Back from a neurology appointment -- a 2-hour drive in each direction to and from South Jersey -- Charlie was moving slowly to go on a bike ride he had asked for. He had gotten his helmet on and gloves and suddenly ran out the door, across the street, swerved away from the neighbor's brown car and rolled ferociously on another neighbor's lawn, reached to bite, ripped off his helmet and gloves and under-the-helmet-cap and threw them. After five minutes, we walked back into our house.
There are a lot of reasons it happened. There is a history of Charlie making it through four hours in the car and the discussions with nurse and neurologist which center around behaviors and medications, and then -- more lag -- having a behavioral storm.
The visits are necessary and we have been to many more close-by doctors with stunningly bad results. Our neurologist is supposed to be opening another office more close by which would mean not seeing the nurse who's been extremely helpful, but no long ride.
There was no bike ride -- there has not been one after previous visits -- and Charlie, who had many reasons to be fatigued, went to sleep around 9.30 pm.
We did talk about getting his sleep on a more regular schedule.
I couldn't help but wonder, if Charlie carries some deep-set visceral memory of the three of us returning from days with the child development clinic at the Minneapolis Children's Hospital where he was diagnosed 13 Julys ago? And just doesn't feel very good.