I am learning so much.

Today I learned that turkey necks separate easily at the vertebrae when cooked.

You, perhaps, already knew that turkey necks separate easily at the vertebrae when cooked.

I did not.

I suppose I never considered the issue. Never had occasion to.

Martin has become an eager drinker of the meat broth that is supposed to be so beneficial to him. He’s slurping several cups a day. Today I dragged out the super-sized slow cooker—as opposed to the regular-sized slow cooker for daily use (sigh)—and brewed my third batch of broth. The first two batches were beef-based. This time turkey’s number was up.

If animals have to perish for Martin’s recovery, I want to make sure, at least, that we exploit as much of each animal as possible. At the same time, I’ve been informed that nontraditional body parts make good broth. So during the week I visited a farmer and purchased a bag of fresh turkey necks.

(Discussing turkey sections with the farmer was one in a series of adventuresome conversations I’ve been having, right up to the limits of my own tolerance. I discussed methods of execution with a guy who kills ducks once a week. I interrogated a bison rancher about why his bison are transported to slaughter at another site. I got a five-minute lesson in cooking emu eggs, from an emu—shepard? rancher? farmer? What do you call a person who raises emus?)

I thawed the turkey necks overnight in the refrigerator, but they were still quite frozen this morning, so I plopped them into the slow cooker to let them thaw as the filtered water heated. After an hour I fished a neck from amidst the rosemary, cilantro, tarragon, celery, seaweed, broccoli stalks, and carrots. I set the neck on the cutting board I’ve reserved for meat and started chopping away, to no avail.

Now, I’ve seen plenty of (live) turkeys. I know that they can twist and fold their necks all sorts of directions. Had I been thinking clearly, I would have realized that the ability to shift the neck implicates the presence of vertebrae. I was not thinking clearly. I was thinking, “There’s a turkey neck on my counter.” I made a few more attempts at hacking, trying not to touch the flesh, then returned the turkey neck to the slow cooker. The illogical idea running through my mind was that a turkey neck must be one solid bone.

Yeah, I know.

A few hours later I wielded metal tongs to pull the by-now-tender meat from the necks as they bobbed around the slow cooker. To my surprise, the necks broke easily into pieces. Half-inch-long pieces. With a triangular bone inside each.

Oh, hey! Vertebrae! That makes sense.

Something about the presence of meat in my kitchen apparently makes me dense. Next time I’m using turkey necks, I’ll be better-informed.

Now, emu eggs. Lesson or no, that’s an escapade I’m not quite ready to undertake.

When I posted about deciding to allow Martin to eat limited meats and meat-based broths, Adrian predicted that I might receive two sorts of responses. He thought commentators from the vegan/vegetarian camp would question the earnestness of my ahimsa, since I’m willing to serve my son flesh. Commentators from the other side of the fence would fault me for not doing so sooner, saying that if this might help Martin, then previously I was stymieing his progress in deference to my personal ethics.

I am thankful that I’ve received no such responses, neither on the blog, nor via email (findingmykid@yahoo.com) or the Twitter feed (@findingmykid), nor in person. So far, everyone has been supportive.

Thus more or less armed with approbation, I meant to let the issue go and post no more about the meat decision (as opposed to its implementation—be prepared to hear plenty more about that, as this vegan goes stumbling through Carnivordom). Subsequently, however, I became aware of at least one other vegetarian family reading my blog and facing the same choice, and I changed my mind about posting again. In the hopes of helping others settle, one way or the other, here is my reasoning in greater detail—

When it comes to human-to-other-animal interaction, I try to let two principles govern my conduct.

First, non-human animals are sentient beings with their own interests, and are entitled to possession and use of their own bodies and products thereof. If I do not need what belongs to an animal, I do not take it. I do not wear fur, leather, suede, silk, or wool because I do not need to. And after researching nutrition extensively, I concluded that neither do I need to eat animal flesh, parts, eggs, or milk to be healthy; indeed, it appears to be healthier to forego such foods. Therefore, I am a vegan. I became a vegetarian when I was 16 years old and a vegan when I was 21. I am now 39 years old.

Second, humans come first. That rule seems self-evident to me, because I am a human. Just as I put my family before outsiders, or my community before strangers, I put my species before other species. What’s more, I rank other species and their interests according to how like humans they are. Though it doesn’t always feel this way when I watch the news, humans are the gold standard. We enjoy the most complex lives. Mosquitoes, for example, are not much like humans. I react terribly to mosquito bites, with painful swelling that can last for weeks unless I get to an antihistamine within five minutes. I therefore kill mosquitoes when I can, and I haven’t lost any sleep over that. On the other hand, our cat Freddie (as I’ve noted before; sorry about all the feline scatology) pees outside his litter box. This is at least as annoying as having to take occasional mosquito-related antihistamine, yet I would never kill Freddie. At least not over the peeing.

