Blog
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You would think the hospital would give us a group discount…
Had HF’s family over for dinner. Made chicken kabobs. And gave every last person food poisoning, in varying degrees, with seven requiring the hospital. Myself included.
SubhanAllah. 2010 has been an interesting year already, no? -
Alhamdulillah 🙂
I could have cropped the photo better so that the car was centered, but I wanted to leave in the pretty palm trees to the right. This is Nahda Road in Dubai, and that is my car.Actually, it’s Allah’s car. He gave it to us, and if He chooses to, He can take it back. Legally, HF owns it, and presently, the mechanic possesses it in his repair shop.I’m not sure how many arms and legs the repair will cost, but InshaAllah, the car can be repaired. And Alhamdulillah, no one was hurt. I rear-ended a man who stopped suddenly when a gardener ran across the road, but I was buckled up and did manage to slow the car down a tiny bit before the impact.(skreee-smack!)Alhamdulillah, the gardener made it safely to the other side, and the other guy’s car- a black Peugot 307- must have had a seriously strong bumper, because compared to the damage I did to our poor Mazda, his was negligible. His bumper will need repainted. My radiator will need replaced.HF, being the awesome HF that he is, thanked me for crashing the Mazda, because he wanted a Lexus anyway. And Owlie zoomed to my rescue (only getting moderately lost) and filled her car with everything that had been filling my car- the safety seats, shopping, toys, clothes, etc. And my inlaws very lovingly arranged for a tow-truck to come and collect the car and take it away to the mechanic. And then I took a cab for the one kilometer between myself and my destination, and life proceeds as normal except with considerably less driving.I got a ride home from Owlie, all the way out to our personal corner of Abu Dhabi territory, and fast forward- two days later, I’m waiting for HF to come home from work so I can take the car back into town to buy such frivolities as milk and diapers. HF says that if I needed a mini-van there are other ways of making my point. Of course, he’s also the man who called me in the ER over three years ago, following our first car accident, and said “You know, if you wanted me to spend more time with you there are better ways of asking.”Alhamdulillah. One could be cynical and say that when it rains, it pours, but it would be more accurate to say that rain is a blessing from Allah, no matter when and how it comes, and sometimes it may be a bit too much for our taste, but we have no idea what the greater purpose and benefit of the storm is. Not that it’s storming. It’s been a little drizzly lately in Abezville, but I refuse to be soggy and miserable. I’m going to play in the rain and jump in the puddles, InshaAllah.Inna Lillahi Wa Inna Ileihi Rajioon. 🙂 -
SubhanAllah
One of the great things about not updating your blog regularly is that no one really visits it anymore. So you can write whatever you want to. Like this:
Lab Technician: Ah, a BHCG test, expecting a baby?Me: No, having a miscarriage.
LT: Oh, uh- I’m sorry.
Me: It’s ok.
-Pained silence-
Once upon a time I was in the US for Owlie’s wedding, and two days after arriving, I found out I was pregnant. And then, after four days of baby shopping, and quietly thinking of names, and imagining sweet little faces with HF’s big brown eyes, I found out I was having a miscarriage. And then I was on the next flight home, a week after I had arrived and a week before my original return.
And here I am today. Blogging.
Because it would seem that my blog fulfills many roles, one of which is catharsis. And I’m an extremely logical person, but my own brain is baffled by how deeply you can mourn something that was never yours and was never meant for you to begin with. I can’t say that I’ve lost a baby, because the baby was never mine. If Allah had willed that child for me, the entire world could not have withheld it from me. But He did not, and so the entire world can not grant it to me.
And the miscarriage was not my fault, and could not have been caused by anything I did or by any medicine I could have taken. The doctor very kindly said so. Which was nice, because up until that point I had been mentally crucifying myself for taking my daily migraine medication. Never mind that I had no idea I was pregnant until three days before I miscarried. I’m a mom, I blame myself for things. The flip side of taking responsibility for your children is that you blame yourself when something happens to any of them, even an embryo that was never meant to be born.
And you cry, and you cry, and you cry. And when no one is looking, and Abu Dhabi is flying past you at 155 kph with the highway roaring and the nasheed blasting, you cry when you remember what you’ve been trying so desperately to drown out.
A few people know, and they ask about me because they care, not because they’re trying to stick their fingers into the gaping, bleeding, hole in my heart. I have to pull myself together and be polite, and patient, and coherent, and talk about things in terms of BHCG levels and non-viability and natural termination. I have managed to not cry in front of anyone but HF and the speed radars on the Abu Dhabi/Dubai highway, not because I’m being Stoic, but because I don’t want anyone’s pity, especially my own. I’m healthy, I’m ok, I am free from permanent physical effects of what was an early and natural miscarriage that required no medical intervention, chemical or surgical. I have two beautiful, amazing children and no reason to believe that I cannot have more, InshaAllah. I have the most loving, supportive, water-proof husband in the entire world, who not only knows what to do with a wife who is crying so hard she’s incoherent, but also to make her stop, and eventually, even smile.
Allah hasn’t wronged me. He never has. And faith says that He never will. Healing is just a matter of time and patience. And being content with God’s will does not mean that I cannot allow myself to grieve. SubhanAllah, may Allah bless those who preserved the life and sunnah of the Prophet, so that fourteen hundred years after the death of Prophet Muhammad, we know what he said upon the death of Ibrahim, his 18 month old son. “”O Ibrahim, against the judgment of God, we cannot avail you a thing.”
His son died in his lap, and when he passed away, the Prophet, with tears in his eyes, said “”O Ibrahim, were the truth not certain that the last of us will join the first, we would have mourned you even more than we do now.” A moment later he said: “The eyes send their tears and the heart is saddened, but we do not say anything except that which pleases our Lord. Indeed, O Ibrahim, we are bereaved by your departure from us.”May the peace and blessings of Allah be upon him.Logic and emotion are both part of human nature, and insane, frantic, overwhelming love for your children is part of a parent’s nature. I am allowed to be sad, but I am also required to fight through the blinding storm of grief and find the knowledge that Allah doesn’t test anyone more than they can bear, and all that’s required of me to pass this test is to keep faith and be patient.
Verily we are God’s, and to Him we return.
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Lookout Chicago, here I come!
InshaAllah, Owlie-pie is getting married in T-minus six days and counting, and the blast-off will be happening in our ancestral stomping grounds- Chicago. It’s been over two years since I was there last- Khalid was sebabeen months old, and just developing the necessary bravery to crawl up the stairs and then scoot down them on his bottom. I was thinner, had a better hair style (hehe) and it was August of 2007. Fast forward to now, with Khalid skipping across the livingroom carpet (even as I type) singing ‘Ay bee shee dee ee eff jee!’ and Iman asleep for the afternoon. She was helping me pack earlier- her contribution to my suitcase being a panda, a book, a toy train, and herself.
She’s an amazing little girl she is, and it’s cutting my heart out with a dull plastic spoon to not be able to take she and Khalid with me to the US. HF can’t get time off from work, Joy (Khalid’s full-time therapist & care giver) and Cindy (Housekeeper & Girl Friday) can’t apply for visit visas to the US until they have worked with us for over a year, and neither have been on for longer than six months.
