Day 10: A New Face

Today was washing day again today. Over the last 10 days, I have gotten to know a good deal about the children that I work with. I have learned about their personalities, likes, dislikes, and habits. Each is unique, with a certain set of quirks. Sometimes, I feel like the kids are predictable, as I can guess what they want or figure out what they are going to do. In the washroom, L.C. was the first patient that I had to dry after his bath and cloth. I knew who L.C. was prior to this, but I hadn’t worked with him closely before. So, now it was my turn to learn about him.

L.C. has autism. I don’t know about the entire spectrum of autistic disorders; however, L.C.’s case certainly is not mild. He does not speak at all. Nor does he normally show a great deal of emotion. When I was drying his body with the standard white towel that had his name written with a Sharpie on the tag, he just wasn’t there. His face was blank, giving me the impression that he was deep within his own thoughts, not having the ability to deal with what was outside his own mind. He was completely unresponsive, even as I spoke to him in Spanish, trying to coax a smile, or any other emotion, for that matter. After I put his diaper on, I picked him up so that he would stand up on his feet on the changing table. He obliged, but still had the same expression on his face. I picked up one of legs so that I could put the first leg of his pants on. He placed his hand on my shoulder for balance, but didn’t actually acknowledge me. I could have been a statue for all he cared. After the pants, he lifted his arms so that I could put his T-shirt and sweater on. After that, I tried to tickle him a little, just another attempt for a response. No luck. So, I sat him down on the side of the changing table, his legs dangling off the side. I put his socks on, and then his shoes.

And then I sensed a change, maybe just a subtle one, but a change nonetheless. As he was sitting there, he held out his arms to me. He wanted me to carry him. This was what I had been waiting for. I grabbed him into my arms, sliding him off of the table. He immediately wrapped his hands around my neck and his legs around my waist, tightly. The pressure was intense. And then he put his cheek on my shoulder, resting. His chest leaned against mine. I could literally feel his heart beating right along with mine. Just for a moment, I felt as if this child were mine. His condition was my condition, his hurts were my hurts, and his feelings were my feelings. It was one of the best moments of my time here, maybe even longer than that. Mother Maria saw me and told me that L.C. could walk, that I didn’t need to carry him. But I wasn’t going to give this moment up.

I carried L.C. towards the area where all of the children congregate in the mornings. The noise in the area was loud, the children yelling or crying. I was able to deduce that L.C. did not like this noise. His body tightened up and he lifted his head from my shoulder. He wanted to get down. He probably wanted to be as far away from the noise as possible, but I was only bringing him closer to it. My mind raced back to my Behavioral Medicine class in school. Autistic children often become set off by different stimuli, stimuli that wouldn’t bother the everyday person. They can react in various ways ranging from crying, screaming, violence against self or others, complete withdrawal from the stimulus itself, etc. Autistic children, above all else, crave a feeling of safety. If they feel secure, they calm down. One way to simulate a feeling of safety is to make them feel that they are in a small place. That way, not much can be around them that could potentially hurt them. So, as he got upset while hearing the noise, I squeezed him tightly, trying to make him feel that he was safe. And within a few seconds, I felt his body relax. All of the muscles released their tension. He calmed down and put his cheek back on my shoulder, the feeling of closeness restored.

I wound up spending the whole day with L.C. I eventually let him walk on his own. He gains pleasure from just walking around, exploring his surroundings at the Home. We walked through all parts of the compound. I let him lead the way. At one point, we walked into the chapel of the Home. I don’t know why, but he sat down in one of the pews and stared blankly ahead. He didn’t motion towards me, but I just sat down next to him and watched him. I tried to figure out what possibly could be going on in his mind. The possibilities could be endless. Outwardly, L.C., as other autistic children, appeared to be a simple person. But we don’t really know what goes on inside. I hope to be able to spend more time with L.C. It would be a great experience for me to learn more about him.