a flu shot ...
Of course, upon testing, the flu shot was the trigger. Will this vaccination shit never end?
This time I was permanently damaged in a much deeper way than before. I completely know that God keeps him safe, but it still scares the shit out of me. Later, Alex remembered that he didn't feel that fuzzy feeling beforehand, but he'd just hung up the phone after trying to call a friend. He suddenly felt God told him to get on his hands and knees, which he did. Right between the table and stove. And that's why I hadn't heard him fall.
Again, why in the hell wasn't the remedy working, when it had worked so well before? I mean, I know we're finally at the very core of his original vaccine damage, but still. Why can't we control it? I was scared, and for the first time ever, I let my brain ponder exactly what would happen if I considered traditional seizure meds, knowing in my heart of hearts that they don't work, and often cause brain and liver damage. My first thought was, "Well, I could always try it, but concurrently give homeopathy to offset the bad parts." Then, in a thought just as forceful as the one that said he had to have seven seizures, it occurred to me to get him on a homeopathic seizure med. Homeopathic pharmaceuticals provide all the benefits of the drug, but absolutely none of the side effects. The reason we hadn't done this yet was because it's still best to stimulate the body to heal itself with the remedies it chooses rather than intervene with even a homeopathic pharmaceutical. But we can't take another hit. Period. So Annette tested him and he chose one homeopathic seizure med, and one alone. Dilantin.
So here's what we think happened. Alex has been taking his seizure remedy more often than his body prescribed, but Annette and I have been periodically testing him and making sure everything's okay. When he found out he'd been exposed to a vaccine, like my friend's flu shot, he'd take plenty of it. Which is good, in theory. His body was working very hard to heal itself, but sometimes, it's more than the body can handle. When he'd get exposed to someone's vaccination, he'd take extra remedy, and there you have it. His body couldn't keep up. When coupled with the fact that he's so close to being done with it all, it was just too much.
So. Since New Year's Eve, he's been taking his two remedies exactly as prescribed. No variations at all. I give it to him without exception. And he says he feels awesome. He swears it's the dilantin. He says he truly feels seizure-free for the first time, and he feels clearer than he ever has after a seizure. His seizure remedy should continue to heal his original vaccination damage, while his dilantin should prevent him from having another seizure in the process. Should.
Annette maintains that every seizure causes brain damage, even though doctors usually find otherwise. Maybe it's too subtle for them. In any case, Alex definitely showed some slowness for the first couple of days, and when Annette tested him, he definitely showed brain damage. However, he also showed that his seizure remedy would heal it. And it has. He's right back to the way he was, and even a little better. I've noticed an increase in his already-impressive vocabulary, and he's made some comments regarding feelings that go deeper than normal for him.
Fortunately, there's not enough snow for him to snowmobile right now, because we haven't figured that one out yet. That's like taking away the very air he breathes, and I just don't know how to do that. In the meantime, I hardly let him out of my sight. I keep checking on him in his bed, and I bird-dog him the rest of the time. He keeps saying, "Mom, I'm fine. You don't have to worry." And I keep trying to explain that my insides instantly gel whenever I hear a thump. Or he makes a sound. I'll never be the same. I longingly remember the days when all I had to worry about was autism.
And I say all of this with care, in light of John Travolta's son, Jett, having just died from a seizure. Horrible as it sounds, some people are blaming Scientology beliefs for Jett's death, speculating that John and Kelly didn't medicate him for seizures. That they somehow didn't care enough to treat him "properly." Just look at the pictures of John and Jett and tell me that guy didn't worship his son. Same as me.
What would they say about me? Would they say I wasn't treating Alex "properly?" Absolutely. Never mind that I've been diligently working for the past 15 years to undo the vaccination damage these bastards inflicted. Or that I've been diligently working for nearly three years to truly heal him of the damage that triggers seizures when he's exposed to other vaccinations. I'm not interested in just treating seizure symptoms. I want to eliminate them completely. And the only hope for that is homeopathy.