I can’t take Khalid on my own, and although I could take Iman, it wouldn’t be fair to split them up. When Khalid has lunch, he insists that Iman have lunch too. When Iman has a bottle of juice, Khalid has one too. When Khalid wakes up, he goes to Iman’s bed and wakes her up. When Iman cries, Khalid helps her up, and if anyone so much as scolds Iman, Khalid runs to her rescue and glares furiously at us or throws a full-out tantrum in protest of our unfair treatment of Princess Godzilla.
Iman, in return, charges off in Khalid’s defense, fists and teeth clenched, to rescue him from whichever therapist of wicked OT who could be making Khalid cry. Sometimes they walk hand-in-hand through the park, or hug each other and giggle. They are a bit like the mismatched twins- Khalid is huge, shy, speaks relatively little, and is comparatively a gentle giant compared to his little firecracker of a sister, whose waking hours are generally back to back with shrieking, jumping, giggling, babbling, singing, dancing, pinching, smacking, and pulling hair. Also, sharing and blowing kisses. She’s a toddlersaurus rex, but she’s a loving little toddlersaurus rex. 🙂
I’m trying to steel myself and not die of bebe deprivation in the US. I will miss HF too, in ways that will ache and hurt and eat me with loneliness, but I am not worried about missing what cute, adorable, amazing thing he will do for the first time that I will have missed and will never have the chance to see again. Plus, HF will email me (or suffer the consequences) while the kids have no way of telling me what they’ve been up to and what they were thinking and how Khalid discovered he could make phone calls on a gummy bear.
(Holding gummy bear to ear: “Awo? Aitikatikatikatiak. Ok. Bye bye.”)
I need to not think like that though, and I should instead focus on how awesome it will be to see old friends, new places, and pretend to be a husband-free, kid-free Abez running wild and fancy-free in the city where I grew up.
(I can’t wait to see the Shedd Aquarium again, and the Museum of Science and Industry, and to go sledding with a group of friends and a thermos of hot chocolate.)
I’ll be flying out in the morning, please remember us in your duas. 🙂
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An English to Khalid dictionary
pimeeble –noun
the edible, juicy, collective fruit of a tropical, bromeliaceous plant, Ananas comosus, that develops from a spike or head of flowers and is surmounted by a crown of leaves.pima bubba –noun
a paste made from ground roasted peanuts, used as a spread or in cookery.escameeble –noun
Also called moving staircase, moving stairway. a continuously moving stairway on an endless loop for carrying passengers up or down.chawee
(used interjectionally as a conventional apology or expression of regret): Chawee, you’re misinformed. Did I bump you? Chawee.kan-tee -verb
to detach with or as if with a sharp-edged instrument; separate from the main body; lop off: to kan-tee a slice from a loaf of bread.much-mum-mum –noun
1.a sweetened paste or confection made from the mucilaginous root of the marsh mallow.
2.a similar confection, usually soft and spongy, made from gum arabic or gelatin, sugar, corn syrup, and flavoring.ocatiga -noun
a polygon having eight angles and eight sides.yego– adjective
a color like that of egg yolk, ripe lemons, etc.; the primary color between green and orange in the visible spectrum, an effect of light with a wavelength between 570 and 590 nm.sebabeen -noun
a cardinal number, 10 plus 7.kwi -noun
also called Chinese gooseberry. the egg-sized, edible berry of the Chinese gooseberry, having fuzzy brownish skin and slightly tart green flesh. -
Conversations with Khalid, too!
Khalid: Huh be bees! (Help me please!)
Me: Yes Jaan?
Khalid: (pinching my leg) Huh be bees!
I turn around a look at Khalid, who is standing expectantly by the refrigerator door. I stand up and open the door for him.
Me: What do you want?
Khalid picks up an orange and pokes his finger into it. Juice squirts out and begins dripping down his arm.
Me: Clean up!
I take away the orange. He finds a kiwi and begins peeling off the sticker.
Me: Khalid, what do you want?
Khalid opens the crisper drawer and pulls out an apple.
Khalid: Ah! Abo! (A, apple!)
Me: Good boy. 🙂
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In which I have a conversation with Iman
Iman: (pointing to the number 5 on the laptop screen) One!
Me: No sweetie, five.
Iman: Five?
Me: Good girl! Five!
Iman thinks for a moment, and holds up five fingers and begins jumping.
Me: Yes Iman, Five little monkeys jumping on the bed, one fell off and bumped his head!
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*Only* in Dubai
Only, only in Dubai, do we have firemen who ride around in a rescue Corvette. The trunk is full of firefighting equipment, and this unit’s job is just to drive up and down Sheikh Zayed Road to rescue people trapped in burning cars.
This may be the best and most valid use for a Corvette. Ever.HF and I happened to stop at this cafeteria on the Abu Dhabi/Dubai highway, and had our socks shocked off when this pulled up next to us. HF being the fearless one, walked up to the window, introduced himself, and asked the fireman (who was ordering a fresh juice) whether he would give his wife (me!) a tour of the car.
We got pictures and an explaination of everything in the trunk, as well as the goofy satisfaction of telling the nice firefighters (who were wearing their shiny, fire-proof pants with Air, Fire & Rescue Dubai t-shirts) that they were the coolest firefighters we had ever seen.
Wow.
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Big Brother Khalid to the Rescue!
Iman, holding a small triangular puzzle piece, holds it up and asks: “Kak-kak?” (cookie?)
Khalid, look up at her: “Twingle.” (Triangle)
He takes the piece and puts it back into the puzzle. A few seconds pass, they are both scribbling on magnetic doodle-boards.
Iman, picking up the same piece again: “Kak-kak?” (cookie?)
She tries to put it in her mouth.
Khalid insists: “Twingle!” (Triangle)
He takes the piece from her and puts it away. They both resume coloring, and all is right with the world. 🙂
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What elephant in the room? I don’t see any elephant.
So HF and I are hoping to move to Dubai soon, InshaAllah. Not only because our current house features four adults, two children, and only one bathroom, but because driving 120 miles before lunch time to get to Khalid’s therapy center and back is taking its toll on me. And I don’t mean Salik. Aching knee, aching back, steadily increasing inclination to road-rage- last week I actually passed someone in the fast lane by screaming past them on the hard shoulder. And I’m not an aggressive person, but I am quickly turning into a very frustrated driver as well as a very frazzled Momma.
And then there’s the race to try to cram every possible errand into the limited amount of hours in town, because if you’ve driven sixty miles into the city you better make the most of it, and if you go grocery shopping you have to time it just right so that the chicken spends the least amount of time chickenly possible in the sauna of the car’s trunk, thus minimizing the risk of giving everyone salmonella for dinner. But you also need to go look for a laminator, which is on the other side of town, so if you want to buy chicken, you should just buy it first so that you don’t have to double back, but again, that means letting it stew in the trunk with the rest of the groceries, and the weather’s cooling down, but it’s still 100+ in the shade and poached eggs are nice but not a whole dozen of them. And if you have a physiotherapy appointment, then no errands are possible because physio starts at exactly the same time as Khalid’s therapy, and you’re always ten minutes late for it, and then you finish with just forty minutes before it’s time to pick Khalid up again, and that’s barely enough time to go to the grocery store let alone park and buy chicken, so there’s no point in trying so you might as well just drive back to the center and wait for him to get out. And you can’t really go shopping afterwards, because he is so tired that he’s a three and a half year old wreck- crying because he doesn’t want to go into the mall, screaming because he doesn’t want to be in the cart, throwing groceries out of cart and kicking you as you try to push your way to the frozen foods aisle, wondering whether this whole eating thing isn’t really overrated, and if chickens can fly, why can’t they just be given directions to Abu Dhabi?
