I haven't mentioned this before, but my son has a fairly serious allergy to wheat. It's not unusual for people on the Autism spectrum (though no one knows why, a phrase you will hear more or less constantly in regards to this baffling and heartbreaking condition), and it occurs in a much higher proportion with Autistic people than non. Fortunately, it doesn't make him go into anaphylactic shock, but it has a two fold effect: it affects his ability to concentrate and think, and it makes him hyper and miserable. Then he poops battery acid. It's horrible, painful, and it makes me wince to think how it must hurt when he passes it. It leaves his bum raw and brilliant red where ever it touches.
It happened today, and we were trying to figure out how it happened, and I realized that last night he had managed to grab and eat a tiny fragment of lettuce from the salad my wife and I were eating, and it had crutons in it. That was enough to leave him in a horrible state today, and we've made a decision to get rid of the wheat in our house. If such a tiny amount can set him off, we've got to start treating it like peanuts (he doesn't have a peanut allergy, but you know what I mean).
On that point I want to mention something about allergies and what we all take for granted. It's not until we found out about the Boy's allergy that we realized just how many foods have wheat in them. Have you ever looked at a kid's menu in most restaurants? Every bloody thing in it is either breaded or a grilled cheese sandwich. We can order a hot dog without the bun for him, but only if the people working there know what's in them, and often they don't even have access to an ingredients list. Soy Sauce has wheat in it, we can't take him to any sort of Asian restaurant. Kitchens often cook their rice noodles in the same water as their wheat noodles. When we travel and have to stop to eat (unless we carry food for him) he might only be able to eat french fries. Sometimes I've had to leave a place all together because not a single dish on the menu is safe for him (try that sometime with a hungry three year old. Try that four times like one miserable day I had, poor little guy).
We're lucky we live in this day and age and in a big city. There's a bunch of places we can get wheat free and gluten free stuff for him, including Dominion and Loblaws. Little India is about two minutes away, and it turns out that very little in Indian cuisine has wheat in it that isn't actual bread. There's a restaurant near us (part of a chain, as it turns out) that offers wheat free versions of almost everything on their menu. There's a place that's on the other side of the Danforth, but we're just within their delivery range. Tragically, we can afford them any more, since they went from a charming hippie pizza that offered atlerna-pies place to a pretentious-as-fuck pizza place that costs an arm and a leg. Seriously, their signature pie costs $150 bucks and comes with gold leaf on it. Getting a small pie for the Boy with cheese and ham (no pepperoni, it's got wheat in it) costs $23.00. Douchebags.
Wow, that was ranty! I'm a little upset, because the boy was clinging to me today and crying, as it turned out, because his tummy hurt, and he couldn't tell me, just alternate between sobbing and getting angry and hitting me, then cry some more and run around then back for more clutching and sobbing. I wish there was something I could do, I wish there was a way to reach into his brain and fix the problem, and fix his immune system so it doesn't cause the problems in his brain. When he's had to much and has to just sit on my lap and stare into space and pat my face because the world is overwhelming him, I wish I could help him more. I know how lucky we are, I know. He loves us and wants to be with us and play and talk and makes friends. He's bright and interested in and engaged and learning so fast. He's active and imaginative and has a great sense of humor, but... I see how sad he is sometimes when he tries to play with other kids, and they don't understand him, and how puzzled he looks when people talk to him sometimes. I want to save him from the world and make him well. I want to know if something happens to me he's going to be okay.
We brought him home when he was five months old, and he came from halfway around the world. I wasn't sure if I could love him as much as a biological child, if there would be some sort of barrier there. I was an idiot. I love him more than I could ever imagined, I love him so much it's like an ache in my heart sometimes. I'm so proud if him, every day. It makes me sad that my mother didn't live to see how my brothers and I turned out as adults, and to get to meet her grandson. He's the last thing I think about at night and I think about him constantly during the day. I'm one of those obnoxious parents that goes on and on about their kids to their coworkers and friends. My phone is full of goofy pictures of the Boy and our adventures together. I never for a second regret he came into my life, he is my greatest joy and the best thing I've ever experienced is being his dad.
I hope tomorrow is a better day for you my stinky little monkey.
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