And yet. The vast majority of the world would accuse me of withholding "proper" treatment, and if they could punish me, they would. But I'm not going to hide what I'm doing. I'm doing this because the world needs to know there are alternatives that actually work. God is going to get us through this because He has much bigger plans for Alex and me. We are simply the guinea pigs. When we're done, no one is going to be able to shut us up. And then there will be hope for all the other vaccine damaged kids. Genuine hope.
Alex has now had seven seizures.
"It is finished," said the Lord.
I sure hope He meant us ...
Alex got his wish. He finally made it up north on a snowmobiling trip--although not all the way to the U.P.--before Christmas. Alex, Dan, Dan's brother and a friend of Dan's headed to Gaylord Thursday morning around 5:30. Alex called me around 9:30 to tell me they were there. He sounded so excited.
"There's awesome snow here, Mom!" That kid lives for snowmobiling.
Around 11:00 he called me again. "Mom, we're heading out on the trails, but I can't find the camera. I know I packed it." Sure enough, I found it hanging from one of the kitchen chairs. He was bummed, but it was only a two-day, one-night trip. He vowed to make sure he has it before he heads to the U.P.
I did all the animal chores by myself since Ave was in school. I talked to Alex a couple of times during the day, and he was having a ball. They ate lunch at some restaurant on the trail around 3:00. He kept me posted.
Ave and I did night chores, and we kept an eye on the snow storm coming our way later that night. Personally, I was hoping she'd have a snow day so I'd have barn help in the morning. Around 8:15 p.m., Dan called. About an hour earlier, they'd just headed out after a quick trail stop. Dave led the way, with Alex behind him, Dan behind Alex, and Bob brought up the rear. Dan said he was so happy watching Alex ride. He's such a good, safe driver, and he loves it as much as Dan does. Dan was just thinking about how happy he was to be able to ride with Alex, when all of a sudden Alex started veering to the left.
"What the hell is he doing?" Dan wondered. Suddenly, Alex's left ski clipped a small tree, which knocked him off his sled, where he landed face down in the middle of the trail. His sled kept going for a bit, crashing through some brush, before it stopped. I think Dan knew before Alex hit the ground. Seizure. He stopped his own sled and ran to Alex. It was dark, and he turned him over and struggled to get his full-face helmet off. His fingers didn't work right on the clasp, just as mine didn't when I tried to dial my phone the last time, or my dad's didn't as he tried to dial his phone. Nothing works right during a seizure. Dan finally got the helmet off, but it seemed to be over by that point. He worried that Alex had gotten hurt, though, when he scrubbed the tree because his legs weren't moving. Usually they thrash around. But he was okay.
Dan sat in the snow with Alex leaning against him, like I always do, until he came around. As his brain cleared, he looked at Dan.
"Why are you crying, Dad?"
"You had a seizure, son."
"I did? Oh, man, Dad. Not during snowmobile season." Dan said Alex was devastated, but he helped him stand up. Physically, he was fine. Last time he snapped back quicker than ever, and after this one, he said he felt even better. He said he could have hopped right back on his sled and hit the trails. Unfortunately, they were about 90 miles from the motel, in the middle of nowhere, and it was 8:00 at night. Dan didn't feel comfortable letting Alex drive again, for obvious reasons, so Dan drove Alex's sled, with Alex sitting behind him, and they towed the other sled about five miles to a nearby small town, and tried to figure out what the hell to do.
Dave thought Alex should just drive back, since he seemed fine, which I may have considered myself if I'd been there. After the seizure, the danger has generally passed. And since he feels fine, he likes to get on with his life. But they ended up paying some guy who owned the pizza shop $20 to leave Dan's sled there, and the four of them drove the three sleds 90 miles back to the motel. Needless to say, it was a miserable ride. They got turned around a time or two trying to find a shortcut, and they ran into way too many washboard trails that hadn't been groomed. Riding double on a snowmobile is miserable under the best of conditions unless it's a two-seater--which this wasn't.