And in the spirit of ongoing medical misadventures, my Ramadan was punctuated with two trips to the ER for what turned out to be severe gastritis from a H. Pylori infection, and I missed five fasts being unable to eat and needing to take a slew of medication to help eradicate the invaders. And then there was Khalid’s dental surgery- he’s had four of his front teeth removed, about ten fillings, and two silver crowns installed, all under general anesthesia, for which he spent three and a half hours in surgery and eight hours in the hospital with. Alhamdulillah, it went well- he did fight the anesthetist, but his tantrum was gassed out in about ten seconds. When he woke up, he vomited blood, fought me blindly without knowing what was going on, pulled on his canula until we took it out, and then passed out again. He woke up a few minutes later and did the same, and then slept for a few hours, then drank some apple juice slowly and groggily, and then fell asleep again. We headed home at about 8 pm. And of course, he vomited in the car a few times, but Alhamdulillah it was just the apple juice- no more blood. We’re waiting for his new teeth to be ready- and we’re going to make another visit to the dentist for them to be cemented to his molars, and his four-tooth bridge will, InshaAllah, remain until his permanent teeth come in.
*taps fingers on keyboard*
Ok, I’m trying to write a nice, comprehensive update but I really have something else on my mind. I had a lovely time hanging out with two friends this evening, that is, until one of them asked me about Khalid’s autism. It had been fun up until that point, and once she brought the topic up, I wanted to leave. I’m not comfortable talking about it. Talking about autism in general isn’t that hard, it’s Khalid’s autism that presents a problem. I don’t want to have to explain why I don’t think it had anything to do with vaccines, how he had been slow and strange and distant from the very beginning, and how there are doctors and scam artists out there whose full-time job it is to take advantage of my desperation and sell me Miracle Cure Number #43, and how hard I have to work to not seek out and inflict bodily harm on people who put autistic toddlers on anti-psychotics. She asked me, as many other people have asked me, when I first realized Khalid was autistic. I don’t think there was any shocking epiphany- only the dawning of a very unpleasant truth- of milestones delayed, even entirely missed, and worrying behaviors and repeated visits to pediatricians, of finally getting him assessed by a pediatric therapy team, and then a clinical psychologist, etc
But like I said, there was no instantaneous epiphany, only the heart-breaking realization that my foray into motherhood had been a nearly complete failure- that at the age of two and half, my son didn’t talk, play, feed himself, respond to his name, seek affection, or handle disappointment or tiredness well. Also, he banged his head against the floor and kicked walls and started screaming if anyone laughed in his vicinity.
And I can talk about Khalid’s autism here, because I’m sharing non-spoken thoughts with a word processing software. I’m not talking to anyone about this, I’m just thinking on paper. But I have a hard time talking about this, and it’s always hard to hold myself together- to be informative and cheerful instead of depressed and terrified for my son’s future. And then there are the well-meaning but infuriating questions like- have you tried making dua? I realize that people are simply offering what they feel as helpful solutions, but I am gobsmacked, utterly gobsmacked, that they would think that I haven’t prayed, cried, pleaded, begged, and petitioned God with insane love and desperation for my son to be healed/cured/enabled to lead a normal life after I die, and dear Lord, please let me live long enough to see my children become independent. I have gone through some crazy things in my life, but nothing has tried my faith like this and forced me to have faith, really, to have faith that Allah does nothing without reason, gives no one a burden greater than they can bear, will reward me for my patience, and will take care of Khalid the same way He takes care of all of His creations.
It’s easy to slip up- not in the “Why Me?” sense, but “Why Khalid?”and “Why Autism?” And I must remind myself that Khalid is my test, and autism is Khalid’s test. And it’s just a test. And after it’s all over, and the believers and the righteous are finally in Jannah, it will be asked of them whether they had ever suffered in this life. And they will swear that they never had, because the suffering we feel in this life is so minute, and so brief, compared to the reward and the contentment and peace and the perfection and resolution of Jannah. I desperately hope I’m included in that group, and I desperately hope that Khalid is as well.
HF says that I blame myself too much, that I blame myself for everything that goes wrong. He may be right, but I think all mothers consider themselves responsible for their children’s welfare. Yes, I feel like Khalid’s autism is my failure. No, it’s not logical. No, telling me it’s not my fault doesn’t make me feel magically better. Yes, I know I can’t cause autism. No, I don’t care if you think I’m special-needs parent superhero. It’s BS. I’m barely coping, I’m stressed out, I’m exhausted, and I’m scared of what the world will inflict upon my son when I can no longer protect him from it.
What’s the moral of this story? Well, I guess if you are one of the many lovely, amazing, indispensable friends that I have who read this blog and may have asked me recently about Khalid’s autism, please don’t be offended. I have a hard time socializing with people, because going places with Khalid must be tightly managed, closely watched, and minutely scheduled to prevent meltdowns, but when I finally do get a chance to get out of the house without Khalid or Iman with me, please let me talk about nonsense. And please don’t ask me about Khalid’s autism.
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Ramadan Kareem!
Sleepy, tired, hungry, achy, overextended and happy. 🙂 Alhamdulillah. 🙂
I love Ramadan, because I know that even though the first few days can be very rough, the rest of the month will feel light, unburdened, and somehow… free.
SubhanAllah.
