SIT!

My 85-year-old Mom whose roof I live under wanted to show me a magazine with the cover story, “The Best Employers to Work For”. I told her, “Well, I work for you and I doubt you made it on the list.” She laughed instead of throwing it at me. Seriously, though, I am privileged to be my Mom’s sidekick.

One morning my Mom was visited by a home health nurse for a follow-up on her progress from hip surgery. I was still in a snooze position when I heard her walk in the door. One of the retirement assets I enjoy is I get up pretty much when I want to. I would have stayed put since she was my Mom’s visitor. However, I decided to get up since it was a little past my normal rise-and-shine moment.

Good news! The nurse was impressed with my Mom’s health stats. In other words, she’s doing VERY good for someone her age. Her vitals were well in the normal range. So that’s the good news!

The bad news was the nurse’s visit was much harder on me and my “Billy” (my nickname for my Autism) than on her. There are times when Billy is quiet as a mouse. And, then there are times when it wakes up like a roaring lion and slaps me in the face. This was one of those times.

I poked my head in to introduce myself because I’ve heard it is a polite thing to do when company comes callin’. The lady had a friendly voice and so I felt okay to make a quick entrance/exit. It went sour when she asked me to join in. I understand her reason for wanting to explain it to us both, but it wasn’t necessary. I could hear every word said since both my Mom and the nurse do not have low voices. Even if I had not been within earshot, I get a thorough briefing from my Mom of her every visit, phone call, and e-mail she receives. My Mom is still of sound mind and doesn’t need an interpreter. I said in a low voice, “Nah!”

The nurse didn’t take “nah” for an answer. She insisted! I felt reduced from a 63-year-old to a 10-year-old. This wouldn’t have been hard IF I didn’t have autism, but I do. Social interaction is like a land minefield to me. Sometimes I step onto a lane mine and this one I did. My “Billy” kicked up a storm inside my head. I did as she asked and sat on the couch. I had an itching to throw a tantrum. But I knew I had to stay quiet, nod, smile, and, in other words, pretend to be someone who doesn’t have a “Billy”.

She and my Mom hit it off. It’s hard to say who did most of the talking. They both had a good time judging from the smiles and chuckles; theirs, not mine. After her insisting for me to “SIT”, I had nothing else to say to her. I shut down! I wrung my hands to ease the tension as I continued to sit pretty. I wanted to rock but that would have attracted attention and I didn’t want any. The nurse may have thought I was cold and indifferent. I hope not, but I can’t help it if she did. She’s not to blame because she didn’t know about my “Billy”.

That’s the thing. One never knows what someone else lives with or is going through.

She told my Mom some of her life stories. Her medical career was impressive having worked once as a heart transplant nurse at a major hospital. In the course of the conversation, she stated someone told her once that she was too bossy. I didn’t say it, she did. I thought, “NO KIDDING!”

After she left, I went out for a walk in the yard to soothe my “Billy”. A prayer too. And, followed by a four-mile bike ride. That’s my therapy. I tell Billy “let’s forget it ever happened” and Billy says “only in your dreams, my dear!”