High-functioning, low-functioning, medium-functioning. Severely autistic, mildly autistic. Verbal, non-verbal. Hand-flapping, wiggling mess. All I know is that P is gulping air still and producing lots of gas, burping, vomiting, and now he’s got a fever too. And not the type of fever that mellows him but the kind that makes him chant like a Native-American and shriek. Today he woke up and wouldn’t let me go, kept ‘asking’ for cuddles and would bite his hand if I didn’t succumb. Hello mommy! That’s the cue to stay the fuck home. But no, I went to work only to leave frantically and in tears just a couple of hours later. Picked him up from the school in total and utter chaos.
Just when I’m about to crack a smile and think that life ain’t so bad Autism, the big A, rears its ugly head at us one more time as if to say: “Hey guys, don’t forget: I’m still here you fucking morons”