It’s 4:54 AM and I can hear crying on the monitor. I stumble out of bed half asleep, yet used to this routine. I race down the steps and reach my son’s room.
First, I take in the statistics on his monitors and then silence the alarms. The beeping alone can make my blood pressure reach the ceiling. Then I turn to my son, and try to figure out what’s wrong.
He’s flushed, his heart is racing and his face is a grimace. I go through the checklist: take of his brace (maybe he’s just uncomfortable), check his pupils (in case of seizures), adjust his hips (they move in and out of joint), take his temperature (maybe he has an earache)…and on and on.
Twenty minutes later his heart rate begins to come down, the crying stops and he settles in. He’s off to sleep but I’m wide awake.
This is just one of the hundreds of interventions that happens every single day caring for a child with special needs. It’s no surprise then, that there’s a crisis among special needs parents–we’re living in constant overwhelm.