They got back to the room at 1:30 a.m. Dan's friend, Bob, stayed back at the motel with Alex so he could get some sleep, and Dave and Dan had to immediately turn around and drive the truck and trailer back to load up Dan's sled and haul it back to the motel. They didn't get back until 4:00 a.m.
They all got up around 9:00, packed up, and headed for home.
Once again, God was watching out for Alex. Eight inches to the left and he'd have center punched that tree, which would have immediately stopped his sled (which Dan said was traveling at about 40-45 mph). The tree was small, but it still would have flung him against his windshield, at least. And, conveniently, the banks were high there, so he couldn't leave the trail. Dan said they'd just passed an area where the banks were low and he could have easily run off into the woods.
So now what? Most people think it's a no-brainer. Don't let him drive a snowmobile. Or ride his horse. Or live. He already told me a couple of seizures back, "Mom, a life without horses or snowmobiles is no life at all." Believe me when I say he lives for snowmobiling.
Alex said last night and again this morning, "Mom, it wasn't much of a seizure at all."
"How do you know? You don't witness it." He's basing it on how good he feels afterwards compared to how he used to feel. But part of me believes him for a couple of reasons. One, Dan said his legs weren't thrashing around, and it was even shorter than last time. Two, he hopped up, ready to roll. Like nothing happened. He'd been carrying his remedy in his jacket pocket and had been taking it, but apparently not enough. Dan started giving it to him as soon as he stripped off his helmet, and he was fine.
This is the second time he hasn't bitten the hell out of his tongue, which has got to be a good sign, and this time, his legs don't even hurt. They always hurt the next day.
So what caused it this time? Guess. Four hours in the truck cab with Bob. And his flu shot. What a shock, eh?
I can't foresee all this shit, but each time it happens, I learn something new. I don't make it a habit to grill people Alex spends time with about their medical practices. But I will now. At least until we get this cleared up once and for all.
Alex learned something very valuable this time, too. They stopped for breakfast at Big Boy on the way up. While he was eating, he said he started to feel "fuzzy." That's the only way he could describe it. So he took his remedy--twice. And he was fine. I've been asking him after every seizure if he ever notices anything beforehand, and he says, "Not really." Now he realizes that this fuzzy feeling precedes a seizure. He says he noticed it one other time a while ago, and he took his remedy right then, and he was fine.
I think what happened this time is that he thwarted a seizure in the restaurant, but then he got back in the truck and spent more time with Bob's flu shot. Up close and personal. He says he continued to take his remedy, but even he didn't realize the full extent yet of what he was dealing with. He would have had to take that remedy every five minutes and get the hell away from Bob to be completely safe. I'm sure the seizure was mild because he'd been taking the remedy all day--just not enough to completely avoid it. Who knows how bad it would have been otherwise?
So we ended up with about 8 inches of new snow after yesterday's storm. Guess what Alex did all day today? Rode his snowmobile. And kept stopping to take his remedy. We can't keep him in a bubble. He can have a seizure in the shower, or anywhere. I can't take snowmobiling away from him. I have to trust God to keep him safe until he gets through this healing crisis. We're obviously gaining ground. That's three seizures in just over two months, which sounds bad, but when you're dealing with homeopathy, everything always gets worse right before it gets better. Each seizure is shorter, and he's stronger than ever after each one. He keeps saying, "Mom, I feel like I've never had a seizure."
We don't do this lightly. Dan and I are not who we used to be. Alex makes the littlest sound, and we both whip around. If he drops something, we jump a mile, thinking he's having a seizure. He stretches and groans a little, and my heart leaps into my mouth. This seems to be a permanent state. The day before he headed north, I kept envisioning his face as he has a seizure. I should have known. I had a bad feeling about them going, but I didn't specifically think he was going to have a seizure. I just thought I was being a wimp about doing the horses myself now that Ave is in school. Usually I have her to help me when the boys are gone. But I was so rattled Thursday morning that I took Rescue Remedy four times, five minutes apart before I did the horses. I thought it was just that I don't really like handling them myself since Ozzy broke my elbow.
