Mommy Dearest...

During Boost Camp (a conductive education camp where Sam first learned to balance and sit on a bench with no strapping up, to sit cross legged on the floor, and where he said his first sentence, "I don't like this."), Sam complains a lot. He likes Boost. He knows it helps him and he is excited to go every day. He enjoys his friends and helpers and shouts merrily when we arrive, after an hour's drive, to the camp. (Doyle Park Elementary School, gods bless them for lending it to Boost).

It helps him to see that other kids with disabilities have a hard time doing things. Even so, they still work very hard to sit, stand, walk, play, eat and talk. Even though he is proud and enjoys the outcome, it is insanely hard for him. Imagine if your body fought you when you tried to take a drink of water. If the cup weighed eighty pounds and your throat was swollen almost shut and you were nauseous but very thirsty, so you had to drink. You might give up and let the cards fall where they will--especially if all around you healthy people were drinking out of light cups and saying, 'come on you can do it.' But look--here are three or four others with swollen throats and heavy cups--you can try together to slake your thirst. Now it is doable. Sam likes it, likes feeling normal, but there is great wailing and, literally, gnashing of teeth during the tasks.

Generally, I keep the pressure on even when he is crying, yelling, and saying, "ANGRY! ANGRY! ANGRY!" (His enunciation of angry is amazingly good. He also learned instantly to use his communication device to say "I'm Mad!" appropriately). He is proud when he finishes his tasks, despite complaints. So when Sam yelled and complained walking with only the handles, but not the arm troughs, on his walker, I said, "I know it is different from what you are used to, but you have to do it. Stand up and quit moaning. Straighten your arms." I made him walk from the car to the door of the classroom. Imagine my horror when I went to take off the handles and discovered that the left side was bloody by the screws. He had scratched up his arm and it hurt. He wasn't only complaining about a new harder task. The walker gashed his arm. I am going to hell. Oops. I am already there.