Monday 14th July
I woke about 6am, looked at the clock, groaned and rolled over. Before I knew it, it was after 8am. I must have really needed the catch up sleep. Debbie was already up and around so I had a shower then had a chat before she left at 9:45am.
Being alone again was rather unsettling at first. I wandered around the house trying to decide what to do with myself before curling up on the lounge with one of the books I brought with me. While reading the book, my tears reminded me that it would probably be a good idea to take my “happy pills” as I had forgotten to take them for nearly a week! Realistically, I think it was more a sensory thing of being more aware of being on my own … no sound of anyone else in the house and even the neighbourhood was quiet. The fact that the book was pretty sad in parts didn’t help!
I know it may seem strange to some people but I like to read stories about people who have lived with children who have difficulties of one sort or another. (My eldest son is autistic, only very mildly so, but enough to make life interesting at times. He is slowly learning more of the unwritten social rules but as his two closest friends are very similar to him, it’s taking longer than it would if his friends were neurologically typical/”normal”). I even read these sorts of books as a child, specifically about autistic children which must have been the universe trying to prepare me for what was to come. On another train of thought, reading these books helps me appreciate how good I do have it and that it could have been much, much worse.
The book I was reading today is called “A Friend Like Henry” and is about a severely autistic boy who is slowly and lovingly brought out of his own world by his very determined and patient parents and a Golden Retriever puppy called Henry. It was just astounding to realize how bad they had it and how much blame was squarely placed on the parent’s shoulders. You would have thought this book was written about someone born at the beginning of the 1900’s, not a child born in the 1990’s. I experienced some of the same attitudes when we were trying to get Alex diagnosed but luckily not to anywhere near the same extent as the parents in the book. (Their son is now functioning well as an adult but the parents are going through it all over again with their daughter who is also autistic).
After I’d wiped all the tears away, I went into town to try and update my blog. Unfortunately the cybercafé doesn’t have Word on any of their computers so I couldn't use my diary to quickly update the blog. I surfed the net for a while, then went back to the house for a bit more sloth-like behaviour. Scrapping, reading, watching TV, contemplating my navel (figuratively of course!), making delicious toasted ham, cheese and tomato sandwiches for lunch at 4pm, more reading, more scrapping, more TV … you get the picture!
I had decided to have an early night, but at 9:30pm my brain was still racing so I stayed up a bit later … midnight. Your body uses less energy watching TV than sleeping so I figured I was resting while perving on the Tour de France riders! Ooh la la … magnifique! (Apologies to all the French speakers out there! That’s about the limit of my very bad French).