My Side of Typical

My Side of Typical

Sunday, January 24, 2016

The Little Things

I haven't written anything in a couple of months. Not because I don't have anything to write about, but because I just haven't had time to sit at the computer. But I've had lots of posts rolling around in my head. Its time to start getting them out.

Late October through early January is really busy for us. It starts with Halloween and Mr. Fixit's birthday. On the same day. Mr. Fixit typically takes a backseat to Halloween. But, since this year was his 50th birthday, we sort of made a big deal out of it. November brings The Quiet One's birthday and Thanksgiving. And many days off from school. December brings The Boy's birthday and Winter break from school. Which means no regular schedule for weeks. I don't think I need to tell you want that means. And this year, in the midst of all this, my sister and I moved our parents into an assisted living facility. (I have a whole, long post about that for another day.) To say I've been a little busy would be an understatement.

Thankfully, school is back in session, holiday and birthday season has ended, my parents are settled, and routine has returned to our household.

Yesterday we enjoyed a beautiful spring like day with sunshine and near 60 degrees. Wanting to take advantage of the beautiful weather, The Boy and I rode bikes home from school. It was a lovey, soul rejuvenating ride... Until an ambulance went screaming by right in front of us. Lights flashing red, sirens blaring; it even hurt my ears. And The Boy didn't even flinch. Did. Not. Flinch.

He calmly looked at me and said "It's an ambulance. He's helping people." He watched it until he could no longer see it and then he started peddling home again.

Years ago I told myself that I would not overlook the small miracles in our unique life. It's these small moments that fuel our life, keep us going through the hard. And this definitely qualifies.

Two years ago, The Boy would have completely melted down if he heard an ambulance blocks away, while inside the house. Between his Sensory Processing Disorder and his Generalized Anxiety Disorder, an ambulance (or any emergency vehicle) was just too much for him. He couldn't cope. I can't tell you how many times the school has called me to come get him because an emergency vehicle has gone by and he can't calm down. He needs to leave school, a puddle of anxiety. And the rest of our day would be so hard. Anxiety all evening. At bed time he would lay in the dark, squeezing my hand, saying "no ambulance, no ambulance" over and over again. It would stay with him for days. It was all just too much. And it broke my heart.

Years. We've worked with him on this for years. Trying to give him coping strategies that would work for him. We tried noise cancelling head phones. He won't wear them, hates them, doesn't tolerate anything on or around his ears. We tried teaching him to put his hands over his ears.  Another no go. By the time we heard the siren and reminded him to do it, it was too late. He was already melting down and was beyond being able to process the verbal instruction. And if we tried to do it, he would fight us. His "Fight or Flight" response already being triggered. His hearing is so much better than mine, he hears everything long before I recognize the sounds. 

Then, about a year ago, we decided to reframe the trigger. Instead of the siren and flashing lights being an attack, we started explaining why they were happening. The ambulance or police car is hurrying to go help someone. The fire truck is going to put out a fire and help people. These are our community helpers. When you see or hear one, they are helping people. This is a good thing. We want them to be able to get there quickly so they can help.

And slowly, very slowly, it started working. And then yesterday, my boy did not flinch. He didn't meltdown. He didn't panic. He calmly looked at me and said "Its an ambulance. He's helping people."

Something so simple and everyday for most people. For us, it is a small miracle. A huge leap of progress. Something to be celebrated.

This may be a long journey that we are on, but there are a multitude of bright spots along the way.

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