Evening Hours

If I have my office work under control, I use the evening hours after Martin goes to bed to do the “support” work necessary to maintain his special diet. I don’t mind this time. I switch on the little 9″ television in my kitchen (more or less the only time television plays at home; the huge flat-screen in our living room sits unused except during major sporting events) and find some comfort in the steady predictability of the chores. What I do on a given night might involve any of the following:

· Washing and juicing organic lemons, then cleaning their rinds and placing them in the dehydrator, or removing rinds from the dehydrator and grinding them into lemon peel for spice.

· Juicing butternut squash for any recipes in the week that require juice, then setting the leftover pulp to dry in the dehydrator, or grinding that dried pulp into fiber-rich powder to thicken stews.

· Setting to soak ingredients (such as beans) that are necessary for the next day’s cooking, or in the case of ingredients (such as nuts or seeds) that must be soaked and then dehydrated, beginning the process two days before cooking.

· Using the Vitamix to make “milk” from pre-soaked nuts and filtered water, straining the end-product through a nut milk bag, then dehydrating the pulp left in the bag, or grinding dehydrated pulp into nut flour to use for baked goods.

· Trimming, cleaning, and packing any bunched fresh herbs that I did not get to when I brought them home over the weekend.

· Double-filtering tap water (through our under-counter AquaSana system, followed by our countertop Berkey system) to ensure the removal of any contaminants to which Martin might be sensitive.

· Prepping ingredients for the next morning’s breakfast, such as steaming and pureeing vegetables for pancakes (yes, it’s an unusual recipe) or slicing squash into “French fry” shapes to be sprayed with seasoned oil and baked.

· Oiling my wooden cooking utensils (I’ve thrown out almost everything plastic) and setting them to condition overnight.

· Seasoning and conditioning cast iron cookware.

A lot of these tasks get kicked from night to night. I work until it seems late enough, then give the kitchen a final cleaning.

As of August 5, a Weekday

With no special appointments on calendar, and when work is not crazy (discussed below), this is how I organize a typical weekday right now:

7:15-7:45 a.m. I rise when Martin opens the door to my and Adrian’s bedroom and calls, “Mommy!” There is some flexibility in this timing; this morning, for instance, Martin surprised us at 5:45 a.m. and refused to go back to sleep. (Thanks, kiddo!) In the event that I wake while Martin is still asleep, I use the time to get a jump on feeding the cats, preparing breakfast, or getting myself washed and dressed.

7:45-8:45 a.m. A busy time. I turn Martin over to Adrian, who gets him freshened up and dressed. While they’re doing that, I prepare Martin’s morning homotoxicology (heat filtered water and “cook” the alcohol out of his drops) and feed our four cats. (Because nothing in life can be easy, two of the cats are on restricted diets, and each eats something different. They require close supervision so as not to get into each other’s food.) When Adrian and Martin come downstairs, I add citrus-flavored kombucha to the homotoxicology drops and help Martin drink that mixture, along with three nepro rella tablets. Then Adrian and Martin have their half-hour RDI session together. I participate as necessary, or video parts of their session to send to our RDI coordinator, or else use the time to prepare Martin’s breakfast. (To my dismay, Adrian refuses to eat breakfast.) If I’m lucky, I dash upstairs to wash up and get dressed.

8:45-9:15 a.m. Martin is usually back in my control by about 8:40 a.m., when Adrian goes up to shower and prepare for work. I help Martin with his breakfast, and we do his morning supplement routine, which is the most extensive of the day, with half-a-dozen pills, two kinds of oil, four varieties of drops, vitamin E that I empty from capsules into oil, and diluted Biosode. Martin’s nanny, Samara, arrives around 9:00 a.m. She’s well versed in his entire supplementation/homotoxicology routine and helps us finish that and any breakfast still left on his plate. Adrian breezes through on his way to the office. I turn Martin over to Samara; between 9:15 and 9:30 a.m. they leave for the park or a playdate.

9:15-10:00 a.m. Typically I need a half-hour, or more, once the apartment has settled down, to tidy the kitchen, to take care of dishes left in the dishwasher or laundry run through the dryer overnight, and to finish getting myself ready for the day.

10:00 a.m.-12:00 p.m. Work. Often these two hours involve a lot of returning emails and catching up on what’s come in overnight, because I work with people who work a lot.

