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COUGH COUGH COUGH
Me: “Sahara, did you swallow a checker?”
S: “A Checker?”
Me: “Sahara, Did you eat one?”
S: “Yes”
Me: “You ate one?”
S: “No”
Me: “Sahara did you eat this?”
S: No response
Me: “Look at me…. Did you eat this?”
S: “Eat this?”
Me: “Is the checker in you?”
COUGH ***GAG*** COUGH
Me: “Honey are you okay?”
S: Points to mouth then to the checkers
Me: “Is there one in there?”
S: “No eat.”
If you have ever tried to get concrete information from a child diagnosed with autism compromised by a severe speech and communication delay, you know just how frustrating (almost on the brink of infuriation) that this type of a scenario can be. You don’t know if the speech you are hearing is echolalia or if the gesturing is part of a game or if it is telling you something.
You feel your energy begin to swirl… faster and faster into a panic. You lose your thoughts to your fears… and cannot think straight. You can’t remember if you heard a cough earlier that day and your mind can only embrace the worse possible outcome.
On the ride to the hospital emergency room, the silence is broken by this gaspy cough… then all is quiet again. It is a busy night in the ER! You register and sit down wishing that no one else was in your midst, certainly all the other parents are thinking the same thought; begging in their mind for their child’s aliment to be more important than the next to get the care they need first.
After an hour, you get called into triage. The nurse is annoyed because she has had to print out a third wrist band for your child and because of the sensory issues you know it won’t be the last. You say you will keep it on your wrist, but are quickly put into place and told it has to be on her body. Your relief of being in triage is quickly replaced with exasperation when the nurse redirects you back to the waiting area.
As you sit there you can identify with the other parents; all emotionally tired and frustrated. Suddenly you see a man come into the ER entrance with a gunshot wound. Whispers are contagious among the parents. You sit there with the fresh images of raw flesh held up in the air with a bullet wound dripping in crimson red. You unsuccessfully try to ground yourself.
The kids have to go to the bathroom, but the policewoman redirects you to a long corridor; they are guarding the gunshot victim and interrogating people at the bathroom entrance. You try to explain what is happening, but your kids have no clue what the word ‘gang’ means and have a difficult time following any explanation.
In the bathroom, your child begins this unnerving whine… you forgot to grab her special towel that she uses to wipe herself after going potty at the house. Her sensory issues are becoming even more agitated. You begin to doubt your decision to drag the whole family to the ER… it has been 2 hours since she supposedly swallowed the foreign object and she seems fine (fine, that is, other than this hoarse cough).
You wait awhile longer, and then they call you to a treatment. One nurse, a resident and a fellow later you are told they are going to do chest and abdominal x-rays. However, it is explained that the plastic checker will not show up on a film, so they are just looking at the integrity of the lungs, esophagus and abdomen. You agree to do the x-rays and are directed to another wing where you wait another 30 minutes.
You are relieved that your child is pretty cooperative for the x-rays as you stand next to her in a heavy lead apron. You wonder if the gown was comforting to her and as she seems to melt into the cold glass x-ray table. Back to the waiting room, then to the original treatment room and finally at 2:00 am you are told that there was nothing to show concern on the films…. However, that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a checker still in her esophagus. It is thoroughly explained that the concern now is the checker being sucked into her lung if it is indeed lodged into the esophagus. If you suspect this is happening you are instructed to call 911 immediately… this will be notable if she begins gasping of air. You sigh knowing that is the sound of the cough that triggered this whole wild goose chase.
Discharge papers take another 30 minutes to arrive. Your oldest child is overtired and snipping at everyone. The patient’s sensory input is on overdrive and is now pacing the halls and pushing the automatic door buttons. Daddy has an intense look on his face that even makes you shudder and you, well, you have completely shut down. Your family has had it and is exhausted and ready to get home.
The kids fall asleep on the way home. Your child wakes every 20-40 minutes the rest of the night with this hoarse gaspy croupy cough. You don’t dare fall asleep as the fear of suffocation has forced your eyes to stay awake. You are constantly questioning yourself whether it is just a cough or the checker moving.
You are exhausted! You are tired, and I mean not just on a literal level, but on a deeper more profound level. The manifestations of the autism has taken your strength and you lay awake pissed about your plight… thinking about how it would have been easier if your child could just have said whether or not she had swallowed the fucking red checker in the first place.
As you focus on the hoarse breathing of the limp child laying in your arms, you begin to beg for God to make the Autism just go away. You pray for her to find her way out of its grasps so she can have a functional, productive life. You pray for that miracle that will bring your child her speech and functional communication with the morning sun, so you don't have to guess anymore during another crisis.
And in the depth of your quiet heart you pray that she will simply make it to her next birthday;
Then in the recess of your mind you begin to search for the cure that will simply make her 'normal';
Finally, in the seat of your soul, you strike a deal with God that He will simply and miraculously heal your child tonight...
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