Pyschotherapy By Proxy

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Yes, I Know!

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In Treatment

I love the show.  Being that I’m sort of in the profession, there’s a natural interest in the subject matter.  But really it’s the show’s dynamics that I love.  It’s a therapist and his patients generally in a one-on-one therapy session.  The show consists of no action and very little other than two people conversing.  As a voyeur, you get to witness a cerebral game of cat and mouse.  Paul, the therapist, probing and trying to pinpoint the issues that the patient is unable to bring to the forefront.  Each patient, avoiding the truth, and attempting to block revelation, each in their own way.  It’s brilliant!  So naturally I was ecstatic to see that the second season of In Treatment was about to air.

So this past Sunday evening I excitedly got into my pj’s, quickly washed a few grapes and made myself comfy on the couch, under my Winnie the Pooh blanket, just as episode one was about to start.  It was Mia.  She was a previous patient of Paul’s way back when.  She’s now a malpractice attorney, representing him in a lawsuit.  Intriguing!  It quickly becomes clear that Mia’s intentions may not be in the best interest of Paul as there’s a hostility there and it’s revealed at the end that she has some unresolved issues regarding how her therapy with Paul ended, some 15 years ago.  Twenty minutes into the new season and I’m hooked, anxiously awaiting episode two!

Luckily enough, it was coming on next.  I sat in my favourite comfy chair enthralled as April appeared on the screen.  I couldn’t wait to see what April would reveal about herself and how Paul would get her to that point.  I quickly empathized with this character because she’s nervous and not sure how to talk about herself in this environment.  She talks nervously about everything but her reason for being there.  She complains about her previous therapist, claiming she had oatmeal between her ears.  The girl is sarcastic, stubborn and fiercely independent.  I like her!  Through the conversation it is revealed that April has a brother with Autism.  Her previous therapist thought this a point of internal conflict and April forcibly denies any such thing.  I sit thinking, how funny, that could be me.  I recall moments of my experience with a psychologist.  It’s a long story, and one I won’t get into now, but I’ve sat across from a therapist, discussing my family situation.  She probing relentlessly, trying to find my breaking point.  I dodging her every jab.  Refusing to admit that I felt neglected as a child due to the needs of my sister.  Instead I was very defensive of my family and how they provided equal affection to both children.

So April was quickly becoming my favourite character on this show.  I could relate.  But she had yet to reveal her real reason for entering Paul’s office.  They get around to discussing just this issue.  April, however, can’t say the words.  She asks to write it down.  He agrees.  She passes him the note.  I’m glued to the TV, wanting to know what could possibly be so hard for a 23 year old student to reveal to this psychologist.  After reading the note, Paul’s response was, “How do you feel?”  She replies, “Tired.”  A moment passes and the question escapes Paul’s lips, “What type of cancer is it?”

I no longer have an appetite for the grapes I had been eating.  I’m thinking this is too interesting, and eerily familiar.  But surely it’s not the same.  I continue watching, waiting for some aspect of this girl’s personality, story, emotions to deviate from mine.  They do not.  She’s sitting in this shrinks office, telling him that he and a random stranger are the only ones she’s shared this secret with.  She has Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma and has known for 5 weeks.  Her doctor recommends she have immediate chemotherapy, but she doesn’t know if that’s something she wants to do.  She hasn’t really accepted the magnitude of what’s in front of her.  Paul attempts to make her see that time is of the essence, but she pushes back and ultimately leaves his office without the promise of returning or doing the things suggested by Paul.  Things like talking to her doctor, telling her parents, starting chemotherapy.

I sat stunned.  Tears running down my cheeks.  It’s only a TV show, but it was like witnessing myself 9 years ago.  At the time I thought I was doing the only I knew to do.  Hindsight, showing me what an idiot I was.  I wanted to yell at this character not to do it.  Grow up!  Look around you!  Because I would yell at myself should I be in that situation again.  It was a profound moment, because I always felt as though I was on the outside looking in.  Never really feeling a part of the norm, and people not understanding why I did the things I did.  But obviously my experience, emotions and subsequent reactions, while very stupid, weren’t unique.  I’ve always felt disappointed about how I handled the biggest test in my life, feeling as though I should have done better.   Others would have done better.  But what I did was obviously very human and very understandable.  I needed to be reminded of that.