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This one’s for you, Booboo
As art imitates life, Iman is often pushed out of the limelight by Khalid, and I think there’s a disproportionate number of posts in Khalid’s favor. Well, let’s change that. It is time again, for a post about Iman, aka Booboo, who was so named after the sound she would make while trying very hard to cry and pout at the same time.If there is a human incarnation of Dora the Explorer, Iman is it. Not only does Iman bear an uncanncy resemblance to Dora (albeit three shades lighter), she is also the intrepid discoverer of such things as Doing Laundry in The Toilet, Stuffing Toys in the Washing Machine, and Wearing Unmentionables As Hats When Company Comes Over.(Yes, I have since rearranged my clothing so that nothing… unmentionable is within Iman’s reach.)Iman has a thing for hats. ‘Hat’ was her first sign, and she continues to use it more often than any other word in her sign language vocabulary. A swim cap on another kid at the pool is enthusiastically labelled a hat. When we bought a new floor lamp, Iman walked up to it, signed ‘hat,’ and then proceeded to vigorously throttle it in hoping of shaking the ‘hat’ down. She will still periodically make a grab for the lamp’s ‘hat’ if I walk too close to it while carrying her. If I put Iman on my shoulders, she makes the sign for hat. See? Because now Iman is a hat!When I put my scarf on, she signs hat. When I take my scarf off, she picks it up and winds it around her own head. (as well as neck and shoulders and body and then the rest trails on the floor) Iman herself owns no less than three or four hats, as well as a purse, which contains a tiny pink watergun and a plush red chicken, all a girl needs, really.Iman likes birds. She will spot birds at the park, the pool, out of the windows of the car- and sign vigorously for bird and then yell out ‘eeeeeeeeeeee!’ meaning that she wants the birds to come to her. It’s all bravado, really. I know this because I took Khalid and Iman to a pet store once, just so that she could see birds close up, and she freaked out. Iman normally channels koala while riding casually around the world on my hip, but as soon as we approached the parakeet cages, she turned into a panicky limpet and tried to hide in my scarf while simultaneously climbing up my head, which seemed to be a logical escape from the pet store. Going near the dogs nearly had her in tears, despite how happily she labels all animals as dogs- cartoon pandas, cats, Mickey Mouse, and once, a picture of a cow hanging in the butcher’s shop.Iman is a little mermaid. She may be tiny, and she may be only seventeen months old, but the first day we put her in water wings and dropped her into the ladies pool, she was off and chasing after other peoples’ floating toys and making friends with her adoring public. She is a criminally cute waterbaby, and I think it has to do with her tiny face poking out of the water with the bright orange water-wings on either side, and her tiny pink spandex bottom visible just under the water’s surface followed by the insistent kick!kick!kick!kick! of her chubby legs. She loves the pool. She tends to swallow alot of it though.Oh, and here’s the best thing- Iman is talking. 🙂 Alhamdulillah. 🙂 In just the last week or two, she has started using spoken words (other than just Hat and Ruth) like Op’! for open, Na! for no, Ah-Ah! for uh-oh, and best of all- Mama. 🙂 Iman calls me Mama. And she gives me sloppy wet kisses. And warm, clingy hugs. And she follows me around the house like my shadow, diligently copies anything interesting I may be doing, and is ferociously protective of Khalid. No one, absolutely No. One. is allowed to make Khalid cry. Except for Iman. If Iman hears Khalid crying from outside of a therapy session, she will run furiously up the hall, eight teeth clenched and the battle cry of eeeeeeeeeeee! ringing through the ABA therapy center to rush to Khalid’s rescue.She’s a fighter. And a biter. And I used to worry about Iman being man-handled by Khalid’s unknowing and highly lacking play skills, but I am now more worried about the number of tiny bite-shaped bruises that Iman decorates her brother with. She also pinches. And head-butts. And pulls hair. She learned the pinching from Khalid, but he learned the hair-pulling from her. So I guess it serves her right that our recent fight-du-jour is over who is pulling whose hair, and not only is Iman half of her brother’s size, but she also has longer and more hair to pull.Every day Iman does something cute and curious and silly and new, and I email HF or call him (he’s been abroad for nearly a month now) and tell him about it and laugh. I really should write these things down though, because I know I am forgetting them. Iman may be my second child, but to me, it feels like having my first child. Khalid is amazing in his own way, in a very different way, and his victories and quirks are exclusive to his situation. Iman is just a normal kid- a normal, ridiculous, precious, adorable, funny, vicious, insistent and loving little girl, and every day she astounds me with all her neurotypical newness.I love you Booboo. And maybe when you’re old enough to read, you’ll find this entry and know that your Momma loves you with all her heart. And both elbows. And all of the toes that you once sucked on while I was trying to pray. Alhamdulillah. 🙂 -
The knee bone’s connected to the- head bone!
So my surgery happened successfully on Saturday morning, and had some interesting highlites.
Dr. Anesthetist: How are you feeling?Me: Cold, your OR feels like a refrigerator.Dr. : I’ll fix that. I will give you a cocktail. (Holding up a syringe)Me: What flavor is it?Dr: You will like it, it is warm.And it was warm. Warm and fuzzy. At some point, between the warmness and the fuzzification, I looked up and saw a familiar white meniscus on the TV screen hovering above me, and realized that my orthopedic surgeon had already begun the arthroscopy without me even having felt it.I tried to look over the blue sheet that concealed the actual gore from me and asked my Dr. Ortho, “Hey, did he give me the spinal anesthetic?”Dr. Ortho nodded and went on with his work. I turned my head and located Dr. Anesthetist.“Hey, did you give me the spinal?”“Of course!”“When?”“A few minutes ago.”“Oh.”I missed it. I have no memory of being turned over or poked in the spine. The one thing that was seriously freaking me out about my surgery I totally missed. Hooray! I figure perhaps I zonked out immediately after I received the ‘cocktail,’ because I am fairly sure that I maintained consciousness all the way until the point where the Ortho said that my meniscus had a huge tear in it, the edge was too frayed to repair, and that he would try to remove the most damaged parts and save what he could.And I said, “That’s annoying,” and then I woke up in the recovery room with my teeth chattering. And for some reason, my skin itching as well. I’m a bit fuzzy on the details, but at some point I stopped itching and fell asleep again, and woke up in the my room with Mona somewhere vaguely nearby. And she had cookies. 🙂And then I woke up four hours later wondering if I really had seen Mona, and it turns out that if she had been a dream then at least the cookies were real. As were the Doritos, the water, the box of tissues and the M&M’s. Thank you Mona, the munchies produced by your ethereal presence saved me from starvation. 🙂 And we need to get together sometime ago when I’m slightly more conscious, but you’re still awesome. 🙂I didn’t really and truly wake up until around eight in the evening. I did have several phone conversations before then, but I’m not really sure what I told people, hah. It was established, however, that Owlie had mis-read her return ticket, and was returning imminently instead of the next day, and so by around 10 that night Hemlock and TFL brought me Owl and some lovely rich chocolate cake direct from the airport 🙂I was discharged from the hospital the next day, and my Momma picked me up, and then we went to pick Khalid up from OT. (Occupational Therapy) He hadn’t seen me for about 36 hours, and when I walked into the room and sat down (and accidentally dropped my crutches on the floor) he began fawning all over me and hugging me. And giggling. Which was lovely. 🙂And then we drove home and met up with Iman, who hugged me, and then hit me, and then hugged me, and then both of the kids fought over my crutches. (Khalid won. He’s decided that they are ‘tick! [stick]) and believe it or not- Iman began limping. There is no doubt about it, and it was hysterical and very weird- she was following me around and limping, and periodically looking up at me to make sure she was doing it right. She’s amazing, and so tremendously silly.Within an hour it was time to go again, because as it turns out, Owlie was having a severe wisdom tooth infection, and my dentist had agreed to see her that very afternoon, but she had never seen him before and didn’t know where his office was. So we sped off to Abu Dhabi, having just been in Dubai less than two hours ago, and my dentist (the same one who tried to get me to dislocate my own jaw, good times!) removed Owlie’s tooth right then and there. Or what was left of it, rather. It had been partially impacted, and broken too.And by then I ran out of steam, fell asleep in the car, and upon arriving back home, stumbled out of the car and into bed for another two hours. I woke up at 9 pm feeling much improved, and with icecream in my lap and a bag of frozen corn on my knee, I proceeded to defeat both of my parents in Scrabble.The moral of this story? I am not a post-op superman. Today is the end of post-op Day Two, and although I’ve been able to put the crutches aside for hobbling around the house, I’m still very, very tired and physically exhausted. I’m not in a tremendous amount of pain, I’d say about a five on a scale of one to ten- not enough to make you cry, but just enough to give you a perpetual wince.Hf is coming home in umm… 68 hours! Here’s hoping I’m recovered enough to actually be able to pick him up from the airport! -
Hooray for free Wifi! Blogging from the hospital
For my next trick, I will post a two minute review of the hospital before the nurse comes in and starts poking me with things.The room is nice. Like five-star nice. Hotel nice. With mini fridge and huge flat screen TV, and and vanity kit and lotion and mosaic tiles and luxury bathroom fitting, etc etc. And there’s a pool and spa, but that’s just for the VIP patients. Which I am obviously not, but I think if I were here longer I would try and see how strictly they enforce their entrance policy :pI was actually here three days ago, and that time in the ER. I had food poisoning, which is why my surgery was postponed, and I have to say their ER staff was so ridiculously nice. They even picked me up off the floor when I passed out in radiology.The nurse on duty just came in and introduced herself. Her name is Pumula, and she is a tall, black South African woman who name means ‘To Rest.’ Culturally, this is what a mother names her youngest child. I asked her how the mother knows this one will be the last, and she answered “You know, it’s interesting because in those days there was no birth control, so I suppose if a mother named their last child Pumula then the husband just knew he was supposed to go away.” Haha!The City Hospital gets a positive review on their nursing staff as well.So far so good. My surgery is set to begin in an hour, and I’m not sure how much earlier they plan on taking me in to the OR. So I should wrap up and unpack my stuff because I won’t be able to do so later. I’ll be having spinal anesthesia instead of general, so I’ll be awake for the procedure but won’t be able to walk four two hours afterwards, or so they say.Off we go! -
Surgery in the morning
I will be heading in to the hospital around six in the morning, to be admitted by seven and have surgery by nine InshaAllah.