You can be damn sure I'll pay more attention to my feelings now. And I've talked to Alex about his fuzzy feeling. He thinks he may have noticed it a little bit right before the seizure, but he doesn't think he had time to process it. We've grilled him on it now. If he even suspects that he's getting that fuzzy feeling on the snowmobile, he now knows to immediately hit the kill switch. If that's all he has time for, at least his sled is stopped. And he knows to start taking his remedy immediately, and don't stop. Dan's going to get tethers for the snowmobiles that attach to the wrist. If Alex's hand leaves the throttle, the sled dies. We're doing everything we can to get him through this.
If I didn't see an improvement in the seizures themselves, I'd probably question what we're doing. But I do see an improvement. I think we're being diligent, and then I learn just how much more diligent we have to be. Alex, too. He says, "I'm just going to take the hell out of this remedy all winter." Case closed. He's not taking any chances. Not when there's this much snow on the ground. He's positively glowing today after all that riding.
So no more Bob on snowmobiling trips. He's one of those doctor lovers, anyway. He goes in constantly for tests and exploratory surgery and whatever strikes his fancy. I don't let Alex go to grocery stores in the winter, or anywhere I know they do flu shots, but it's that whole bubble thing again. I can't do that to him. I have to minimize his exposure until we get this shit out of his system, but he's got to live his life.
I'm doing everything in my power to get him healed from the damage wrought by his vaccinations, but that's all I can do. I'm a mere human. I can't keep my son from getting hurt. I have to trust God to do that.
So far, I give Him an A+.
"So where did you say you went to school before you started here?" Avery's classmates keep forgetting that she was homeschooled her whole life. She stuck out like a sore thumb when she first started simply because she'd never been to school. But everyone seems to have forgotten that now.
"I was homeschooled, remember?"
"Really? Well, it's not like I can tell or anything. I mean, you're not weird, and you're not overly smart or anything."
I guess that's a compliment, right? That she's just like the rest of them, so they've forgotten her humble beginnings? Actually, though, she can be like them when necessary, but she's different in a lot of really cool ways.
She can definitely hold her own with the rest of them, that's for sure. The other day, a guy was quizzing her on who she's "going out with,"--which is the same as going steady, I guess. It doesn't mean they actually "go" anywhere. They just spend time together.
"You're going out with Nick, right?" the guy asked.
Two girls were listening, and one piped in, "Nick who?"
"Nick Black."
Both girls, in unison, said, "Eeeeewwwwww!"
"Thanks. That makes me feel great." Ave turned away. A minute later, one of the girls pointed to the "Twilight" movie keychain that Nick gave her, which dangles from her binder.
"Oh, that's so cool! I really like it. Where'd you get it?"
Ave looked at her a moment, then said, "Damage control?" The girl just stared at her, then went back to her friend. Perhaps she didn't get it, but I thought that was a great line on Ave's part. That's the side of her that can be just like them, so she fits in just fine. They're not going to push her around, that's for sure.
I've spent time with Nick, and he's definitely not "Eeeeewwwww!" He seems like a great kid. He loves to cook, and he fixes dinner for his family every night. He likes to listen to Christian music, among other types, and I know he watches Christian movies. Definitely not a bad kid.
Ave was talking about someone she knows who has a habit of going out with guys who use her. Of course, they're football players and good looking. Did I mention that Nick has red hair, glasses and braces? Anyway, the other day Ave said, "I mean, sure. Nick's not hot, but he's funny, he's sweet, and he cares about me." I think she's got the right idea.
Nick's in 7th grade; Ave's in 8th. When he first asked her out, her first thought was, "Jeez, I'll get so much grief from everyone when they find out." Later, she said, "Mom, I realized that if the only reason I didn't want to go out with Nick is because I'm worried about what my friends will think, well, that's pretty lame. So Nick and I are going out." Simple.