Thank you April.

Do Not Disturb

There’s nothing more beautiful to me than a gleaming white sheet of ice waiting for me to bear my soul.  It’s like a mirror awaiting my inner reflection.  I stand at the gates and feel the fluttering of butterflies in my tummy as I contemplate what shall be revealed once I step onto my canvas; my skates the brush, my emotions the paint.  The world is left behind as the colours carve through the crisp ice.  As I move, my exposed flesh is caressed by a gentle breeze.  I smile.  It feels like comforting arms keeping me safe.  The smooth crackling sound of carving ice is music to my ears.  It sings a soothing tune.  I close my eyes and absorb it all in.  There is an oddly comforting, familiar subtle scent of ammonia.  I sigh happily and begin my story.  All those feelings which elude words are defined as I walk through my secret garden.  With the tilt of my head, a subtle move of the hips and graceful arms I feel a sense of peace like never before.  I couldn’t be more vulnerable if I were standing there naked for all to see.  The music plays a melodic rhythm to which I move, leaving intertwining scratches on the awaiting ice.  As the music fades I smile mischievously, knowing that the secret revealed is between me and this present moment.  Much was said, but no words were uttered.  Just the way I like it. 

Cherry Blossom

When I was a child, time spent alone with my mom was a rare thing.  Due to circumstances, the only time I had her attention all to myself was when I was sick and stayed home from school.  Unfortunately, due to chronic ear infections, this happened several times a year.  It would usually start with a late night trip to the hospital.  One quick look in my ear and the doctor would write an illegible prescription and send us home with enough meds to do the night.  The next morning as my father and sister left for the day, my mom would bundle me up and off to the pharmacy we went.  The pharmacist would usually know what we were there for and would have the Rx ready within in minutes.  Just enough time for my mom to pick up a few things, and two Cherry Blossoms!  She would sneak them in, without me seeing.

When we arrived home, my mom would make us hot chocolate and surprise me with a Cherry Blossom.  I would take my medicine and mom and I would sit on the couch and eat our chocolate candy while watching The Price is Right.  It’s one of my most precious memories from childhood and Cherry Blossoms have become a symbol of serenity for me.  When I have a bad day, I buy myself a Cherry Blossom.  When I feel uneasy, I buy a Cherry Blossom.  When I feel out of control and helpless, I buy a Cherry Blossom.

So today, as I pondered the changes taking place in my life and feeling immensely overwhelmed, I bought a Cherry Blossom.

Yeah, what she said…

Clever or sad, I’m not really sure.  But it’s got the parents talking!

“What are batteries?”

Evelyn Towry, an 8 year old child, was arrested and charged with battery last week.  On paper her crime is listed as beating on school staff.  But let’s tell it like it really is, her real crime is being a child with Asperger’s Syndrome, an Autism Spectrum Disorder, and an ignorant society.  The incident a result of lack of understanding, compassion and tolerance, and not on Evelyn’s behalf.  In my opinion, the staff and police officers involved should be arrested and charged for child abuse and using undue force, respectively.  Because being physically restrained, arrested and taken to jail has to be traumatic for an 8 year old, who does not know what she did wrong.  And to think this whole thing started over a child’s favourite cow hoodie, with ears and a tail.

There are a couple of things about this incident that alarm me.  I have enough personal and professional experience to know that interacting with children with Autism is not always easy.  I’ve learned that you really have to pick your battles.  You have to weigh the intention with the possible behavioural reaction.  Some things, such as the safety of the child and others, are worth the outburst which may result.  Telling a child she can’t wear her favourite sweater and would have to be separated from her friends and fellow classmates during a Christmas party is not a battle worth fighting.  Especially when you do not have the skills to cope with such reactions.  That’s not to say that these children should get away with things that other children don’t.  I just think people need to be more aware that children with Autism can have major outbursts in reaction to disruptions to their daily pattern, and sometimes these can be violent.  Unless, you know how to diffuse the situation, don’t wage a senseless war over a childish shirt.