I applied these two rules to Martin’s situation as follows: It appears that Martin, with his unusual digestive and dietary issues, might benefit from eating animal flesh—unlike a healthy person, for whom a well-rounded vegan diet (as I see the world) is the better choice. Does that mean Martin needs meat? I suppose it depends on how one defines “need.” Certainly, Martin can survive without meat. He might even heal without it; after all, he’s made a lot of progress already. The need, if need it is, arises insofar as animal flesh might help him heal faster, or more completely.

So Martin’s need is not a matter of life or death. For the animals involved, however, Martin’s meat eating is matter of life or death; they are being killed for the possibility that Martin can achieve richer and more fulfilling experiences. On a balanced scale, Martin would lose: An animal’s life, in toto, would outweigh Martin’s hope for a better life.

But the scale is not balanced. That’s where rule no. 2 comes in. Martin is a human, and my son. He starts with a whole pile of barbells on his side. The question, if we’re right about meat helping Martin, becomes whether animal life outweighs the difference between (1) Martin healed as far as possible without meat and (2) Martin healed as far as possible with meat.

I found no easy answer to the question, so stated. I don’t even know the second half of the equation. What is the difference in Martin’s healing going to be with meat, as opposed to without it? I read what I could find on the issue. I asked questions of Martin’s Track Two team. I pondered. I prayed.

In the end, with Adrian’s support, I made the call in Martin’s favor. At least, I hope this winds up being in Martin’s favor. We’re going to try meat for a couple months and see what happens.

We’re doing our best to impose some ethical restraints on the process. We resolved to accept meat only from organic farms where the animals have ample space to roam, or meat from game hunted wild, without bait. None of this eliminates cruelty, of course; the animals are still being slaughtered. But there’s something to be said for kindness before death. We’re also focusing on bigger animals, to minimize the number killed. No pigs, though. I know pigs. They’re smarter than dogs and darn near as affectionate. Too close to humans.

Two nights ago I made my first batch of beef stock. Tearing apart the meat nauseated me. Adrian played back-up, sitting on a kitchen stool and trying to distract. He explained that the white film edging the cut was fat, and not super-durable plastic wrap like I thought. In the end, I managed to get flesh and fat and bone into the slow cooker, along with organic vegetables and herbs. I set it to cook overnight, and yesterday morning I strained a jar  of stock for use this week, and a glass container full to freeze for next week.

My oldest brother, one of Martin’s namesakes, is also a decades-long vegan and a person whose judgment I trust (most of the time; a little sister can’t buy into everything). Yesterday he sent me this email:

I guess if the two main reasons not to eat meat are for cruelty and health, and the nice farm is not cruel, and it is actually healthier for [Martin], then you have to give it a go, because both main reasons are kind of accounted for. . . . I feel for you, this is tough! We feel crummy giving our cats fish, and we didn’t even give birth to them. Anyway, I do think you should review this link before using too much chicken.

I clicked on the link he sent and found an article titled, “Bolivian President Says Eating Too Much Chicken Makes You Gay.”

It’s still nice to get in a laugh, once in a while.

In last week’s post titled “Guilt,” I described a chain of events surrounding Martin’s birth: Pitocin, epidurally administered drugs, stuck baby, C-section, NICU. I alluded also to my regret over having allowed the doctors to induce labor, which I believe triggered that chain.

With several years’ hindsight, I feel that I was railroaded into allowing the induced labor. (And I did allow it; I own my decision.) I was 42 weeks pregnant. From my perspective, Martin being two weeks late raised no red flags. Thirty-five years earlier, I myself spent an extra few weeks in the womb, and my instinct now said Martin was not ready to be born. But my doctor asserted, and a second doctor confirmed, that letting the pregnancy continue could only endanger Martin, with no potential upside. Plus, my doctor said, by inducing labor we could schedule the birth, for her once-weekly hospital duty.

It should not require explanation that a woman 42 weeks pregnant, who is being told that she’s risking her baby’s health, is vulnerable. I was vulnerable, and I made a decision that I believed, even at the time, to be wrong.

The mother of a young child with autism, who believes that recovery is possible and is struggling to effect that recovery, also is vulnerable. I am vulnerable, again.

And I am being faced with a choice I wish I did not have to make.

I’m a vegan. Until February, so was Martin. I’ve posted here about some of the tough decisions Adrian and I have made for Martin, regarding animal products in his diet. Since we radicalized his diet, he has started consuming fish oil, honey, ghee, and eggs (at the moment, duck and quail eggs).

