At the OR

Waiting is awful, when you are outside the OR. Even for minor procedures, such as the one James is undergoing right now, it is tough on the psyche. I hold his hand and smile, and try to not think of anything that could go wrong. We've sliced fruit, ninja-style. We've watched PBS kid programs. I helped him take his meds, hold the mask, and now I am waiting. Watching his number on a board and waiting for it to change from blue to pink, so I can sit by him in recovery.

Pick-up Time

Wow, we moms are a swarmy bunch! Waiting for my guy in the shade, admiring the garden and warm afternoon sunshine.

I love these angular windows. They somehow recall TV space and science programs from the early 1970s.

1 in 100

That's the new government estimate of children in the US affected by autism. (Link)

One in one hundred. And that's with the people who answer phones and talk with survey takers. Will we ever know the true number?

I am sometimes haunted by the feeling that there is a very real cause that triggers this disorder. I start to wonder what I did that made my baby susceptible to becoming the way he did.

My head knows that unless I am on board with a research team, spending time on this is pretty much a waste of time. My head knows that the best use of my efforts are to marshal a good plan, a series of ever-changing plans, for James. Plans that can help him lead a healthy and happy life.

My heart still aches, though.

Waiting for Now

I remember all the waiting when I was a kid. How endless the day seemed as I hung around, waiting for things to happen. I remembered it all well watching James wait for his SHAPE assistant this afternoon. As the wait for Christmas heats up. And the wait for nap time to be over. And the big birthday Numero Four-o ...