HF is still in the US, and won’t be back until the 13th, and while nothing in the world could make up for his absence, a new paperback and a few secret chocolate bars in my purse do go a ways towards trying. :pI’ll also be taking my laptop, in the hope that the free wifi in the hospital extends to my room. It may even go as far as a the OR, but I don’t think they’ll let me blog from surgery with the lappy on my knees :p Cuz they need my knees. To operate on.Visitors (female, and preferably people I actually know) are welcome. Provided they bring me entertaiment. And maybe a shawarma. 🙂 -
Apples, Oranges, Autism
My blog needs an update – design and structure-wise, I mean. To replace the links I no longer have time to visit (sorry Blogistan!) with links I visit constantly- places like Autism-watch.org, the Assosciation for Science in Autism, Photon in the Darkness Blog- and a slew of blogs written by/for/about Autistics and Autism. It’s a natural shift for me to make, but one that seems odd nonetheless. When I started blogging.. ohh…six years ago- wait, has it really been six years?
*checks archive*
Yep, it’s been six years. And four months. My blog is older than both of my children, as well as my marriage. Ha!
When I started blogging six years ago, I was a single, carefree, English-Accent teaching expat living in Pakistan with my parents, Owlie, and our little brother. I drove a mini-car named the Silver Bullet and went to the National Stadium Pool to swim laps, socialized all over town with my girlfriends and blogged about religion, life, and whatever sort of nonsense was Soup Du Jour. I wrote poetry and short fiction, played Playstation 2 until my eyeballs turned to glue, and baked compulsively.
Fast forward six years, and I’m a (very, very) happily married special needs momma with one Autistic boy and one neurotypical Babysaurus Rex.
(Iman is lately into biting. And slapping. And pulling hair. And screaming bloody murder when she’s put into time out)
We see three ABA therapists, one OT, and almost no one socially. Phone calls with friends (if ever) tend to be about kids, fianance, real-estate, family, and very often, Autism. I’ve written no short stories, and only a handful of short poems, and even these were before Khalid was born. I wear comfortable sneakers because frilly shoes do not make good kid-chasing gear. I wear stain-resistant, highly patterened clothes and have invested in not one, but three pairs of sunglasses just this year, as both Khalid and Iman are equally bent on, well, bending them.
I don’t think I am who I used to be.
I would like to belive that I am better, but I think the most honest thing that I can say is that I am different. Comparing Single Abez to Momma Abez is a bit like comparing apples to oranges, except that this apple slowly started changing color and rounding out and woke up one day and said Hey, am I really an orange?
I know I am more patient, but I also know that there are days and times when I desperately need time off, and I leave both kids at home with Cindy and HF or my parents (when and if they are in town) and escape to a coffee shop or mall.
I’m not a big fan of malls, it’s just that here in the UAE in the summer, the mall is the closest thing to a community space that doesn’t resemble a convection oven. I think it’s 108F today. Not bad. Two days ago it was 114. The hottest I can remember has been 116.
But yeah. I think I’m an orange now. Sometimes I miss being an apple- reading books all night and sleeping until noon the next day, having the time/brain power to write, the energy to bake, and the fitness of a person with the time to excercise and lift weights. But if being an apple again meant losing the entourage that has turned me into an orange- my HusbandFriend, Khalid, Iman- then I wouldn’t trade any of it.
There are times when I can’t take my children for another second, but I can’t imagine life without them. And being a very complex kind of orange, I then ruin my time-off with overwhelming maternal guilt that causes me to sit in the coffee shop and sulk, and call home and complain to HF that I don’t know what I do when I’m not being Momma.
*shrug*
If anyone needs me I’ll be in the produce aisle. Next to the lemons.
-
Sweetest little drumming game to play
I have to try this with Khalid. 🙂 Many thanks to Anonymous for sharing the Autismgames link! -
Hats off to Dr. Balooshi
For being my more interesting Orthopedic Surgeon. And since I told him about my blog (because I was looking for the video of my previous knee arthroscopy and knew I had posted here a while back) I am now obliged to wave at him. *waves* Hi Doc!
Dr. Belooshi is cool. Not only because once, when I visited, he had a kilo of Belgian chocolates on his desk, but because he hooked me up with some painkillers after my tonsillectomy when my ENT let me down with a pat on the back and a ‘take two aspirin and call me in the morning’ approach to recovery.(I’ve learned, btw, that the reason why I wasn’t prescribed post-tonsillectomy Codeine as per standard practice, is because in the UAE it’s a controlled substance)But I digress. My knee is malfunctioning again- clicking and swelling and aching from the moment I wake up to the moment I fall asleep, so we’re going for another MRI and then possibly another arthroscopy. This time, I’ll be awake for when they poke the hole and then the camera inside. I’m feeling slightly weirded out by this. I’m ok with the sight of gore as long as it’s someone else’s. And on TV. I’m not sure what the point of keeping me awake will be if I’m just going to lie there with my eyes closed, gnawing on a corner of the blanket, hehe. -
Peeta-Butta and other such verbal masterpieces.
Khalid, time for a bath.No!
