In general, it does not take anyone very long to notice that O is "different," but very few people are able to grasp that we are dealing with another degree of "different."
When I tell people that we bought a house with a huge sledding hill in the back yard, they will nod and say something like "Oh, yes, our kids like to sled in the back yard, too." "No, really," I will respond, "You can ski down this thing, it is huge." "Oh yes, we know what you mean," they say. Then they come to our house. "Whoa! That hill is huge!! I had no idea you meant it was that big! How on earth do you mow it?" Seeing is believing, I suppose.
In the same way, we talk to people who will say, "Oh, yes, O seems smart, but don't they have programs for that in school? How far ahead could he be?" Well. There is no good way to quantify Origami's needs without coming across as a jackass, so in general we do not even try. The short answer, though, is: pretty darn far ahead. The longer answer might be more along the lines of, "Well, why don't you come on over and try to mow our back yard?"
I found myself thinking about this again recently, as I did sprints up the hill as part of my speedwork. I guess that oxygen deprivation shook something loose in my brain.
My son's tics have worsened dramatically in the last several months; this is to be expected at his age, but expecting the tics to get worse has not made them easier to handle. No parent wants to see his or her child in pain; it should be obvious to any observer that my son's tics cause him a great deal of pain.
I have written about how severe Origami's tics are. I have talked to friends and relatives about how severe Origami's tics are. Everyone has been wonderfully sympathetic and supportive. But I really do not think anyone understood just what I meant by "severe" until I shared video of O's tics. The extreme always makes an impression -- or is that, seeing is believing?
Let me put it this way: When Origami saw what his major tics look like, he was upset. He deals with the pain and the anxiety all the time, but he had no idea what the rest of the world sees when he tics.
I am not going to share video of Origami's tics on a public blog. Instead, I will share a photo of O enjoying the first snow of the season in our back yard. It's a really big hill, trust me -- or see for yourself.
2 comments:
It's unfortunate that O's tics don't have a metaphorical equivalent of a riding lawn mower - an easy fix, something to make a really big hill more bearable. I guess that's what the fundraising and research is all for.
Somewhere in the not-too-distant past I read something about the benefit of talking about one's unpleasant feelings. The act of verbalizing these negative emotions, it was said, begins the process of wrapping them into a neat little package and moving them to a part of the brain better equipped to work with them.
What you are describing here is the reverse. When it's just words, it's up to the listener to unwrap the package and create the picture and accompanying feelings. But a picture comes in through a different door and hits the emotions directly.
Yes, that's a big hill. And, yes, I am not a weepy person, but when I saw the pictures, I burst into tears.
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