What?
I thunk and thunk and thunk and tried to come up with some sort of cohesive literary theme to bind these (surprisingly NOT related) topics together. I came up empty, so I ate some guacamole and decided to just embrace parsimony.
Ean had a karate tournament last Saturday. Now, I love karate. I love what it's done for Ean -- he works on motor planning and sequencing, balance, strength, focus, coordination, etc. I think every kid should take a martial art, especially kids with developmental disabilities. We had the additional benefit of a wonderful school with wonderful teachers. It's been great. The only thing missing is anything that might come close to resembling any microscopic speck of aptitude.
God bless him, he's sort of a spaz.
As is typical of ASD kids, he has problems with many aspect of coordination, balance, strength, and dexterity. But karate has worked out so well for him because while he takes group lessons, it's a very solitary progression. He competes only with himself. Until the tournament.
What Ean lacks in aptitude, he makes up for in sheer gusto. And in predictable Ean fashion, he was ready to explode with enthusiasm as soon as he found out about the competition. He wanted a trophy (1st place), but conceded that he'd be happy with a medal (2nd or 3rd place).
Oh boy.
Rich and I found ourselves in a bit of a quandary. Ean was jumping up and down in the kitchen trying to decide where to put his soon-to-be-won trophy (or medal!) and I started looking for the corkscrew.
Of course, we didn't want to come right out and tell him the truth (the truth being that he had about as much chance of winning the tournament as I did of winning the Ms Universe swimsuit competition. Or turning down that last splash of chardonnay). We needed a Plan. The first part of the strategy was obvious. We reminded him that winning wasn't everything. We explained that there were 4 or 5 local karate schools competing and that he didn't know how good those other kids would be. We told him that there were other kids who had been doing karate for much longer then he had.
One of the things I love most about Ean is his willingness to hold on to even the most absurd of beliefs. He likes to remind me that nothing is impossible. I love that about him. I love his unfettered faith in the world. We did the best we could to reign it in a little for this event --- but when you're 8-years old, there's a fine line between a reality check and the suspicion that your parents don't believe in you.
So we let it be. We continued to remind him that winning wasn't everything and he continued to dismiss our reminders.
We needed another Plan.
If Ean was going to be hellbent on believing that he was going to win, then the only thing we could do was get him as prepared as possible. We made sure he didn't miss any classes, we shared our dilemma with his teacher, we forked over some extra money for a private lesson.
Then we had to let go. We had to let this be Ean's experience -- regardless of how it turned out.
And, unfortunately, it didn't turn out the way Ean had imagined or expected. He didn't win. He didn't come close.
He sat on the edge of the mat crying like he heart was breaking. Like his world had betrayed him. He came over to us and through his tears, managed to choke out "I knew I wasn't going to be first, but I didn't think I'd be LAST".
He asked to just go home. And as much as I wanted to scoop him up (all 70-lbs) and take him home to lick his wounds -- we made him stay. We reminded him about respect for his fellow competitors. About how it would be rude to leave before they were done. About seeing it through even if you don't like the outcome. He understood and went back to take his place at the edge of the mat. Still crying. It took every ounce of self-control I had not to run over to him. This was his experience. He kept looking back and us and all I could to was whisper a few "I love yous" and watch him cry.
But he made it through, with enough grace left to clap for him competitors and leave with a thank-you to the Sensi. In this mama's heart, that was the biggest win of the day.
It was mid-afternoon by the time we left and we were all hungry. We went out for some lunch and some debriefing. Rich and I took turns reminding Ean of all the good things he did that day -- a crisp punch, a few good blocks -- being careful not to overly embellish anything. We made a point of validating his grief and disappointment, and we did what we could to ease the burden.
By the end of lunch he was already looking forward to the next tournament. That's our Ean. :)
Moving on to head injury (there was just no real segue). I fell off my bicycle on Friday. I was taking Ean to school. Ean was wearing a helmet, I was not.
I KNOW, I KNOW. NO MORE LECTURES. I GET IT. I WILL NEVER GET ON ANOTHER BIKE WITHOUT ONE!
We were on the side walk, I turned back to check on Ean, I hit a bump and wound up swerving into some hedges. I bounced off the hedges. My foot was stuck in the pedal cage and I couldn't get it out in time.
I fell flat to the sidewalk -- with my freakishly large head leading the charge.
With nothing else to brace my fall, I landed square on the back of my head. Huge bump, blood, little bit of well-concealed terror. After a few tries I manage to get Rich who got me home and Ean to school. We hemmed and hawed about a trip to the ER, but decided against it because I'd never lost consciousness, I didn't have a headache or dizziness or visual disturbances, or nausea. My only complaint was ear pressure/pain that lasted about and hour or so. It went away and I went about my day with a sore head, some bruises, and what felt like a pulled muscle in my neck.
I woke up on Saturday so dizzy I couldn't walk across the room. Still no headache or anything else to suggest a scary neurological situation. I rested as much as possible that morning and made it to the tournament feeling mostly better. Except when I moved my head in certain ways (mostly looking up or down). I felt a little better on Sunday, but was still getting weird vertigo with certain head movements. My Monday morning I actually felt mostly back to normal -- until I decided to dry my hair upside down. When I righted myself a few minutes later, the entire house was spinning. I thought I was going to wind up in Oz. Terrible, terrible feeling. I spent a good part of yesterday morning walking through the house holding on to walls.
To keep a long story from getting too much longer, it seems like the blow to the head caused something called Benign Positional Vertigo. Basically, there are little stones in you ears that can become dislodged and wreak havoc with you entire vestibular (balance) system. The standard of care is something called Epley maneuver. I had it done yesterday, so I'm hoping it works. Otherwise I'm going to start being known as the weird lady who looks drunk all the time.
Wish me luck!
It happens normally to any athlete. Makes them more stronger.
Posted by: hgh | June 22, 2011 at 06:04 AM