“The message is: Domestic violence is unacceptable and must be stopped, unless the perpetrator is a son with severe autism.”
By L Quinn
I sit in the doctor's office, waiting for the nurse to finish the preliminaries. This is a visit that has been rescheduled numerous times. I know I can't be away from home and my son any longer than 2 hours, but having these 2 hours to see the doctor is a miracle. The clock is ticking. The nurse asks me to roll up my sleeve, in order to have better access to my arm for the blood pressure check.
I wear longer sleeves most of the time, just to keep the questions and looks at bay. I feel teary and emotional. My not-so-secret secret is about to be evident. My arms are masses of scars, scratches, and bruises, all in varying stages of healing. My neck and face are frequently scratched and bloody, and you can usually see patches of scalp in the places where handfuls of hair have been wrenched from my head. It isn't unusual to have deeply bruised and bloody bite marks on my shoulders and breasts. My clothing covers most areas, and I do my very best to camouflage the bald spots. But rare doctor visits are where the truth comes out.
“You can usually see patches of scalp in the places where handfuls of hair have been wrenched from my head.”
The nurse pretends not to notice the condition of my arms and notes that my blood pressure is 140 over 120. No surprise there. I am overweight, 50, and live in an indescribably stressful environment. "We'll wait a bit and check it again," she says. A few minutes later it is even higher.
The nurse practitioner that I've seen for many years enters the room and begins asking questions as she enters my information into the computer. We speak about my son, puberty, his aggression and the violent episodes. She knows he's non-verbal and severely autistic. A 13 year-old with the mind of a toddler and an extremely large and strong body that has been ravaged by the horrific side effects of psychiatric medications, self-injury, and an eating disorder. I tell her that this is the first time I've been away from him in months and I'm very nervous about leaving him.
“He is so big and strong now.”
He's so big and strong now, it takes two people to handle even the smallest of tasks safely. We can't afford to hire help every single second, so the majority of the time, I have him by myself, trying to keep him, my daughter and myself safe. We discuss his chronic insomnia, that has persisted since birth, and seems unaffected by the 5 medications he takes for sleep. Then, we discuss my health. The need for self-care. She understands the difficulties, and makes concessions in every way possible for me to combine tests, appointments, and results, into just one more trip away from him. It is the only way she feels like she can help, and I do appreciate it. She needs to finish a questionnaire to be able to wrap up my visit. Do I drink? Smoke? Am I at risk of losing the place I live? Am I a victim of domestic violence?
I smile and answer, "Just my son." She knows I don't want him taken away. I truly want to care for him. I understand his sounds and body movements. That is the only way he can communicate with me. He loves me and I love him unconditionally and without end.
“There are no resources for this kind of domestic violence.”
I know that if the bruises and wounds on my body were left there by an abusive boyfriend or husband, I would be leaving her office with phone numbers, pamphlets, and appointments to get legal and physical help. But there are no resources for this kind of domestic violence. There aren't organizations standing by night or day to take our call. There aren't funds available to help install alarms, doors and windows that can't be broken through. There aren't lists of trained caregivers who can provide safe respite or doctors who actually have answers.
Some of the damage in the home.
The message is: Domestic violence is unacceptable and must be stopped, unless the perpetrator is a son with severe autism. In that case, you are completely on your own. You must take the constant abuse, fear for your safety night and day, endure the trauma, be cut off from all friends and family, and never be allowed to leave your house. You must do this day after day and year after year with no end in sight, because this kind of violence is acceptable by those who do not have to endure it.
L Quinn is the mother of a son with severe autism.
Disclaimer: Blogposts on the NCSA blog represent the opinions of the individual authors and not necessarily the views or positions of the NCSA or its board of directors.