Khalid, you want a bite?NooOOoOoOoO!Khalid, come here!Noooooo!Khalid, cookie?NooooOOOoOO! No! No!Khalid, shoes on!No no no no no nooooo!It’s a bit frustrating, but at the same time, still wonderful to finally hear what Khalid is thinking. He doesn’t want milk, he wants Joo. (juice)He wants the computer On! but his shirt Off! and he emerged from therapy this afternoon without a one. The nice therapist packed it in his lunchbox for us.We got him dressed this morning, and within minutes he came back to me and took my hand and said Off! Shoes! So we took them off. Then he whined and said no no nooo! And so I took the socks off too. And then he was happy.He wanders around the house calling out Ruuuuuuth! because he’s not sure where she’s gone. Ruth is working with another family, and Cindy, who has been us for two weeks now, is patiently teaching Khalid to say her name instead. (‘Indy!)Some of Khalid’s vocabulary can be a little difficult to translate though. Kim is milk, buhjo is puzzle, and tay-tow is lay down.And then there are the words that are clear enough, but adorably confusing. Like SheeEEEep. According to Word World, SheeEEEeep? is what you call out when you are looking for someone. Like your mother. You knock on the bathroom door, and you call out ‘SheeEEep?’ and your momma says ‘Yes Khalid, I’m in here.’ It also works in the kitchen.SheeEEep? (Yes, Khalid. I’m in the kitchen.)The best way to get Khalid talking is to entice him with what, in ABA terms, we call a reinforcer. In the real word, we call this bribery. 🙂 Today, I got Khalid to jump through verbal hoops for some peeta-butta. Yep, the kid loves his peanut butter.He knows the words blow and blue, but will sometimes confuse them. Last month his therapist asked him to repeat the name of the colored card he was holding. Khalid paused a second, leaned forward, and then blew on it very gently. Blow, blue- same difference, right? And he also blows on his drink because that’s what grownups do. But then he also tried to blow on the surface of the water in the toilet, and I’m pretty sure he’s never seen us do that.Khalid’s requests are all still one-worded, unless they involve the word No, in which case they can be up to six words, all of them the same and all of them all mashed together- No no no no no no nooooo! But still, Alhamdulillah, these are amazing and exciting times. 🙂 -
Fa inna ma’al usri yusraa, Inna ma’al usri yusraa
Something amazing has happened almost every day this week, and I need to blog about it before I forget and lose the utter beauty and wonder of it all-
Khalid is talking.If someone leaves a room, he says Bye-Bye. If he wants food, he opens the fridge and says Eat. When he wants a drink, he announces ‘Juice!’ until he gets some. He woke Ruth up the other day by poking her and saying “On!” and two days ago, when Khalid wasn’t very keen on the beef stir-fry we had for lunch, he turned his head and very clearly said “No!”All of this progress is just since the May 26th post, The Sweetest ROI. It’s almost like Khalid has had his Hellen Keller moment, and now that he understands what words are for, he’s using them whenever he can. He knocks on the door and says “Open!”and when someone honked in traffic the other day, Khalid answered with “Beep Beep!”Yesterday, he walked into the kitchen and loudly called out Sheeeeeeep! He’s copying words he hears in WordWorld. And that’s not even the best part. Today, Ruth and the kids went one way in the mall while I went to the other to buy groceries. After I had checked out, I pulled my phone out to call Ruth and the kids back, but before I could dial the number, I heard a distant and chirpy little voice call out Mamaa! I turned around incredulously, and there, a few shops down, was Khalid, running gleefully in my direction. He’s never called me before. And now, he called out to me and ran into my arms.Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah.And later today, during the long drive back home, Ruth had been tickling Khalid by saying ‘Buzzzzz!’ and then poking him in the stomach. We call this electric fingers. Well, this same evening, Khalid walked up to me and poked his fingers into my stomach and shouted Buzz! looking at me with delighted anticipation. It took him two times to get the message across (Buzz, Buzz!!) but onceI got it, we had a hysterical laugh and I let him tickle me.He tickled me.And then he ran off to go bounce on his bed, and I IM’ed my sister, called my husband, and danced around the house out of joy. And I’m still walking on air. It’s midnight right now, but if I could call anyone else I would. But I can’t, so I’m blogging about it instead because I want to remember this forever and share it with everyone within earshot. Khalid tickled me!!!Six months ago, Khalid was non-verbal, aversive to being cuddled, almost impossible to interact with, threw tantrums constantly and was physically aggressive to the point that I used to keep him at arm’s length- literally. If Khalid ran up to me then, it was because he was going to scratch or pinch or hit me, so before he got there, I redirected him and moved away. He kicked doors and cabinets and banged his head against walls and mirrors and the floor. He would cry so hard he’d get a nose bleed, wake up in the night screaming, and was so in his own world that it was hard to believe he wasn’t deaf. That, in case I’ve never spelled it out before, is the tip of the autism iceberg.It may be false hope, or euphoria from the electric fingers talking, but this is the first time that I have an image in my mind of Khalid’s future as a normal, independent, young man- going to school, getting a degree, having friends, holding a job, getting married… Compare this to the image I’ve been trying to block out for months- Khalid needing constant care, feeding, diapering- even into adulthood. And I don’t want to talk about how it feels, as a parent, to wonder what will happen to your special needs child after you die. The world is a cruel place. They’re only special to you. To everyone else, they’re just freaks, and it’s easier to forget about them than to care for them.But that’s depressing, and right now, I want to luxuriate in this wonder and absolute joy. And while I can’t say I’ve reached a point where I’m happy that Khalid has autism, I am definitely at a point where I understand that if Khalid never had autism, then I would never know this kind of happiness. I would never have had to develop such patience, or experience how rewarding it is to see progress in a labor of love.Fa inna ma’al usri yusraa
Inna ma’al usri yusraa.Therefore, after hardship will always come ease.
Verily, after hardship will always come ease. -
We’re up on the soapbox again!
And we need your help to get votes!
Dear World- A letter from Mother & SonView more OpenOffice presentations from zhkhan.Khalid and I have entered a slideshow about Autism into powerpoint competition on Slideshare.net. The judges will only view the presentations with the most votes, so basically- you could have an award-winning presentation, but if no one votes for it, it’s not even in the running.So yes, we need votes, and we need your mother’s votes, and your sister’s votes, and your uncle-in-law’s votes, so if you wanna support Autism awareness, or if you would like to see blurry photos of Khalid and I in a slideshow, please watch our entry! And share the link with your uncle-in-law!Thank Yous! -
The sweetest ROI
‘ama ‘ug!
(Translation: Momma, hug!)Khalid said Momma. And then he said hug. And then I gave him the squeeziest of all Momma Squeezes and asked him to say it again. And he did. And then I hugged him again and sent him on his merry way to play with a puzzle, because if you hug him too much he just gets irritated. But still. He called me Momma. And he hugged me. And because I’ve waited three years to be called Momma, I think I’m entitled to some tears of joy.Alhamdulillah. -
To paraphrase David Allen-
There are some days when the only thing you’re good for is filling the stapler. On those days, the most productive thing you can do is fill the stapler. There is no point in trying to answer your email or put together a proposal or talk to an important client on the phone. You haven’t the brainpower for it, so just be content to fill the stapler.
Today is a day for filling staplers. But not too many of them, because they look heavy and complicated.I’m sitting in corner of Khalid’s therapy center with the laptop on my knees and a cup of black coffee by my side, I’ve also consumed copius amounts of decongestant, paracetemol, and herb tea. I’m feeling like Ms.Pestilience 2009- and I probably look the part too. I’m the lump in the corner with the hacking cough, blocked nose, and miserable looking eyes. I got me some bad germs. -koff-I’ve been staring at my computer, dutifully composing and recomposing the same email for the last forty minutes. I finally picked out the last of the typos, fragments, and goobledygook that working under the influence of germs tends to produce and mailed it. Now I need a break. There’s a coffee shop downstairs and I hope they have chicken soup. -
Let’s talk tonsils.
So, tonsils. They’re these things that don’t apparently do much. I say apparently because they must be there for a reason, it’s just not apparent to us what it is yet. The sole purpose of mine seemed to be the harbouring of illegal rabble-rousing bacteria who contributed to regular throat infections. Pharyngitis, laryngitis, you name it, and I’ve had an -itis in it, and it probably meant antibiotics and losing my voice, or worse- finding my voice sounding like a chain-smoking truck driver, one that HF affectionately named Frank.