It's like she's got the best of both worlds. She's been homeschooled until now, so she's very different, but she also knows how to blend in. At lunch, she sits with about six or seven other girls. One is now her friend, Megan, who's friends with one of the cheerleaders who sits with them, and there's another cheerleader, and a few others. Ave likes her group, but she mostly likes Megan.
A friend of mine put her son in 8th grade this year after homeschooling him, and he's not been so fortunate. The group of guys he sits with at lunch has been picking on him. When Avery first ran into someone who knows this kid, they said they hated him. "He creeps me out!"
"Why?"
"Because he's too smart. He's weird."
Ah. Too smart. The kiss of death. She ran into more kids who disliked this kid, Eli, and it seemed universal. When she finally figured out who he was last week, she was perplexed. She says he's short, but he's actually cute, and doesn't look like a geek. So for the past few days she's been watching him at lunch. He sits at a table of bullies, who pick on him. Apparently, none of his friends have the same lunch, so he sits with these guys by default, and hates it.
I was talking to Eli's mom the other day, and told her Avery has figured out who her son is, so maybe she can go over and introduce herself to him. His mom said, "Oh, yeah. And maybe she can invite him to sit at her table. He'd love that."
"Sure," I said. "I'll mention it to her."
When I picked Ave up a few days ago, I asked her about it.
"Well ... I'm not sure. I mean, I know how kids feel about him, and I'd hate to lose my group of friends ..."
"Yeah, but put yourself in his shoes. What if you had no one to sit with but someone who pulls your hat down over your face, knocks your books on the floor, and steals your Oreos?"
"Hmmm. I'll have to think about it."
Yesterday, she said, "Well, I pointed Eli out to my friends today. I said, 'Guys, see that kid over there? He's getting pretty beat up by the guys he sits with. What do you think about asking him to sit with us?'"
They all turned around to see who she meant. One of the girls said, "Ewww! I hate that kid. No way!" Poor Eli. Of course, this was one of the cheerleaders. Megan said she wouldn't mind, but another girl said no way. And Megan's other friend didn't want him to. So Ave says, "Mom, it looks like if I invite him over to our table, everyone else would move." The rest was left unsaid.
Well. I'm going to let her decide how to handle it, because I'm not the one in middle school--thank God. So far, I think she's behaved admirably. She asked for their input first, and she's trying to do the right thing by everyone.
I saw Eli's mom this morning, and she said, "Hey, Eli says Avery hasn't introduced herself to him yet, so tell her he's waiting for her. He wants to be rescued."
I played dumb. "Yeah, I'll have to mention it to her again." I can never tell her about her son's reputation. How could I? I have one of those sons, too, and that's the biggest reason why he's never gone to school. I could never let anyone pick on Alex, and I know they would have been merciless with him.
Avery's different. She can hold her own, and she bites back when necessary. But she's also making friends, both male and female, with ease. She's getting great grades, but she's struggling a bit in math, which makes her pretty normal. Lots of kids assume she's in Honors, but they like hearing that she's not. Her teachers really like her, and her Computer Tech teacher keeps giving her screw-off-boys for partners because he knows she'll keep them in line. At parent-teacher conferences, all her teachers said she's very quiet except her English teacher, who said she's very outgoing. She said Ave did an awesome oral presentation on Martin Luther King, and she never hesitates to join in and speak up. To be fair, Ave loves English the best and is a natural, so I'm sure she's the most comfortable in that class.
"Have you ever had her IQ tested?" her English teacher asked. "Because she's very smart."
Suddenly, I felt an overwhelming urge to brag--just a little. I knew this was Ave's very favorite teacher, so I said, "Well, actually ..." I furtively looked over my shoulder. "I'm going to tell you something, but you can't tell anyone else."
Her eyes twinkled. "Okay!"
"Ave used to have Aspergers." And she'd kill me if she knew I told you.
She was shocked. Like she didn't believe me. She said she never would have guessed it, and says she's just a great student and a great kid. I explained how she taught herself to read at Borders at age six, and that I've never really been able to teach her anything because she's just so stubborn and independent, so she's essentially been unschooled her whole life. That she's done only minimal structured work.
