I marvel at how just a few kind words from a stranger can burn into your memory and leave a print on your heart forever. I wonder if people know what a profound effect they have when they reach out to express a kind thought to another.
Today Emily had a dentist appointment. Now, I know NOBODY likes the dentist, but kids with Autism HATE the dentist. H. A. T. E. the dentist. For some, it's the lights, the sounds of drills, and an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar smells. For others, it's the sensory issue of lying back in the chair, someone touching around and inside their mouth. It's a change of routine, an out-of-place event in a life that must remain relatively the same.
I have a dear high school friend who is a dentist and that's how we started - Emily would come in every 2 months so it would be familiar and hopefully positive and Dr. Dan would let her roam, climb on the chair, look through the drawers, and brush HIS teeth. He never got to touch hers however, so he eventually referred us to Dr. Chad - a wonderful man who sees a lot of special needs children and someone who is on my "Awesome" list.
When we got there, the receptionist hands me a clipboard and papers to fill out. I chuckle to myself knowing fully well I will get as far as entering the date before I have to go chase down Emily as she "explores" the backroom. Throwing down my belongings, I dash after her, her quick little legs and curious mind taking her all over the place. Again, I hear myself laugh as I remember there used to be a time where I would never have let my purse out of my sight, and there it lay, wide open, in the middle of a waiting room full of strangers. "Emily, NO" I say over and over as she squirts the water, plays with the chairs, the lights, unrolls the stickers, and runs through the file room. "Emily, that's not ours" I say when she tries to take over the receptionists chair, computer, stapler, and markers. I shuffle her back to the waiting room for about 8 seconds and then she is off to the back rooms again. At this point the receptionist decides it would be a good idea to go ahead and "just put us in a room to wait" Autism has it's perks, you certainly don't wait around for an appointment.
Inside the room is a cornucopia of buttons, switches, and lights for Emily to experience. She goes to work, pressing, flipping and pushing, and on cue within seconds is a hygienist inside our room. "Sit down, Emily" she says in a nicely tone, to which Emily responds by throwing her Jessie doll at her. I pick up Jessie and set her in the chair, "Look! Jessie is sitting! Come sit with her!" "NO" is the response for that, and for a moment I am happy that she actually understood and responded with an actual word. A mini chase ensues around the chair in what I swear is a 6x6 room, and I give up. Dr. Chad comes in. "Good Morning Emily! How are you?" "OUCH! ...Are you Okay?" is her response, her go to phrase when something is not right and she is NOT okay. As Emily straddles my waist and I tip her head back into the dentists lap, I hold her little fists tightly in my hands as he counts and checks her teeth. She kicks into my back, wriggles her head into his chest, and tries to scratch my hands as he quickly and seamlessly applies a fluoride treatment. A rodeo scene flashes through my mind - the event where they let the calf out of the gate and it runs like a bat out of hell and the cowboy has to chase it down, wrestle it to the ground, and tie its legs together, and upon finishing, throws his hands up into the air. Emily is done, we release our grip, throw our hands in the air, and she pops up and out of my lap faster than if you had sat on a tack. She takes a couple of laps around the room yelling, "ALL DONE! ALL DONE! OUCH! OUCH!" Wiping her mouth and spitting on the floor, for fluoride is gross and foreign and she certainly did NOT authorize such a violation of her mouth. Dr. Chad and his hygienist, for their all their efforts, are rewarded by a punch to the back from Emily, and not to leave her mother out, I get one too.
She is pissed and bolts from the room back to the waiting room. Dora is on, and that calms the mood a bit. I get her coat, wipe her tears, sign to her that she is OK, sign that Mom is happy that Emily did such a good job, and that I love her. I give her big squeezes and put on her pink Santa hat. As I zip up her coat, I hear a voice behind me... "You. You are such an awesome mommy" It takes me a second to realize she is talking to me, after all, I AM the one that just got punched in the back. Choking back tears I whisper a barely audible "Thank you" as I absentmindedly tuck a lock of Emily's hair behind her hair and touch her cheek. I compose myself for just a second or two so I can turn around and look her in the eye. "Thank You." again I say it, blinking back tears. She asks a few questions about Emily, and I answer them and then she says, "Well you do such a great job with her, and it shows" And then Emily, as if to show off, walks up to a Christmas knick-knack and spells out MERRY CHRISTMAS.
The best Christmas present this year is not wrapped in paper or fancy bows, but a stranger in a dentist office sharing a heartfelt thought. I will hold that woman in my heart forever. I hope she knows just how much that meant to me and how much I cradle every word she said delicately in my heart.
I AM a awesome mom. And my daughter SHINES.
