Pokémon Go and Aspie wellbeing

Pokémon GO! Love it or hate it, it certainly has Aspies on the move and talking to one another and that can only be a good thing, right?

I ignored Beloved Aspie when he uttered the word Pokémon after many years (during which he had matured through Dr Who and Star Trek and Marvel and DC Superheroes). I dismissed it as a passing notion, maybe he’d seen an article somewhere, and anyway, it’s for kids – he won’t go down that road again.

Two weeks later we have time travelled back some seventeen years when Pikachu made his (her?) first appearance in our lives – in the shape of a small rubberised toy, a lunch box, a school rucksack, bedlinen…back then it was something fun he could safely talk to other kids about in school.

When he hit his teenage years and Asperger’s pulled him under, Pokémon became a conversation between me and him. I learned their various tricks and powers whilst Gameboy became the only source of entertainment and protection from the outside world. Pokémon even had a whole scene to themselves in the first play I wrote and performed. (From Within)

At 27, Beloved Aspie is a charming, eloquent, socially engaged young man, working on his independence skills while living at home. So it was with a little surprise that I heard him announce one afternoon last week, “I’m just popping out.” I asked if he was going to chat to our neighbour. “No, there’s a Pokémon up the road. I have my keys and I will observe my road safety.” And he was gone.

The other day I invited him to join me for a walk, it was a half-hearted offer, he usually says no. His eyes lit up  -“Yes.” Apparently these Pokémon are everywhere! He got some fresh air and exercise – I got a laugh.

The weekend was the same with him joining the Hubs and I for a day out. On the way home he announces in the car, “That was a great day.” Was it the sunshine, the Oreo marshmallows, the pizza, the new belt he needed, our fabulous company?

Of course not: it was the woman he chatted to while catching Horsea where she was sitting and the young men he chatted to about their quests in the shopping village, and the third Eevee he caught.

Frankly, it’s all good in my eyes – thank you Pokémon Go for socialising our Aspies, and all the other socially shy or awkward teens who are coming out to play, too.

Let loose on Radio at Sedgemoor FM

Today I exited my comfort zone for the first time in a while. I’ve just recorded my first contributions to our local radio station Sedgemoor FM here in sunny Somerset.

I was terrified!

Which is completely daft given that I have spent most of my life in jobs that involve A) talking and B) an audience. I’ve been a lawyer, a teacher, a group facilitator, an actor for goodness sake!! And I’ve been interviewed on Radio several times and loved it

.

So what was so scary about actually presenting part of a show? I’m still not entirely sure. There’s the simple wee bit about doing something different when you’re embracing your middle age and think perhaps you’ve got all your skill set pretty much fixed. And you realise that your comfort zone has become a cosy-zone and you don’t need to come out.

Perhaps there’s a wee bit of writer’s isolation going on. I spend so much time in my own head, listening to the voices of my characters, or working out plots, or typing at my desk, alone and quiet, sharing my thoughts in text, that perhaps the idea of relying on my voice has become alien to me.

And there was a very big bit of technological terror. Ben McGrail, a presenter at BBC Radio Somerset, was kind enough to let me hang out in his studio a couple of weeks ago while his show was going out live. He works so hard! There are screens everywhere, buttons everywhere, messages coming in from his producer, texts, tweets, Facebook messages and phonecalls all going on.

Of course, the real fear is that you’ll forget you’re on the radio in someone’s kitchen or wherever and you’ll swear – in front of their children!! And suddenly your head is full of really inappropriate subjects and rude jokes. The daftest fear was that I would have nothing to say, at all, about anything, ever…and anyone who knows me knows how totally ridiculous that is!

Regardless of all this fear, I took myself off to the newly launched Sedgemoor FM on 104.2 this morning to meet some of the other presenters and maybe record some stuff. Well, seriously, what was I so worried about? It’s a neat, professional studio slickly overseen by Dave Englefield who’s had years in the business. The atmosphere was relaxed and chilled and we had fun! Phew!

Okay, so I’m still a wee bit worried that I’ll sound like a rambling idiot – but d’you know – so what? It’s going to be a laugh. I’m looking forward to growing into my radio shoes. Come and tune in. Or visit on Facebook or Twitter @sedgemoorfm Tell me how I’m doing…nicely, please.

I'm a Vet!

 

“You’re a vet,” Hubs announces as we’re sitting on the sofa the other night.

“What?” I’m confused.

“You’re a vet. Vets get an animal in and it can’t tell them where to look or what pain or discomfort feels like. They have to follow their instincts and prod around gently until they work out what’s wrong.”

He’s right. I am a vet.

Beloved Aspie does not communicate pain or bodily discomforts well, if at all. Added to which he has a high pain threshold which means by the time he is ‘indicating’ that something might be wrong – it’s really wrong.

Take his ears. Early one January morning he came and sat on the floor in front of me and said simply, “I can’t move my head.” He looked quite grey, with dark shadows under his eyes. Immediately panicking about meningitis, I called the hospital and in we went. I don’t know how the doctors worked it out that day, but he had a cholesteatoma, a growth that was dissolving the bone around it, eating the ear bones and burning into the mastoid. They told me it must be agony for him and why hadn’t I acted when he hurt. Because I had no idea. He hadn’t said one word. (Five operations later, he is now profoundly deaf).

It set us off on a huge journey to understand and communicate pain. But a learning curve is just that…

Then there was the hernia. One night, he said he had tummy ache. Well that’s progress. I had a feel of his tummy and it was a bit swollen, so I told him to go to bed and stretch gently to give it space to relax. Ten minutes later he was puking violently in the bathroom while I quizzed the nurse on NHS Direct phone line. This is the boy who hadn’t vomited since he was a toddler.

At A&E, Beloved Aspie calmly explains to the doctor how he has had this lump that he has just been ‘popping back in’ until this week when he couldn’t. How long it had been going on, I don’t know. He hadn’t said a word. Luckily surgery was straightforward, if you ignore the bit where the anaesthetist had to hide under the bed to sneak up on him with the needle as he’s phobic.

And they’re just two of the stories.

So, on the ‘vet’ night, we were gathering to watch X Files and he sweeps in, a tornado of frustration, loudly berating why these ‘bodily malfunctions’ have to happen.

Me? Total red alert.

And?

Nothing.

Because there is a further issue these days: privacy.  He’s a young man. He no longer wishes to discuss ‘bodily malfunctions’ with anyone -especially not me. It’s quite a predicament: I don’t want to overstep boundaries and oblige him to share stuff he doesn’t want to. But at the same time, I don’t want to wait for something manageable to become a crisis. As ever, I’m between a rock and a hard place.

I decide to leave us all to sleep on it. Let the frustrations and panic evaporate into the cold light of day. And I bring it up briefly in the car as I drive him home from work. He says he doesn’t need to talk about it.

So, I’m going to respect his privacy and accept that as ‘I’m fine’ and hope to goodness I’m not a rubbish vet.