Basic Needs vs. Special
Needs
(Aka: How a natural
disaster affects families with special needs)
ho·me·o·sta·sis [hoh-mee-uh-stey-sis] n. The ability or tendency of an organism or cell to maintain internal
equilibrium by adjusting its physiological processes.
These days I never really think as Max having
special needs, I’ve gradually adjusted our life to maintain optimum happiness
(equilibrium) and now our life just seems normal.
It
is normal.
In
fact, on most days I dislike using the term “special needs.” But for this it
just fits.
Max,
who will be 3 years old next month, has Down syndrome. But I never really think about Max being
different anymore except when something disrupts our normal life so
monumentally. Throws us out of a homeostatic state.
Like
a hurricane. Like this Hurricane. Sandy.
We’re
in Ocean County, NJ. Which got hit
badly. I won’t bother to add images of the destruction, just turn on the TV or Google it and you’ve
got the idea.
Bad
enough that the governor and president just did a tour to check it out, then
the Governor set up a FEMA station down the street. Massive flooding. Houses
under water, washed away or burned to the ground. Even houses that sustained
minimal damage (like mine) still have a lot of cleaning out and cleaning up of
a few inches of water, ruined items, mold, and electrical wiring.
Cars
filled with water and are totaled.
So
natural disasters are, well, disastrous for all involved; but especially challenging
for kids with special or different needs.
Like
most kids, Max does well on a routine. But like many kids with Down syndrome
Max NEEDS routine. He will Completely.Melt.Down without it.
So
I’ve adapted life so it’s always the same. The same food, the same plate, the
same room, the same days. It’s easy and comfortable for me so I no longer think
it’s strange, it’s just normal and comfortable.
But,
now his avocado and gluten-free turkey meatballs are unavailable. Now mama is sleeping on the floor in his room
next to him. Now new people are sleeping in the bedroom he normally would get
rocked to sleep in every night. So his sleep pattern is entirely disrupted and I
get 3-4 solid hours of sleep a night. Lots of yelling and Lots of crying
(mostly him). Because he cannot fully comprehend what is going on and he’s not
able to speak his needs, fears or concerns.
Exhaustion.
If
only I were a celebrity I’d get a round trip ticket to Malibu Passages with
that diagnosis.
Max
is allergic to a lot of foods. Dairy, gluten, and soy just to name a few. These dietary staples appear in almost
EVERYTHING. So the loss of a fridge isn’t just a goodbye to a beloved appliance,
it’s the loss of all of Max’s stockpiled allergen-free foods.
Udi, Glutino, Meyenberg… I’m talking to
you!
Stuff
you can’t pick up locally in Target. Frozen stuff that cost a small fortune at a
health food store.
Sigh.
So
back to routine. Every day Max receives therapy. I know that seems like a big
deal to some of you, but like I said it’s our “normal.” They’re like family
members and they help Max to learn, progress, keep up, and maintain skills.
Early Intervention and private therapies have changed the way our kids learn
and succeed in life. Plus it’s part of the routine thing.
Without
them he’s out of whack, frustrated, confused. Already his speech has regressed
a bit. Bummer.
But
the flooded and destroyed car?
This is the biggest loss for us.
A car for child
with special/different needs is crucial.
Our
week is doctor and specialist appointments (endocrinology & gastroenterology); we’ll be negotiating borrowed rides.
That
daily therapy: speech, OT and PT? On hold.
His
weekly E.I. program for with toddlers with Down syndrome an hour away, nope.
And
of course getting to 2 jobs as a single mom (did I mention I go to nursing school
as well!?)
Don’t
get me wrong, I’m eternally Grateful. I’m grateful all my family and friends
are safe. I’m so grateful we have a warm home with minimal damage that we can
share with others. I’m grateful to have ample food and clean water, and a huge
amount of friends and family members who are offering their help. I’ve grateful
we’ve had complete strangers kind enough to help, who I can now call friends.
And most of all I’m grateful I have a beautiful son, for despite his challenges
has brought so much joy and laughter in such as stressful time.
But
Sandy, I can’t wait for you to be a distant memory.