Three weeks ago, I had a surgery on my foot that I’ve been putting off for two years.
I’ve been in mild pain walking for quite some time, but didn’t see how my life would allow me to be non-weight bearing and on crutches for six weeks, and still keep my family running.
Then this summer my surgeon told me I probably wouldn’t be walking in six months, and it needed to be done.
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I looked at him and told him the exact date I wanted the surgery, months from then. The date that would allow me to miss the least amount of work, have my teenaged son home the most, and, in theory, cause me the least amount of stress.
He laughed and said I must be a planner.
He had no idea.
I’ve gotten pretty good at predicting what is going to be the hardest part of a difficult situation.
I was pretty spot on with everything, except how a drug that was my friend through two C-sections failed me once the blocker wore off. The pain for the next consecutive twenty hours made pulling two human beings out through my abdomen seem like a paper cut.
I also failed to anticipate that just because my teenager was great on crutches two years ago, his almost sixty-year-old mother would not be.
It took about a week before navigating my house to get to the bathroom was no longer a greater challenge than navigating autism.
And yet, through all the chaos of figuring out new routines for school days, new routines for weekends, and reminding all the men in the house that if they don’t pick up their crap they could kill me, one thought remains.
At least it was planned.
It’s the unplanned crises that get you.
I have a profoundly autistic adult child, and a mildly affected one.
Just writing that sentence should be enough stress and heartache for any family.
For any mother.
In the past twenty years, I have seen my good friends and acquaintances deal with the often extreme challenges of autism while battling cancer, spouses with serious issues, other children with anxiety and related disorders, and financial calamity, to name a few things.
I have made it through the past three weeks, and will make it through the next, due to the help and generosity of my friends and family.
There was a night I was so tired and in so much pain my friend texted me she was bringing us all dinner, and it was like winning the lottery.
You can only order pizza so many times.
I’ve had help from people who get it.
Who get this is not my family’s only challenge right now.
Who get that I am tired body and soul from other calamities, that my foot is an issue not in isolation, but in conjunction with years of stress, complications, and anxiety from what shoe will drop next.
And invariably, it always does.
Despite the seriousness of this post, as always, my silver linings surface.
My friends knowing I love wine and chocolate, and my favorite, anonymous wine dropped off at my door.
My youngest son, after a major disappointment, telling me now he’d have more time to help me.
My eldest son walking to me from the other side of the house, planting kisses and a grin on me on three separate occasions, looking at my foot, and walking away.
Who needs words anyway.
I end with a plea.
If you know a family with an autistic child or adult, you don’t know what other problems they may be facing.
Reach out and ask if you can help.
You may be turned down initially. They may be so overwhelmed they don’t even know what they need yet.
But they will know help is out there.
And sometimes, that’s all they need to get through.
For more on my family visit my blog at autismmommytherapist.wordpress.com
Follow me on Facebook at Autism Mommy-Therapist
Brick Life
The Other Shoe
