The cure to autism part 3

Mom took us all in for allergy testing. I remember the little pinches of shots on my arm and waiting to see if any got big and red like mosquito bites. It was also the first time I got my blood drawn. I watched the blood filling the vial when all of a sudden the needle slipped and blood started running down my arm followed by a huge bruise. Now before you worry about me, I have AB blood type. Yup, universal receiver baby. That really lifted a lot of guilt about not wanting to be a blood donor in the future. But I digress. 

Matt was allergic to everything. He needed more testing. Except Matt’s behavior was so violent they had to close the clinic to other patients. I just realized why my brothers and I went in for testing right now. Guilt. He had to close the clinic to other patients but my brothers and I were “immune” to Matt’s violence. This time mom was literally paying for Matt’s behavior. 

Matt had a totally gluten and casein (dairy) free diet and only ate organic foods, yes back in the 80’s! Not only that but mom did not allow artificial colors or sweeteners in our diet. I didn’t live on Mac and cheese as a kid and we were the only kids in the neighborhood who weren’t guzzling milk. Don’t tell my mom this, but she never was the worlds greatest cook. It didn’t help not having a lot of options. We would eat chicken sprinkled with paprika and roasts with grease soaked carrots every week. 

My dad wasn’t a big fan of my mom’s cooking either. Supper time was very stressful in our house. My mom had to tie Matt and Luke to their chairs with aprons so they would stay at the table. Luke was hyperactive and acted up to get attention. My dad would come home from work, set down his tool box by the door, and come to the table. He would take a few bites and start yelling, “what is this dog shit”?  This was followed by him by him banging his fists on the table and flinging his plate across the table. He would sit in the next room and watch TV, laughing at the funny parts. At this point, my mom would leave the table crying. Now it was time for my job, it was time for me to be the comforter. 

Needless to say, this was not a cure either. Although it seems to help with some of the stranger behaviors that I will expand more on later. 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s