Now I am being advised that, given his particular gut and digestion issues, eating meat might benefit Martin. Meat! Cows and pigs and chickens and—whatever other animals people eat, I suppose. I haven’t touched meat in more than 22 years. By this time the whole idea just strikes me as strange. I don’t want to do it, to feed flesh to Martin. At the same time, Adrian and I decided when we started this journey that we will do anything in our power to recover our son. Anything. (“If Martin needs to drink the blood of the Dalai Lama to get better,” I told Adrian one night, “we’re catching the next flight to India, knife in hand.”) Which means that if cows and pigs and chickens may help Martin, I can’t rule them out.

Let me be clear about this: I am not being railroaded into feeding Martin meat. The Track Two recovery team we work with is not the same as the doctors at Martin’s birth. These professionals take time, consider our family’s ethics and preferences, and facilitate our decisions, instead of strong-arming us into their decisions. No one has even framed the meat issue except with respect. Nevertheless, my own vulnerability when it comes to Martin’s recovery leads me to feel attacked. Feeding him meat means compromising a long-held stance. Denying him meat means bypassing a possible avenue to recovery.

Or does it? We’ve made no decision yet. Adrian and I are still investigating, asking questions. If a vegan diet is generally healthiest, what is it about Martin’s body that might make meat a better choice for him? Would it lead to more complete recovery, or faster recovery, or just easier recovery? (I suspect that most parents recovering their children don’t spend hours each week balancing proteins, as I do with Martin’s gluten- and soy- and casein– and meat- and most-other-things-free diet. Chicken breast every dinner would be a heckuva lot easier.) How much meat are we talking about, and what kinds? For how long? How would we know if it’s helping?

I hope to commit to a path soon, one way or the other. I’m way too worked up over this issue.

In the event we do decide to feed Martin meat, please don’t bother combing the blog for meat-based ASD recovery recipes. I’ve been a vegetarian all my adult life, which means I’ve never cooked animal flesh. Seriously, I have no idea how. When we added eggs to Martin’s diet, I had to ask a friend how to hard-boil one. Goodness only knows what will happen if I end up with a hunk of cow parts in my hands.

Back on the topic of Martin’s birth: By the end of the events that began with induced labor, even as I was being stitched up from the C-section, I had wits enough to comprehend that this was not the entry into the world my son needed.

When the doctors announced that, based on my fever and despite Martin’s Apgar score of 9, they were removing him to the NICU, I mustered my strength and called from the operating table, “No, no, that’s not necessary. He’s fine. Adrian, get him back!”

Adrian confronted the doctors, said we did not want our son taken away.

Their reply was as knee-jerk as it was decisive: In the event we refused to surrender Martin for the treatment they believed best, the Administration for Children’s Services would be contacted.

And my son was gone.

Which, I suppose, is another reason still why this blog is anonymous. I’d like to avoid any more authority figures ready to impose their will on my family.

On the other hand, deciding for myself can feel like the weight of the world.

Recently I posted the details of Martin’s diet. This, accordingly, is an appropriate time to answer the question, “So what exactly does he eat in a given day?” I will do so by use of an exemplar—say, yesterday. Here is what Martin ate yesterday:

Breakfast—Two duck eggs, cooked with minced fresh dill in macademia oil; squash “French fries” misted with olive oil and sprinkled with dried seaweed granules.

Lunch—Edward & Sons plain unsalted rice crackers; avocado mashed with fresh lemon thyme.

Snacks—One nut-butter (grain-free) muffin; four basic cookies; four coconut haystack treats.

Dinner—Indian-spiced sweet-potato-and-yellow-split-pea cakes with fresh cilantro; sauerkraut minced with broccoli sprouts.

Yesterday was unusual insofar as lunch was improvised, instead of leftover entree from the evening before. That was because a grocery-shopping mishap on Friday (i.e., I failed to go grocery shopping until after Martin was in bed) resulted in an improvised dinner of zucchini, acorn squash, and broccoli sauteed with a scoop of cashew butter for protein. The amount I cooked was small, limited by what was lingering in the fridge pre-grocery shopping, and Martin ate it all. None left for lunch the next day.

Yesterday was also unusual in the sugary (well, honey-y) nature of Martin’s snacks. Generally speaking, I would consider four cookies, four haystacks, and a muffin too much sweetener/honey for one day. But Martin had a birthday party to attend. He can’t eat pizza and ice cream with the other kids, so I packed enough for him to live it up on the terms we have.

In my daily log book for Martin, I keep a record of everything he ate, alongside his HANDLE exercises, a supplements/oils checklist, how he slept the night before, and notes on his demeanor, diapers, and symptom level for the day. Too much? Possibly, but I do find the information handy from day-to-day.