So about my tonsils. They’re gone now. But they are making darn sure I won’t forget them. SubhanAllah for your health, Alhamdulillah- the ability to do something as simple as swallow is a blessing that you don’t appreciate until unable to, you end up spitting blood into tissues while your body convulses in pain. I am not being dramatic. I am being honest. Alhamdulillah, I think the worst may be over, but that could be because my orthopedic surgeon (who had nothing to do with the tonsillectomy) saw me this afternoon for a follow-up and graciously prescribed me a shot of painkillers. He’s a Good. Person.Around half an hour after the shot, I was able to see the world a little more optimistically, as well as swallow my own spit, and once the warm numbness spread throughout the rest of my throat, HF and I hightailed it to Tony Roma’s, where I had my first meal in three days. I washed it down with three huge glasses of iced tea. That was four hours ago. The pain killers will be wearing off soon, and I’m guessing that my outlook on this whole tonsillectomy thing will get much bleaker when it does, but for the moment, I think I’m ok. Iman is sitting on my desk eating cheerios and laughing just a few inches away from the keyboard. Khalid and HF are out dropping off Ruth- it’s her day off, and she’s worked hard juggling both kids while I’ve been out of commission, and she really needs the break.My brain feels a bit fuzzy, and I’m pretty sure that this blog entry will make less sense later than it does now. Also, thank God for spellcheck.The End. -
All the cool kids are coming…
AssalamuAlaikum Everybodies!
As everyone and their mother must know already, my son Khalid is autistic, and Alhamdulillah, with treatment we’ve seen really amazing progress. He has started to talk- he has five or six words in his vocabulary now and we are overjoyed. Alhamdulillah, we’ve been able to pay for this therapy he needs, but there are eight families here who can’t afford to have their children treated.
The Red Crescent of the UAE and the Child Early Intervention Medical Center are hosting a walk to raise funds for them. I am posting the invite here, and would be grateful if people could attend or spread the word to anyone and everyone in the UAE.
The walk is at Zaabeel Park, at 5pm, Thursday the 30th of April. There will be fun activities for children and the chance to meet and learn from people whose lives are affected by Autism.
JazakAllahuKheiran!
-
Wow.
Because this is the Best. Email. Ever. Received just a few minutes ago. From my beloved. God Bless.
—-
Dear Beloved,
I apologize if the contents in this mail are contrary to your moral ethics which I feel may be of great disturbance to your personal life, but I feel quite safe dealing with you. Though this medium (Internet) has been greatly abused, I choose to reach you through it because it remains the fastest, surest and most secured medium of communication. However, this correspondence is purely private, and it should be treated as such. I am contacting you based on trust and confidentiality. I have reposed higher confidence in your ability to handle this matter perfectly for my sake. I am serious minded person. I am Mrs. Judith Shumejda, I am 51 years old, a widow to late Mr.John Shumejda who was the President of agricultural equipment giant AGCO Corp, who perished on the 4th of January 2002 in a plane crash in Birmingham.
After going through some files of my late husband, I discovered a Deposit Certificate of (£15Million) (Fifteen Million Pounds) with a Bank in London. But due my sickness, I have not been able to claim this fund from the Bank, as I have been in the hospital in Liverpool and my sickness continue getting worst. I am suffering from a protracted cancer of the lungs which has affected my brain. From all indication my condition is really deteriorating, and my doctors have courageously advised me that I may not live beyond the next Six months to eight months, this is because the cancer stage has reached a critical stage.
Please View the Website below:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/england/1742404.stm
http://edition.cnn.com/2002/WORLD/europe/01/04/england.plane/Please in your response, send me the following information to enable me validate you as the legal beneficiary of this funds:
1) Your full names:
2) Mobile phone number/home phone number/office phone number:
3) Age:
4) Address and Marital status:
5) Company’s name & address:
6) Precent Country:
7) Name of your next of kin:These whole information is what I need from you so that I can present a Letter of Authorisation to the Bank where the money is deposited to contact you as the beneficiary for this funds transfer. Send your urgent response to (helpmrsJudithshumejda@gmail.com)
Your assistant will be highly appreciated.
Thanks and God bless.
Mrs. Judith Shumejda
-
Hat? Okay!
Iman is helping. Thanks kid. I never thought I’d be so happy to report that my son will just NOT stop babbling. Although his vocabulary has yet to cross the ten-word mark, he has begun to mimic sounds and start conversations with people other than me- the most amusing of which is generally Iman. Khalid will grin excitedly at her, and say ‘Okay?’ and Iman will beam and reply ‘Hat!’ Of course, it’s much more than just ‘hat,’ to Iman, it’s a prolonged, ecstatic exclamation of haaaaAAAAAAt! in a high-pitched squeak bordering on baby giddiness.
Admiring the handsome little boy in the mirror. Yes, Iman says hat, and she says it loud, and she says it clear, and it is as meaningful to her as ‘Okay’ is to Khalid. They had a three-way conversation yesterday with the Imam of the masjid during Isha prayer. It went like this.
Imam: (over loud speaker) Allahu Akbar
Khalid: Okay?
Iman: Haaaaaaaat!
Imam: Sami’Allahu liman Hamida
Khalid: Okay!
Iman: haaaaAAAAAAAAAAT!
Imam: Allu Akbar
Iman: HAAAAAAT! HAAAAAAAAAAAAT!
Khalid: Okay!
Iman: haaaaaAAAAAAAAT!
Of course, right after the jamaat finished, someone came over and banged angrily on the divider between the men’s and women’s sections, and frankly speaking, I was seriously offended. Yes, my kids were making noise, but children make noise in the masjid all the time. I was still praying though, and so my kids continued to fill the large, echoing dome of the masjid with hats and okays until the Imam came and knocked on the door (gently) of the women’s section and asked Ruth (who opened the door) to please bring the children outside.
When I finished praying I walked out and outside the women’s side entrance, saw HF talking to two men, presumably the Imam and one other local. Khalid, upon seeing HF, ran and flung himself into his arms and unleashed a series of happy Okays! According to HF, as soon as Khalid did this, both the men changed their stances from stern to understanding. It’s easier to be mad about someone’s bratty kids when 1. you can’t see them and 2. they’re not autistic.
Ruth and the kids & I waited in the car while HF talked with the Imam & Co for about ten minutes. Alhamdulillah, this is one wonderful thing about HF, if a situation gets tense, he doesn’t get mad, he gets charming. I told this to Ruth, and she laughed. “You’ll see,” I said, “By the time he finishes talking to them he’ll have made some new friends.”
And of course, he had. After an explanation of autism and Khalid’s understanding (or the lack thereof) the Imam invited him over for tea repeatedly and was disappointed when HF politely deferred. The second man then plied HF for his life story and then asked him to come over and fix his computer. Numbers were exchanged. We went back home.
Ruth took the kids in and threw them into their respective tubs, and then I had a good cry about things with HF outside. True, the matter isn’t black and white- kids need to be taught how to behave in a place of worship, adults need to manage their problems more tactfully than by banging on the walls of the woman’s section- but it all boiled down to this- I’m not allowed to complain about having an autistic child, so neither is anyone else.I went to the salon last week for a quick trim, and Khalid, misunderstanding the situation and thinking it was his head on the chopping block, went into red-alert tantrum mode and ended up crammed under a chair while kicking the wall and screaming. Calming him down failed, and so I told the woman to just finish as soon as possible so I could pay and take Khalid home.The sweet receptionist tried (to no avail) to distract Khalid- to offer him sweets, to engage him while he was busy screaming. This lasted around ten minutes. The other ladies stared disapprovingly at me while Khalid raged and the hairdresser snipped. When it was done and I had paid, I collected Khalid from his well-kicked corner, and said to one of the other hairdressers, “Sorry about the noise, he thought he was going to have his hair cut, and he doesn’t understand.”They stared blankly and I told them he was autistic. They didn’t know what that meant, I told them he was mentally around 1 years old and had little idea what was going on. Ooooooh….now they got it, he had some problem with his brain? They asked polite nervous questions and the air changed from frigid to embarrassed.I don’t know whether there’s a crash course somewhere for being a ‘special needs mom,’ but I think I’m doing as well I can with the amount of training I got. :p I adore Khalid, he is the most beautiful, crazy, energetic, loving little man, and that other people don’t understand him is not his fault. Nor is it theirs, but I’m not about to start apologizing for him being the way he is. Allah allows everything to happen for a reason, and even if it’s just to teach everyone around him a little more patience, that’s a good enough reason for me. -
Because Iman deserves a post too, gosh darnit!