"Well," she said, "you've done a great job with her." I tried to deflect the compliment, as usual, but I was secretly pleased.
She did struggle a little bit in Teen Survival on the sewing machine portion, and she got very frustrated one day and cried when she royally screwed up her seam. So her teacher quietly took her aside and fixed it, but she was truly perplexed at how such an excellent student struggled with the minor details of sewing. So I told her about the Aspergers as well, and mentioned that I think Ave has minor fine motor skill issues. But a couple of days later she'd sorted it all out, and she got a 95 out of 100 on her quilt.
I'm just happy that this kid was able to slide into 8th grade two-and-a-half weeks late, bring home a report card with four A+s and two Bs, make lots of friends, get asked to go out with about a half-dozen geeky boys and one very nice one, join Jr. Optimists, and just generally fit in all the way around--with no evidence of Aspergers. Sweet.
I hope poor Eli eventually finds his place, too, and I hope Ave has a hand in that. But if I've done my job right, she'll figure it out.
It's weird what happens to families when both parents are gone. At least in this family, anyway. My dad died in January, and I just saw my sister, Bev, for the first time since The Funeral on Thanksgiving. We've had a couple of phone conversations, and e-mailed some, but no real contact.
The other day, Alex said, "I can't believe the only family member we've seen since Grandpa's funeral is Kate (my sister) and her family, and they live in North Carolina!" He was quite disgusted. When Bev called and left a message that she wanted to come over on Thanksgiving, Alex listened in the background--but didn't grab the phone--saying "Yes, Bev! Come over!" He was pretty excited about the prospect of seeing her again. Both kids were, actually.
I've e-mailed my brother a couple of times, and left a few voice mails, but no response. Alex has been dying to see him, but apparently no one's home. He also misses his cousin, Max, but Max's mom and I are on the outs, so they're apparently not home either. Max used to respond to Alex's text messages, but he even stopped doing that a while back.
So I've got two sisters and a brother less than an hour away, and a brother and a sister in North Carolina. And no parents to make sure we all get together at reasonable intervals.
We were down at Dan's parents when Bev got to our house, so she let herself in. Alex got antsy to see her, so he walked up through the field. Later, he said, "Mom, you have no idea how good it was to walk in and see Bev sitting in our kitchen!" He was thrilled. I was rather happy to see the ole girl myself. She only stayed a few hours, because that's the way she is, but still.
Alex finds her terribly amusing, and dubbed her "Bev Skelton" after she left. He loves Red Skelton. It was fun having her here, even though there was no Dad. Bev, Jason and I usually took Dad out to eat on holidays, while Dan took the kids to his mom's. It was me and the three orphans, and we had fun. One time Jason dubbed our holiday outings as meetings of "The Secret Fuckers" club, and my dad couldn't stop laughing about it. He brought it up every time we went out. He always kind of wanted to tell our waitress the name of our club, but we usually discouraged this. But you gotta love a dad you can say "fuck" in front of.
I'm not real big on family ties, but I do miss my family. They're the only ones I've got. Kate and I e-mail almost daily, and we read each other's blog religiously, so I always feel in sync with her. But I'm very out of sorts having virtually no contact with anyone else. But not enough to do anything about it, I guess. Sigh.
When Dad was still alive, we always got together either here or at Karen's house, obviously for his benefit, I guess. Since no one's making me do it, I guess I now let it slide. But my kids really miss these guys, and I guess I do too. Dan's family is nice, but they're like company. They're not mine.
A few years ago, 10 or 12 of us went to Cedar Point for a few days, and it was awesome. My kids had a chance to spend some concentrated time with my out-of-state family, and they realized how much cooler they are than Dan's family. Who are all very nice people, by the way. Just not cool. As we all headed back to the hotel after the day's festivities at Cedar Point, two or three of them argued in the elevator about who got the bathroom first based on how badly they needed to poop. I think that was when Avery realized just how much fun we all are. Anything goes in my family. Always has.
