Today was Special… We were to have a family day… fishing and boating were planned,
but we needed to get some of our morning routine completed before we left for our
outing. One essential task was omitted, which caused havoc in the whole “operation.”
Hubster thought I patched Taz, and I thought Hubster did it. We usually do so at 0530
am, and he is fully medicated and agreeable by 0730. Here it was, 0700am. Taz made
his clicking sounds, sang, was very talkative, and very active. This is typical when he first
awakens, since the Daytrana Patch can take up to 2 hours to become effective. I kept
thinking, “Come on, Patch, do your thing.”
He dove into his breakfast of sausage, apples, carrots, and some alfalfa sprouts, but he
kept insisting on having “Pop tarts.” As we explained that those were full of chemicals
that would hurt his brain, he became angrier and angrier. By the time it was time to
brush his teeth and get dressed; he was in full Tazmanian drive. His voice was loud,
and despite trying to remain calm and keep my voice quiet, he became louder with his
“NO’s.” I know the neighbors could hear his voice outside, he was very loud with his
refusals to comply.
I continued to ask him to get dressed, to brush his teeth, thinking that the patch was
bound to do its thing any second. I set the timer for 5 minutes (as the counselor told me
to do instead of nagging about getting dressed). I warned him that if he wasn’t dressed
in 5 minutes, he would not be permitted to play his Minecraft game tonight. He had
a play wooden sword, and he came out with it into the kitchen. As I turned to go to
the table, he poked me in the back with his wooden sword. It did not hurt, (except my
feelings), but I felt that he had disrespected me in poking me with it, instead of obeying
I sent him to his room, but he refused to go.
I led him to his room. I was getting angry myself. By now, I realized he was not
medicated. I left him there to cool down (for me to cool down, too), found Hubster, and
asked him to patch the boy.
Taz was angry at me, but maybe Hubster could get some progress with him. Patched and angry, he remained in his room. He bumped around and made noise to seek attention and vent, I suppose. He ranted about how unfair it was to be on this diet, blah, blah. I empathized in my heart, but decided to let him work it out on his own in there this time. After about 20 minutes, he came out (it is
understood that one does not come out of the room until they are ready to be instructed
or to be pleasant). He wanted to go outside, so I obliged. He was dressed, at least. No
teeth cleaning, but I let that slide.
Out he went, and as I watched him jump 300 times on his pogostick in the backyard, I
wondered if he would ever be able to live a normal, healthy life without medication.
I hate the medication. I hate the side effects: the anxieties, the fears, the inhibition of
the person he really is. Hubster says the medication turns Taz into an average girl of his
age: afraid of bees and spiders and thunder and a balloon popping.
Left unmedicated, the boy has NO FEARS. He used to walk around in the middle of
the night in the pitch black as a toddler, never afraid of the dark or the Boogie man. At
age 4 in Martial Arts, he would take on the instructor, kicking and punching him with
no fear of retaliation. I remember at age 2, when he got away from me at a hotel pool,
ran as fast as lightning to the deep end, and stepped in… sinking straight to the bottom
of the pool. If it hadn’t been for the two teenage girls swimming there at the time, he
would surely have drown.
Unmedicated, Taz is often fairly uncontrollable, and unable to govern himself normally as
a boy of 10. Daniel (from Brain Balance) says that is because he is not a boy of ten,
but half of his brain is actually around 2-4 years old. This is verifiably accurate most
of the time when Taz is unmedicated. He behaves like a 2 year old when he does not
get “his way.” I have read a few blogs from moms of Autistic Spectrum children, and I
feel uncomfortably familiar when reading their stories of times of uncontrolled, angry
behavior in their Spectrum children.
I pray this program works, not only for my son, but for those
mothers whose blogs I read. I pray that autism is a disease from
which persons can recover, no matter how severe the disease. I
pray that the brain truly is neuroplastic, and can change. I pray
I am doing my part in the core exercises and eye training, that I
am doing them most effectively and properly. I have asked the
prayer warrior women that I trust to pray for us on this journey,
especially now, with this controversial, yet hope-filled Brain
After the meds had taken effect, I had a small heart to heart with
Taz, who, as usual, was sincerely repentant and full of apologies
for his indiscretions earlier. He was thinking and acting like a ten year old again. At least
it seemed so. After making amends, hugging, and telling him how
much I love him, I shared that perhaps this journey would spark
something in him, a desire to learn and research and discover
more ways to help those on this “Spectrum.”
“All things work together for GOOD to those who are called
according to HIS purpose, and to those who obey.” -Romans 8:28