12:00-12:30 p.m. Martin and Samara return for lunch. I spend a few minutes playing with him. Then I prepare his lunch, usually leftovers from whatever entrée I cooked the previous afternoon, plus an improvised side dish like sauerkraut-and-parsley or avocado-and-cilantro. I also assemble a snack for Martin to take to school. Samara takes care of Martin’s noontime supplements. I give the cats their lunch.

12:30-4:30 p.m. I try to devote as much of this time as possible to work, and also for any necessary conference or other business calls. Samara takes Martin to his special-education school by 1:00 p.m., so I have a few good hours of quiet. Inevitably, though, non-work tasks begin to crowd the afternoon—the supermarket didn’t have some specialty item, so I have to run to the natural-foods store, or we urgently need cat food until the next scheduled delivery arrives, or I forgot food for myself and step out to grab a smoothie. Because I work at home, I can also use this time for prepping dinner ingredients that require more time, like cooking beans or dicing and steaming vegetables. I’m an afternoon sous-chef / lawyer.

4:30-5:00 p.m. Samara brings Martin home from school and does his afternoon homotoxicology (as in the morning, “cooking” drops in filtered water and serving mixed with kombucha) and three nepro rella tablets. Martin’s afternoon home-based therapist (OT or PT) arrives for a half-hour session. I rush to cram in anything that needs to be finished for work before Samara leaves at 5:00 p.m.

5:00-7:00 p.m. The busiest time of my day. During this two-hour stretch I finish preparing Martin’s dinner, do his 13 daily HANDLE exercises, bathe him and rub oil on his skin, and help him eat while giving him four or five pills, one oil with three types of drops in it, and antioxidant cream rubbed into his neck. I also dim the lights and try to create a calm atmosphere, to get him settled for bed. This also tends to be Martin’s most difficult time of day, because he’s overtired and not willing to obey or even to pay attention. He tries to rile me by running into my home office, where he knows he’s not allowed to play, or by climbing the carpeted cat-tree. I get frustrated.

7:00-8:00 p.m. Between 7:00 and 7:15 p.m. I take Martin up to bed. We read a book or two. Actually, because his attention is limited, we do more looking at pictures and talking while he turns pages. I brush his teeth. We snuggle. Finally I sit in the chair next to his bed and read, check Facebook, or catch up on headlines on the iPad while Martin dozes off. If we’ve had a bad night or two, I may fall asleep in the chair and wake half an hour later to find Martin also asleep. Adrian, on nights when he does Martin’s bedtime, is much better at telling Martin that it’s sleepy-time and leaving the room. That’s difficult for me. Martin likes to have someone in the room when he falls asleep, and I like that he closes the day with the security of Mommy next to his bed.

8:00-10:30 p.m. Once Martin is asleep, I return any emails and make any evening phone calls necessary for work. Then I begin the kitchen routine. Adrian tends to arrive home from work around 8:30 or 9:00 p.m. Depending on whether he has eaten at the office, I make him either a snack or a meal, such as garbage pasta. After Adrian is taken care of, I engage in the support necessary to maintain Martin’s exhausting low-carb, sugar-free, preservative-free, all-homemade organic diet. Finally I clean the kitchen and set the dishwasher to run overnight.

These couple of hours used to be a lot more difficult for me, when I also had to bake for Martin. (With the exception of one commercially available raw cracker, every cracker, cookie, muffin, or bread that passes his lips is homemade. Most are grain-free.) In recent months, my mother, who is retired and has more time, has taken over baking for Martin. She has his dietary restrictions memorized and is quite creative. She prepares his baked goods at her home more than 1,000 miles from us, freezes them, and overnight ships them to us. As a result, I am less stressed when 10:30 or 10:45 p.m. arrives.

10:30 p.m.-midnight. Wind-down. I feed the cats, maybe trim their nails or brush their coats. I straighten Martin’s play area, get the house in order, return personal phone calls and emails (I have very understanding friends and family). I file the paperwork that accumulates for Martin: applications, school evaluations, insurance claims, blood test results, referrals. I try to be in bed before 11:30 p.m. but rarely succeed. When I get there, I read or play Scrabble on the iPad. I try not to think about autism. I fall asleep by half-past-midnight, or so.

This schedule assumes (1) that we have not had any appointments for Martin during the day, and (2) that my work is not going crazy. One or two mornings a week I end up taking Martin to an appointment, such as his craniosacral therapist in Westchester, or his homotoxicologist in Midtown, or some Track One affair at the Big Imposing Hospital. And if my work is going crazy—if a brief is due, or a hearing is going forward, or things have just piled up—I have to sacrifice the evening kitchen hours, and most of my sleep. I recently went an entire week on less than 20 hours’ sleep, working during the day, then from 8:00 p.m. until 2:00 or 3:00 a.m., and getting up at 6:00 a.m. to get in an hour before Martin woke. It was the worst! My ability to cope with that kind of schedule has gone way down since law school 15 years ago.

