So...Yeah...

[handful_ofdust]

...I think that this semester is going to be a fairly crappy one, lit and fig. Thursday and Friday have already become the days of fuck up once and make up twice--what I screw up in my first Film History class (like, say, not showing up with my notes, at which point I get to talk off the top of my damn head for an hour and see this one guy in row four smiling his creepy-stupid constant smile throughout; he kept talking under his breath, so I confronted him, which got me nothing but a mumbled: "You have REALLY good hearing..."), I can sort of make up in my second one. Yet it's not exactly fun, and it gets me so freakishly off-balance that it ruins the rest of my day(s).

By Saturday, meanwhile, I got to hear a LOT from Mom about how Steve (and I) still haven't managed to hook Cal up with any sort of therapy yet, even though it's been two whole weeks since we saw Dr Sgro. And Steve hasn't called about that, and I haven't called about this, and we haven't bought this or that, etc./etc./etc. Because I'm a shitty Mom and she loves my son so much better than I do, obviously--I mean, I'm endlessly selfish and Steve's a fantasy-addicted five-year-old in men's clothing, and I'd rather go along with him pulling Cal out in the middle of the night to pick up The Deathly Hallows than argue about it, because I'm fucked in the head. Right? And all this really boils down to is that I resent the "fact" that if any damn thing needs to be done, I'm the person who has to do it...but that's just true, so what the Hell, suck it up, bitch. SUCK IT. For the rest of your GODDAMN LIFE.

And today, strangely, I have diarrhea, all day. Black-tinged water hosing from my ass, every hour on the hour. Constant menstrual-sized cramps. No energy to do anything, though I still somehow managed to clean the bathroom, install a new shower-curtain, do the damn dishes and the five loads of laundry. My son running around in a diaper all day, ignored, yelling bits of commercial jingles at the top of his lungs. No energy to prep for tomorrow's full day of classes, including having to go over people's scripts with them. No energy to work out, the only thing which might have made me feel better. And a fire drill. And 250 more questions to do by Friday. All that.

No work of my own for two weeks now, and counting. Man, I'm loving my fucking life.

Comments

[moon-custafer.livejournal.com]

still haven't managed to hook Cal up with any sort of therapy yet, even though it's been two whole weeks since we saw Dr Sgro.

*laughs hollowly and sardonically*

[handful-ofdust.livejournal.com]

Well, yes, exactly. But she's all like: "If it was you, I'd be on the phone every five minutes, tracking down anything and everything I thought might make a difference..." ...because you're BETTER THAN ME, uh huh, GET THAT PART, actually. Little difference as it makes in any way, shape or form.

[moon-custafer.livejournal.com]

..and if she did, she'd discover what a frustrating maze it is. (Sorry to depress, I've been watching Andrew fight the urge to scream at creepy-chirpy social workers and pompous doctors asking stupid questions over and over again for years, in one situation or another.)

[sarcobatus.livejournal.com]

What's Cal's condition...that he needs therapy? I'm asking because my grandson is an autist -- seems to be an epidemic in the US and Canada.

[handful-ofdust.livejournal.com]

Cal will be three in September. He has a lot of random language, displays an innate attraction towards reading, can memorize any song he likes, but rarely responds to questions, expresses preference or volunteers speech. When he wants something, he points (or, more often, doesn't) and makes a hacking, weeping noise. Recently he's taken to shrieking like a teakettle if you do something he doesn't like or won't let him do something he wants to.
OTOH, the other day he was hanging around in the kitchen, when he does because he knows I don't want him to; I told him he had to leave, asked him: "What do you know?", ie, you know you don't belong in the kitchen. He sang back--the the tune of the everpresent "subway song"--"Yes, the kitchen, please." His first sentence, maybe. And I let him stay, because A) He used words and B) He said please.
At any rate. I don't know what any of this means, and no one seems able to tell me, either--autism spectrum behavior? Possibly. Maybe probably. Solution? Who knows, yet.

[sarcobatus.livejournal.com]

Sounds like he could be on the spectrum. My grandson, Tristan, displayed similar characteristics. He started showing symptoms at eighteen months right after his booster shots. Vaccines in the US and Canada have been found to be contaminated with high doses of the preservative thimerasol, which is now associated with autism. Tristan will never be neuro-typical, but he has improved over the years with therapy and special schooling. He is seven years old now, and doing much better regarding communication and eye contact. He's very bright, gifted, pattern and puzzle oriented. For years he was non-verbal, however, and screeched a great deal in his attempts to communicate.
It's only a matter of time before there is a class action suit against the pharmaceutical companies responsible for the mercury contamination in the vaccines. California has banned all vaccines preserved with thimerasol.
I wish you the best in your search for a diagnosis, Gemma. This must be very frustrating for you and Cal. But do give some consideration to the possibility that autism might be at the core of Cal's condition. He sounds as though he is not neuro-typical, which is, in itself, not an affliction: It only means he's different, and has a different way of experiencing the world around him and communicating his thoughts. He sounds very gifted, which is typical of most autists.