Iman is 30% pouffy hair and 70% attitude. At 11 months, MashaAllah, she takes herself on high-speed crawling tours of the house, following me, Ruth, or the vacuum cleaner. She also ventures out on her own for daring expeditions under the dining table, behind the curtains, and occasionally into a tangle of computer wires where she will become stuck and then cry to be rescued.
Iman is an optimist. She will crawl over to Khalid and try to take what he’s playing with. Then she’ll get pushed over, not maliciously, but in a matter-of-fact sort of “You, down.” from Khalid, who isn’t hitting her, but moving her out of his way. The point is though, she tries, and repeatedly tries, and above all, believes that one day she will win the car/block/bottle/sock/cracker that her bigger, stronger, faster brother exercises eminent domain over.
Iman is willful and stubborn and aggressive in a way that is unbecoming for a little girl the size of a house cat. As Khalid was big, Iman is small, and her last visit to the pediatrician reported that she is underweight, but healthy, active, and a little on the shrimpy side for a big-haired diva.
Iman is generous, and will share whatever she is licking/sucking/gnawing on with a person half-way across the room by holding it at arm’s length and grinning happily at the person. The person is then expected to smile, close their eyes and say ‘num num num num!’ while air-munching the proffered cracker/ball/key chain.
Iman is quick. Not just on her little hands and knees, but on the uptake. She sings along with ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,’ signs for Hat, Dog, Clap, and Duck, and even says Ruth. Yes, she says Ruth. Not Momma, but Ruth, and while it cut my heart to pieces to hear that, I can’t beat myself up too badly- Ruth takes care of Iman while I take Khalid to therapy, and she does a wonderful job playing with, singing to, caring for, and feeding Iman while Khalid and I are out from when we leave in the morning until we get home late in the afternoon, or evening if I stop to buy groceries or run errands. Ruth is a godsend, and leaving Iman in her care for most of the day is necessary in order to get Khalid the help he needs.
Iman is growing. way. too. fast. It seems like yesterday she was born and today she’s moving rapidly from baby-ness to toddler-hood. She’s started to pull herself up to standing position using the legs of the dining chairs, and soon she’ll be cruising around the furniture, she is- Up! Gtg!
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HE SPEAKS!
Khalid’s favorite word in the entire world:
OKAY!
This is how it’s used. Locate a random item. Find your mother. Hand it to her. Grin expectantly. Mom sez Thank You! and Khalid sez OKAY! and wanders off to find another item.
(Last week I ended up with a pile of shoes in my arms, six or seven pairs deep, each one of which was delivered to me, individually, with an expectant smile and Khalid’s squeaky little Okay!)
Khalid has started to copy words pretty consistently in therapy- like Up, and On, and Cup, but the only word he’s using of his own volition (and within his own personal context) is Okay!
Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah, Alhamdulillah.
Also, there’s another use for the word ‘Okay!’ Khalid and I, during our hour-long drive to therapy in the morning, have conversations that go like this:
Khalid (watching me expectantly from his car seat): Ah, ah, Okay!
Me: Okay!
(Khalid beams and wait a few seconds while basking in the glow of successful conversation. Then he looks to me again and says…)
Khalid: Ah, ah- Okay?
Me: Okay!
And we continue like this, through Abu Dhabi territory, past Jebel Ali, cruising into Dubai, zipping through our morning commute and sharing deep and meaningful and beautiful words like Okay.
Best. Word. In. The. World.
Okay!
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The Husbandfiles: A compilation of non-traditional ways of responding to ‘I Love You."
I love you.
I know.I love you!Yeah, me too!I love you.Ok.I love you so much…And I love you a little more than that.I love you more than chocolate cakeAre you sure? Because last I checked, chocolate cake loves me alot… -
What, us nocturnal again?
Iman is taking a tour of the living room right now. By herself. Her commando-crawl skills have really picked up in the last few days, and despite being sick and having an ear infection, she still enjoys a good reconnaissance mission over to the corner of the sofa or the edge of the carpet so she can stare intently at its patterns. At the moment, she’s crinkling a grocery list that she discovered under the coffee table.
It’s been a pediatric quarantine-athon here at home, Khalid had a week of high fever followed by a cough, and as soon as he go better, Iman started down the same viral road. She’s just getting over her week of high fever, and is on antibiotics for an ear infection as well. Me, I woke up two days ago sounding like a chain-smoking truck driver, which is typical for me when I get a cold. Now it’s my turn to be sick, and in addition to sounding like a truck driver, I also feel like I’ve been beaten by a truck driver.
It’s 1:30 am right now, and Iman wakes up when she can’t breathe properly (which has been every night for the last week) out of her nose. She’s running out of steam now, and I hope we can be in bed within another twenty minutes InshaAllah. Oh, good news! I almost forgot to blog this! *smacks forehead with keyboard* Four days ago, Khalid made the sign for hat! He patted his head, put the hat on it, and then made the sign again! That’s the first sign or form of communication he’s ever made with us, apart from saying ‘socks’ once, and I was nearly doing cartwheels! I am so excited, and so looking forward to being able to communicate with him! Please make dua that this progress continues. There have been so many changes in his behavior since we started therapy, and it’s only been three weeks! InshaAllah, InshaAllah, InshaAllah! Alhamdulillah!
Oh, Iman’s starting to cry and pull her ears, so it’s time for me rescue her and take her to bed. Gtg!
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The Art of Khalid BinWaleed- The Early Masterpieces
As seen in the Le Gallerie de’home, Blue Square (left) and Scribble Star (right)
Both pieces are said to represent the artist’s passion for geometry.
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This must be what it’s like when your kid graduates from med school
My little boy, my handsome little son, is painting. A blue square. With washable paints, with slow, deliberate jabs at the paper, and his little tongue poking out in concentration.
I. Am. So. Proud.
*gets misty eyed*
Khalid’s working with one of his therapists right now. We began his ABA two weeks ago, and we now drive into Dubai four days a week for Khalid to learn things like matching colors, and stacking shapes, and how to talk (InshaAllah, one day) and also, how to paint a blue square. 🙂
Iman is home with Ruth, her BFF as well as our full-time Khalid-chaser. Ok, technically, she’s a nurse, but she lives with us and helps me with the kids and the house and takes care of Iman while I take Khalid to therapy and keeps me company as well and compliments my cooking. I am reluctant to call Ruth the ‘help’ or the maid or the nanny, because there’s a negative stigma attached with 1. Being the ‘help’ or 2. Hiring help. But that’s another post for another day InshaAllah. Right now, I’m just going to sit here and beam.
*beam*