Weekends are a little different. We try to have family time at the park, or maybe on a day-trip. Otherwise I do the laundry, construct Martin’s menu for the week, grocery shop, and try to get ahead of the week’s cooking. I may have some work to do. Adrian may have some work to do. We may both have some work to do, in which case we tag-team Martin’s therapy and care. Adrian and I also schedule one date night per week, either alone or with another couple. I cook for Martin in advance, and a sitter whom he loves comes to give him dinner and put him to bed.

My task at this point is to figure out where blogging is going to fit into the schedule. If I have to, I will cut the midnight-1:00 a.m. sleeping hour. This blog is important to me, as I hope it will be helpful to others.

Recipe: White Bean Cakes

Tonight for dinner Martin ate white bean cakes with a side of sauerkraut-parsley. I got the idea for the white bean cakes from a recipe for “black bean cakes” that I found in The Everything Guide to Cooking for Children with Autism, which is a gluten-free, casein-free (GFCF) cookbook, not strict enough for Martin’s diet but nonetheless helpful. The original recipe called for 2 cups cooked black beans, 3 tablespoons mild salsa, 2 tablespoons cornmeal or GFCF breadcrumbs, and canola oil. Martin does not eat any of those ingredients, but why should that stop us?

Here’s what I came up with:

· 2-3 cups lima or navy beans (the two beans approved for Martin), cooked and mashed
· 2/3 cup (combined) of peeled and diced cucumber, lemon juice, onion, garlic, and parsley
· 1/3 cup sunflour
· avocado oil for cooking

I combined everything but the avocado oil and formed the mixture into patties, which I fried in the avocado oil. Medium heat, about five minutes per side.

With the sunflour and the beans, this makes a nice protein. You can vary the cooking oil for different tastes and healthy fats.

Highs and Lows

Since we started this process, I’ve become better at a number of things. Baking without using grains, for example. Compartmentalizing and exploiting every minute of my day, and then squeezing out some extra minutes. Popping a pill into a toddler with a single motion, capped with a boop! sound. Talking a wide circle around the topic of developmental delay when someone asks about Martin and I don’t care to reveal his condition.

I’ve made progress in some less obvious areas, too. One of those is weathering the highs and lows that come with autism recovery.

In the early weeks, I was a mess. When we switched his diet and started the supplements etc., Martin made such progress so fast that (despite warnings to the contrary) I envisioned a straight, steady trajectory from autism to neurotypicality. It wasn’t long before the bad days started coming, though—days when he would not (or could not) respond, when he screamed with every diversion from routine, when he spun in circles and walked on his toes. I really, really let those days get me down. It seems like we haven’t made any progress at all. Is this regression? Are we going backwards? Are the treatments hurting him? My optimism ebbed and flowed with every change in Martin’s mood. It was also the most difficult time on the learning curve; Martin’s diet was ultra-restricted, and I felt like I’d never get the hang of measuring and administering all the potions, not to mention scheduling and attending endless “Track One” doctor appointments. I became frustrated and snippy. I pitied Adrian for having to put up with me.

By the time we’d managed the first couple months, I was better able to accept that the trajectory to neurotypicality is indeed constant, but also jagged. Yes, Martin has bad days. Now, however, they are reminders of how far we’ve come. When he engages in a behavior I haven’t seen in weeks, such as running circles around our freestanding staircase while strumming a toy guitar, I remember when he used to do it several times a day and thank my lucky stars that it has mostly disappeared. In fact, after the first couple months, even our worst days were better than our best days in January, before the interventions. Besides, I’ve noticed that bad days—and, especially, bad nights—often herald breakthroughs. Martin will wake at 1:00 am, toss and turn for three hours, then sleep in and rise with more sentences then he’s ever spoken. So, in general, I’m serene.

This week has tested that serenity and the confidence that accompanies it. Today marks the sixth day in a row that Martin has had no attention span whatsoever. This morning Adrian tried to do his usual 30-minute RDI with Martin and managed only eight minutes. (Adrian later confessed that the experience left him feeling dejected, which did little to help me.) Martin had an appointment with his craniosacral therapist, typically a 60- or 75-minute affair. She gave up after half an hour. Martin just is not fully with us. He’s been self-stimming, obsessing over toys, and spending time alone in Martinville. This is the longest period I can remember of seemingly stalled progress.

