Silence on Sunday…

It’s quiet… an eery silence has descended over the house only to be interrupted by the occasional clak of a cue striking a cue ball, sporadically narrated by the somewhat soothing voice of a northerner.

Last night was a momentous occasion. Boy, for the first time in as long as I can remember, went to sleep without the assistance of medication. This could signify that it’s a good time to start further reducing his dose with a view to cutting it out completely… something I’ve been longing for for quite a while.

After the seasonal trauma of Christmas and events blogged previously, we’ve taken to spending more and more time upstairs in Boy’s room, accompanying him in what was previously his self-enforced isolation cell. The weekends have become much more enjoyable for all of us… We’d managed to establish a nice little session of regular constructivity thanks to Duplo. I’d even convinced him to pick up a book!

This morning when he woke up, he looked awful. An 8yr old with a proper hangover face.  

I can’t help but wonder if this is a withdrawal symptom from the medication. He was obviously out of sorts… Frustrated, distracted, and irritated to the point of self-harm resulting in a bruised foot (his latest target). Calmly and rationally we attempted to distract and occupy him. We attempted some plain logic to try and deduce what he wanted, usually done via physical guidance towards whatever that item happens to be, but he didn’t seem to know himself other than that he wanted something. When he self-harms, it’s tricky to work out why. He can’t communicate, so it could be something obvious, but it just as much could be something completely unobvious. Whatever today’s source of irritation was, it was certainly something he couldn’t work out how to communicate. Questioning whether he was just being weird, obvious things were still attempted – munches, juice, toys, iPad… but nope, ’twas none of these. He motioned that he wanted me to leave him alone in his room (this is done by shoving me out the door literally), but then immediately pulled me back in to sit me on the bed in front of him, only to repeat the procedure over and over again. All the while getting more and more worked up and anxious.

Working thru the situation it could boil down to any of the following: med withdrawal, headache / stomach ache / some physical pain he can’t communicate.

After 3 hours of pondering, head scratching, shift changes (myself and TheChimp operating in stints to allow the other to regain some mental clarity), two teaspoons of calprofen and 20 minutes later, Boy is playing happily in his room without a care in the world, shouting occasionally at a piece of fluff.

I guess we’ll never know exactly what it was…

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About apatchworkboy

Aspergers dad to a severely autistic non-verbal boy

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