I guess, more than anything, I miss my mom and dad, and I miss the family we used to be when they were in charge. We'll never be that family again, and that makes me sad. It's all part of getting old, but I don't like it. Mom and Dad were definitely the glue. Without them, we're just so many broken pieces.
I'm not even sure what shape we used to be when we were all glued together anymore ...
When I was 10 or 11, one of my favorite things to do with my neighborhood friends was ride bikes to the North End. It was an awesome little store a few blocks away where we bought candy bars for a nickel or a dime (depending on the size), a bag of chips cost a dime, and so did a can of pop. Patti and Debby and I did this at least two or three times a week during the slow, lazy summers.
I, of course, had no money, so before or after work, I'd approach my dad. "Dad, we're going to the North End today."
"You are, eh? I suppose you need some money." Then came the best part. He'd reach into his pocket and fish out his ever-present handful of change, which he held out before me. He never said anything. He just held it out for me to choose. My friends were always in awe, and I thought it was just the best thing in the world that he was my dad. Not wanting to appear greedy, I always took just a quarter. Why would I need more? A quarter bought me a bag of chips, a candy bar and a pop. Who could ask for more?
At the same age, I used to spend a week at a time with my cousins who lived an hour away. I usually did this at Christmastime and again during the summer. I always thought it an awesome privilege to stay there because these kids had way more freedom than I had. In the end, all that freedom didn't turn out so well for them, but I loved it at the time--in small doses. Before I headed for their house, my dad gave me spending money, which was usually $20. I'm sure that was a lot back then, and since it was strictly for shopping, I was very frugal. When I got home, if I had any left, I gave it back to him.
"Jeez, when I give that much to your brother, he spends it all and asks for more!" But he'd quietly pocket it.
My mom was more than generous with all of us over the years, often spending much more than she had on us and our kids. My dad didn't like it, but what could he do? Later, after my mom died, my dad suddenly had a little spending money, and he loved it. He said he'd always wanted to be able to help us out, but never could.
He was a little giddy about it, actually. Even though he had debt to pay off, he kept $500 in cash stashed in his desk drawer, and he kept thousands in the bank just because it made him feel safe. I know he helped out my brother a lot, and he just said he was glad he could. Some grumbled, but it was Dad's money.
Later, he started helping us out, too. First it was just pizza, or he'd tell me to go to the store and buy some food so I could fix us all dinner. I started to object, and he kept saying, "It's only money. Besides, your brother already owes me $4 million, so what's a little more?"
Then he started slipping Dan money when I wasn't around to get something for Alex. Or Avery. We'd be saving up for something, then Dad would slip Dan the money to get it behind my back, like Alex's Go-Ped, or his bike. But at least he called his bike his Christmas and birthday gift.
I haven't had to spend $50,000 to $70,000 a year on therapy for autism like a lot of parents, but I've bought my fair share of stuff to work with Alex on. The greatest expense, but the greatest reward so far, has been the horses. They're killing us, but they're tremendous therapy for Alex--and Avery, too. It's a miracle that Alex can ride a horse at all, and we've finally got the right horse for him--Louie. He absolutely loves that boy. And he loves his pony, Gabby. The other day, he said, "Mom, I loved Gab the moment I saw her. I knew she was mine." Gab used to be flat and non-expressive, but not anymore. She loves being in our family.
I can never get rid of these horses, no matter how expensive they are. How could I? Or Alex's rabbits? He lives for those animals. My dad knew that, and that's why he kept telling me it's only money. I knew he should be paying off his debt, and he was, but not very fast. He kept shoving money at us so we could get something we'd been saving for a little quicker. He helped us out with the arena fence, and before we brought our horses home, once in awhile he helped with board. He didn't advertise it to everyone else. "It's none of their business what I do with my money," he said. Later, after he died, the shit hit the fan when someone got pissy about it, but what could I do? He was right. It really wasn't any of their business if he wanted to do things for Alex, which is what it all amounted to.