The lack of understanding, for me, is one of the most frustrating things about this and similar episodes.  I am very critical of school systems and it’s pre-occupation with the mainstream.  What is mainstream?  Every student in every school in the world is unique in one way or another.  They learn in different ways.  They learn at different speeds.  They are interested in different subjects.  Mainstream teaching does not cut it.  So why do we let teachers graduate from university with mainstream skills.  If the staff at Evelyn’s school had known more about Asperger’s Syndrome and the Autism Spectrum, they would have known not to restrain her.  They would have known that personal contact would have likely resulted in some sort of behavioural outburst, because of a tactile defensiveness.  Things did not have to turn violent.  Evelyn was likely experiencing the basic human instinct of ‘fight or flight’ and was doing anything to leave the environment she felt threatened in.  We all have this instinct.  Evelyn should not have been arrested because she’s human, doing a human thing, during a perceived threat.  Furthermore, how violent can an unarmed 54 lb, 8 year old get?  Calling the police and having her arrested should not be on the list of acceptable resolution to escalating behaviour.

This brings me to the most outrageous side of this story.  The fact that the school’s staff and Evelyn’s medical professionals felt this was an accepted form of intervention is unbelievable!  One news report states that this was accepted protocol decided upon earlier by the school and Evelyn’s mental health officials.  How is this ok?  How can such a thing be viewed as a positive resolution?  It is unacceptable and more parents should be outraged!  Not just parents of children with autism.  The fact that not one adult in this while ordeal felt the need to say, “No, this is wrong!” speaks volumes about the state of our society.  A common theory or perception of Autism and it’s related disorders is that these children live in a ‘world of their own’.   We haven’t found a cure for Autism, so why do we insist that they live in ‘our world’?  Why can’t we learn to live in theirs, learn to interact with them in a way they understand and are comfortable with?  Quite frankly, with stories like these, this world would not be my first choice.

The ’free world’ may be on the eve of celebrating a historical milestone with the election of the first African-American US President.   But we have a long way to go yet, before we are truly free.

Eight. Years. Old.

Stuff like this makes me extremely angry!  I’m sick and I’m outraged, so I couldn’t possibly write anything remotely coherent at the moment.  But rest assured I have a lot to say about this issue….

Circus

How in the world am I supposed to choreograph a show number for an 8 year old to this?? I know 8 is the new 14, but come on!!

Sam-I-Am

It’s the little things that matter.  Not home renovations, big screen TVs or fancy touch screen cell phones.  I was reminded of that today, by the most innocent of gift givers.  Alec is a four year child I’ve been working with for the last year.  He calls me En-da and has since the day I met him.

Today, I was sitting in my office, it was eerily quiet because I was the only one in.  I was preparing for my session with Alec, when all of sudden I heard the squeak of wet rubber boots and a familiar voice calling, “En-da!  En-da!” in two clear distinct syllables.

I rushed out to see what the commotion was.  I was greeted with a smiling Alec pushing a beautifully wrapped gift towards me.  He insisted I opened it ASAP.  So him and I sat down on the couch and I began unwrapping.  I insisted he help.  He showed me how best to open the present. 

The gift was a book.  A Dr. Seuss book, Green and Eggs and Ham.  As I sat there, feeling overwhelmed with the thoughtfulness of this particular gift, Alec’s mom began telling me the story behind the book.  She said he spied it at Wal-Mart and he was determined to have it so he could give it to me.  She asked him why.  And Alec told her that I told him it was my favourite book.  She bought it and he couldn’t wait to bring it to me.

I shared that tidbit with Alec over a year ago, the very first time I met him.  He was shy and wearing a Cat in the Hat sweater.  I told him I had a collection of Dr. Seuss books as a child and my favourite was Green Eggs and Ham.  In particular, I have fond memories of my mom reading it to me night after night.

The fact that Alec remembered this is especially moving, and my new book will sit proudly in my bookshelf.