Detective Mom

It has been more than a week since I last posted my writing. It’s not that I haven’t been writing. I just haven’t been able to resolve my questions. My writing has been delving into the possible reasons why Patrick has been obstinate and difficult. He is normally a pretty agreeable happy guy. Trying to find causes in an autistic mind is like piecing together a beautiful puzzle while blindfolded. Not only is it difficult to get the right pieces to fit together, you have to find the side with the picture on it and lay it down facing up. You have to be a detective and gather the right clues, without any hints. I started to read Jodi Pacolet’s new novel yesterday, House Rules. The main character has asperger’s syndrome. The first chapter, written from his Mom, tells the story of how her son who is obsessed with detective shows and crime scene investigations sets up a pretend crime scene for his Mom. He is the dead body. He lays clues around the house and his Mom walks around asking questions and making deductions from the clues. When she makes a repetitive guess he says “Do you really believe I would execute the same crime scene twice?” That is how it is with Patrick. As much as I read the clues and try to interpret them into a cause and effect, I’m always wrong. There is always something new. He can’t tell me what it is. This time it is no exception.

My first thoughts were that I was pushing him too hard physically. He’s been making a good effort at basketball practice. Baseball is beginning. He wants to improve his skills but can’t without building some aerobic stamina. I also believe, and research has shown, blood flow to the brain through aerobic exercise help all people’s acuity and cognition. I know from my own running that it is true. To help his brain and his sports, I’ve been trying to increase slowly his aerobic capacity. He was running/walking around our block, which is approximately ¼ of a mile, a couple days a week, instead of riding his bike. When he first started getting cranky, he acted as if like he was physically tired. I started thinking I was pushing him too hard. I backed off on the walks. But he didn’t seem less tired. He behaved worse. Not only was he disagreeable, he’s also jabbering a lot more often about nothing. Excessive physical exercise was obviously not the cause. It took me a week to figure this out.

My next idea is that maybe he’s sick. Sometimes right before children who can’t express their symptoms get sick, they begin behaving poorly. Just when you think Mr. Hyde has come to stay, a fever, nasal congestion, a cough, some symptom lets you know this child is sick. I waited a week for the shoe to drop. Nothing. Still no Dr. Jekyll. He’s perfectly healthy.

Finally, I believe I have the answer. Last night Patrick was in the bathroom brushing his teeth. He tells his younger sister that his teeth are hard. She asks if all of his teeth aren’t hard. He replies, “No, just this one.” She looks at it and brings him to show me. His front tooth feels like there is a crevice near the gums. It doesn’t feel like a hole, but a long shelf. It could be a cavity, I guess. He’s never had a cavity in his life. It could happen. It could have been causing a dull ache in his mouth that he wasn’t cognizant of over the past couple of weeks. This must be it. So sure of my conclusion, I phone the dentist’s office to schedule an appointment. They ask about the tooth and look in the chart. They tell me the orthodontist put some enamel on that tooth to fill a gap. Part of the enamel must have come off. That might be annoying but not painful. I’m wrong again. I’m back to having no idea of what could be causing his behaviors.

It’s been a couple of weeks. I’m still searching for clues. It’s possible that the stress of learning the bus route is causing him to be disagreeable. New things are difficult for him. There isn’t anything new happening at TRACE, other than bus training. The school district has been sending the same aide every time they go. Patrick seems to like him. Maybe it’s his hormones making a come back? I’m running out of ideas. In Piccolt’s book, after the Mom misses all the clues he’s left her he tells her, “No offense, but you would make a lousy crime scene investigator.” This is exactly how I feel. I’m unable to read the clues or fine the clues. I make a lousy investigator. But, I continue to investigate. Because he can’t tell me what’s wrong.

Here’s a scary question, if I’m never going to be a good detective, and I work hard at it, who is going to be watching for clues if he moves into a home with someone else?