It’s hard for me, to have a full week this way. Here are a few factors nevertheless buoying me:

First, despite the lack of attention, Martin has done remarkably in other areas this week. His speech is great, with original thoughts left and right. We can actually hear the thought process as he speaks; upon seeing a bare-chested man in the park, Martin announced, slowly, “That boy is wearing a shirt . . . no!” And he’s engaging in more interactive play than ever. In addition to chasing a couple of girls he knows, and letting them chase him, yesterday he initiated play with a boy he didn’t know. We’ve never seen that before. Samara (nanny) was excited as could be when she brought Martin home.

Second, I’ve been theorizing about why Martin’s attention might be off, and this morning the craniosacral therapist, Diane, said something that confirms what I’ve been thinking. Martin has a lot going on, Diane said. He’s making strides in language and play, he’s dealing with a changing body (his muscle development appears to have caught up with neurotypical toddlers, his physical therapist has mentioned), and his systems are strengthening (his recent fever, I think, confirms this). On some level, the progress is over-taxing him. His attention span is taking a break to deal with it all. We may just be on the verge of something big.

Diane didn’t actually say that last part, about being on the verge of something big. I added it—just one more way to get myself through the day.

Waxing Poetically

Here’s some information about me: First, I have a degree in creative writing. If I try hard, and spend a lot of time, and stare out the window between clauses, and search within myself for emotive phrases, I can usually write a pretty sentence. A flowery sentence, even, when the occasion calls for flourish. I can do that. Second, I also have a master’s degree in philosophical theology, a field I adore (though I went on to become an lawyer). Sometimes in the middle of the night I get so worked up about the meaning of eternity that I have to go downstairs and see if I can find an episode of Family Ties on Hub TV to calm me.

I’m revealing these facts to make a point about this blog. A few books have come out recently by parents who wax poetically about their children with ASD and related issues, who have found the meaning in their quirkiness, who see beauty in a life that looks different. I’ve perused the jackets of those books, but I haven’t read one. Each time I try, I end up thinking, Cut the crap. Despite the creative-writing and theology degrees, I don’t care to ponder the meta-questions associated with my son’s disorder. In this blog I will not be contemplating the interactions that make us human. I will not be reflecting on what Martin’s otherness says about my sameness.

I will admit that Adrian and I have talked about the blessings of a son whose development, on most fronts, is delayed. We get the opportunity to savor moments that might otherwise have flown by. In the past few weeks Martin has finally found the focus and moderation to walk alongside a grown-up, holding hands. Last week we realized that, when Martin speaks, he now looks at one of us to make sure he has our attention. How many parents of neurotypical children celebrate those milestones? Yet Adrian detests the saying that everything happens for a reason, and on some level I agree with him. I mean, I’m yet to find the well-wisher who can give me the “reason” that my kid has autism.

Martin’s autism, more so than any non-work-related issue I’ve ever encountered, has brought out the lawyer in me. I just want to roll up my sleeves and fix this. I chose that word—fix—with care. I know it will anger or upset some persons in the autism community, but I have promised honesty in this blog. And the truth is that I view autism as a problem, and I plan to fix it.

Here’s an analogy: I do a lot of volunteer work in area church governance. Often when a matter of business arises, we spend, seriously, hours making sure that everyone’s position is heard on church history, theological implications, congregational inclusion, who knows what. (Hey, it’s church, right?) I detest those discussions. After five or ten minutes, all the really important stuff has been said, and we’re just drifting Joyce-like through emotional arguments and feel-good reassurances. Serving on many of the same committees is another lawyer, retired from a big firm like the kind that employs me. I catch his eye, and we give each other a look that says, “These people obviously don’t work on billable hours.”

It’s like billable hours here. We have a limited window in which to recover Martin. With each passing day, it will be more difficult. I’m not going to waste any time searching for the ways in which his life with autism can be just as rich and varied as without. And I know we may not succeed. Martin might, for his entire life, remain distinguishable from his neurotypical peers. If that happens, I have no doubt that I will find comfort in a more philosophical approach to our situation. Now is not that time. If I can fix this disorder, I will not let it fester while I admire the bigger picture. This blog is about the workaday aspects of finding, and fixing.

I suppose there is some irony that I’ve written this post at all. True, it required taking a step back to contemplate our journey and what I plan for this blog. But I really don’t have time for irony, either.