I paid my dad back a little whenever we had extra cash, but mostly I paid him back with my time and attention. And so did my kids. They worshiped Grandpa, and I always made time for him, even when I was busy. Whenever I thanked him yet again for something he did for us, he always said, "Well, thanks for being here." He loved just hanging out here, mostly because my kids were so attentive. He said many times that the other grandkids had grown older and distant, and he didn't really get to spend any real time with them. He wasn't bitter or anything, because he understood, but it made him appreciate my kids' attentiveness that much more.
Trying to recover a kid from autism on your own is horribly expensive, no matter what you use. Homeschooling requires even more resources because they're not getting it anywhere else. When my kids were younger, and I had more hands-on stuff laying around, my dad once said, "All this stuff you have here for him--that's the reason he's come so far." I'd never really looked at it that way, but it made me feel infinitely better for having spent the money.
I'd always felt guilty for buying so much--being my mother's daughter--but when I looked at it objectively, Dad was right. These were all educational things. Books spilled over everywhere. None of it was for me; it was all for the kids. Everything. Hell, even now I don't replace my clothes until they're too ripped even for the barn. I was once wearing my favorite sweatshirt, and my dad said, with a grin, "Jeez, I've thrown out better shirts than that!"
So, yeah, the economy sucks, and our only guaranteed source of income right now is Dan's GM pension, which is rather scary these days. He does tons of tractor repairs, and he busts his ass in the garden to sell his produce, which is wonderful--in the summer. I was doing resumes while the going was good, but they're not there anymore. Not now.
I recently learned that a family of four living on Dan's pension qualifies for food stamps.
We're not really in horrible shape. Okay, maybe we are. But really, we just need more money coming in. And while I'm perfectly willing to work, I do have limitations. Alex is still homeschooled, and he does still have this pesky seizure problem, so he needs to be watched. I really need to find a way to work from home, because I'm also still very much needed at 2:00 when I pick Ave up from school, and she has tons of homework. These are not things Dan can do. That's my job.
Besides, Dan's dad is in his 80s now, and they've got a lot of work to do around their place, so Dan spends a lot of time helping them, too. They're slowing down, so they need help. But they help him immeasurably in the garden, so it all works out.
But you know what? My dad was right. It's only money. He helped us out financially, and never batted an eye, but what I really miss is everything else he did for us--especially Alex. Every time he came over, he offered himself to that kid just like he used to hold out his pocketful of change to me. He just knew what Alex needed, and he was happy to give it to him. He had a soft spot in his heart for Alex because he knew how much he struggled, and how much I struggled as a result. We were in cahoots on that boy, I tell you!
So here we are. We miss Grandpa terribly. He wound himself so tightly into our lives that we're still trying to unravel it all and see what's left. There are still hard feelings in the family because not everyone understood his relationship with us. Thankfully, most do.
Sadly, I think jealousy is a factor, but it shouldn't be. If someone is jealous of the hand I've been dealt, well, that's just silly. It may have looked like my dad favored us, but he didn't. He loved us all the same, but he felt compelled to help out where he was needed the most. It's exactly why he did Hospice for so many years. They needed him. And so did we. We needed so much more than the financial assistance he offered. We needed Grandpa. I needed Dad.
I can never explain how it feels to have a child with special needs to someone who has regular kids. But how must that feel as a grandparent? To watch not only your daughter struggle, but your grandson as well? And then your granddaughter? And be unable to make it go away? So he did what he did best. He made himself 100% available to us, in any way, shape or form we needed. And we did need him. We so needed him. He filled a role that absolutely no one else can ever hope to fill. Damnit.
But we're still here, and I'm still carrying on what my dad and I started with this boy. We're broke, but what's new? Who's not these days? Someday I'll figure out how to make money from home so I can keep on keeping on with Alex until he can live independently. That's always been my goal.
I just wish everyone understood that even though I could have taken the whole handful and he simply wouldn't have cared, I only took a quarter. Which is exactly why he continued to offer me everything he had. He knew.
You rock, Dad ...
