Engaging the Enemy

The water flowed like liquid silk across his hands.  He placed his face in the water and it was like communicating with a whisper.  Hushed sounds filtered through...the hum of the vacuum...the whir of the the microwave.  Often these sounds were painful to him but with his face and arms immersed in the cool clear medium in the sink, the aversive noises were muffled.  

Something stomped nearer and nearer, with a quick pace, and then abruptly, he was yanked hard out of the sink.  "Steven!"  The familiar comfortable lady had a strange expression on her face.  It scared him.  He emitted a lonely wail, "oooooo."  The lady who cuddled him and fed him was making loud painful sounds at him.  He did not understand what she said.  He began to cry.  The lady tried to hold him close but the sensation was smothering and tight.  It hurt.  He wriggled free and ran to the sliding glass door.  It was closed.  He pressed his face to the glass and let the smooth predictable feel of the glass soothe him.  

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"Randy, he could have drowned!  He had half of his body in the sink, and the bathroom is flooded!  I didn't even know he knew how to turn the faucet!"  She hung up the phone.  Randy, on the other end, could do nothing but experience an increasing sense of helplessness as he watched his son drift farther and farther away from them.  

Jane was upset.  She understood that Steven had autism.  She did not, however, understand Steven.  Every instinct she had for dealing with him seemed to be wrong.  Why did her son do such unusual things?  And why didn't he respond to her comforting the way his older brother did?  She looked at her beautiful baby boy, who knelt in front of the sliding door licking the glass, and felt something inside her heart tear.  It was just too much.  She had quit her job to become the full-time manager of Steven's program.  She spent her days scheduling behavioral aides from the agency and religiously trying to fill any absences to ensure that Steven received the magical 40 hours of ABA therapy that the research prescribed.  

No matter how little sleep she had received the night before, no matter how many hours she had spent sobbing in the bathroom so as not to disturb Randy's slumber, she answered the door with a smile.  They were her saviors.  They knew what to do, how to help Steven.  The progress he had made over the last three weeks had been so slow, and he was so very far behind.  And when the door to the little room downstairs squeaked shut, she struggled to ignore Steven's tantrums as he adjusted to his rigorous schedule.  

The most recent program involved something they referred to as PECS (Picture Exchange Communication System).  The trainer had introduced small laminated cards with line drawings of various items:  a Skittle, a pretzel, a juice box, a Koosh ball.  The target behavior was for Steven to request desired items by handing the card to an aide.  Progress had been slow.  It appeared that Steven did not associate the line drawing with the actual item, hence the trainer suggested taking photos of the items instead.  Over and over, the aides worked on the skill. Steven's responses were so inconsistent that they were considering placing the program on hold.  

As she contemplated the probability of Steven learning this behavior, there was a crash from the kitchen.  She rushed in and was greeted by the sight of trash strewn across the floor.  Steven flapped a red wrapper in the air and made a repetitive sound, "Eeeee!"  He was covered in coffee grounds.  With a heavy heart, Jane turned to reach for the dustpan.  She felt a gentle push against her knee.  Steven held the red bit of trash and pressed it against her.  As her eyes focused on what he held so tightly, a novel feeling rose up in her chest.  She hesitantly held out her hand.  As he pressed the discarded Skittles wrapper into her hand, she recognized the new feeling...it was hope.