‘We were hostages at the whim of a pint-sized madman’
A Melbourne lawyer writes of her family’s struggle to cope with their autistic son Harry’s pathological demand avoidance – during lockdown and beyond.
Being in extended lockdown meant there were times, usually on weekends, when I wasn’t working, that we had to take our daily outing as a family of four. Doing things as an entire family was something Paul and I dreaded, but there were simply not enough things to do to divide and conquer the entire day every day. One particular day, we decided to make use of the windy conditions to fly a kite at a sports field. Reluctantly, we rounded up the kids to put on their winter layers, and headed out the door, armed with multiple pairs of socks for Harry. Harry usually insisted on going out the door first, although sometimes he picked another order just to keep us on our toes, with the constant being that he dictated the order of procession.
On this day, he wanted Tessa to go out last, but we weren’t to know that. I helped Tessa put her runners on and then I tentatively put a foot out the door and made eye contact with Harry who met my eyes and raised no objection. I proceeded without any issue. Tessa followed me.
Harry screamed when he saw this and pointed to Paul. Then he pointed to Tessa now near the car and then back to Paul. Paul took Harry’s hand and tried to pull him towards the door, but Harry held his ground. The order was wrong and now his screams were getting louder. I had an inkling there was an issue with the order of how we had exited the house. I kept my mouth shut. We had nowhere important to be. It seemed worthwhile to see how it would play out if we just pushed ahead. I was tired of pandering to Harry. Perhaps his meltdown would peak early and he would get over it. I put Tessa in the car and buckled her up. Harry had been screaming for more than five minutes, frozen in the hallway near the door and still pointing at Tessa. Paul picked him up and carried him over to the car, exasperated. The meltdowns were averaging three a day and Paul had lost his usual chivalry. He opened the car door and put Harry into the seat. With one hand forcibly pressing him down, he used the other to pull out the straps and gestured for me to help him. I did so, reaching across Tessa while she gazed calmly at the agitated activity taking place next to her.
Tessa, Paul and I were living in captivity, hostages at the whim of a pint-sized madman. A sort of Stockholm syndrome.
“Let’s just drive,” said Paul.
We had never pushed through a meltdown before, but today we were both in the mood to try. Once Harry was clipped in, Paul got into the driver’s seat as the meltdown continued, Harry purple in the face, stiff and braced in protest against the seatbelt. We backed out of the driveway and started heading for the oval. It wasn’t subsiding. In fact, it was getting worse. We saw a police car, probably monitoring the lockdown orders, and somehow it felt inappropriate to continue past law enforcement with Harry in that state. Paul went around the block and pulled back into our driveway. I told Paul what I thought the problem was. He shrugged his shoulders with defeated indifference as we opened the car door and unbuckled the kids.
Tessa looked at us in confusion. She had been promised to fly a kite. She wasn’t sure what that was, but knew it involved something more than simply driving a lap back to the house.
“We’re just going to get out and go back in the house and try coming out again,” I tried to explain.
Paul unlocked the door and Harry bolted into the house and waited for the rest of us to join him, shuffling his feet on the spot impatiently but notably calmer now that he realised a remediation effort was under way. We all filed in and Tessa immediately turned around and tried to go back out. I held her back and improvised a playful hug, hoping she would not see the unfairness and pointlessness of this situation.
‘Okay, Harry,’ I said. ‘Who goes out the door first?’
He pointed at Paul. Then he followed. Now outside the door, he pointed to me. Last of all came Tessa who did not like being left to the end and started to cry in protest. Now Tessa had tears rolling down her face, but it was just a little tantrum. A hug and a tickle from Paul resolved Tessa’s grievance and soon she was squealing with laughter and squirming in his arms. Both kids got into their seats and were buckled in, and we drove off to the oval in silence save for a few dying sobs coming from Harry.
Tessa, Paul and I were living in captivity, hostages at the whim of a pint-sized madman. A sort of Stockholm syndrome. We loved our captor and did his bidding, structured our lives around him, even as it slowly destroyed us.
Extract from The Unlocking (The Kind Press) by Porscia Lam, published on February 25.
