If you were fortunate (or cursed...depends on your experience) and able to build your home, you know it takes less than 72 hours of living in that new home before you start saying, "We should have done this." or "We should have done that.". There are many things about our home, 13 years later, that Dan and I would have done differently, but I never imagined that one day I would dream of a commercial grade toilet in the kids' bathroom. You know the kind of toilets they have in public restrooms at the mall or in a restaurant where you have to open the stall door to prepare your escape before flushing because the force of the flush sprays you (you are screwed if it's the automatic flush that senses when you exhale. This requires an immediate shower upon your return home). I want the kind of toilet that if a Prius could fit through the stall door, it would be sucked into oblivion. A girl can dream, can't she? It's sad that my dream is of installing a high powered toilet, but when you have a standard household toilet and a child who hates to "go #2" and holds "it" for days on end, I wind up "holding" a plunger in one hand and my nose with the other. During the potty training days, the plunger and the nose were replaced with a shot glass in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other.
Many kids on the autism spectrum have difficulty with toilet training and Ryan was no exception. The fact we both survived potty training relatively unscathed (and I use the word "relatively" loosely) is a miracle. For a kid like Ryan with sensory sensitivities, the bathroom and potty training can be overwhelming. The lights in the bathroom are often bright, the fan is loud, the bathroom is echoey, the potty is scary, the smell is bad (for most of us), the sensation of going may hurt or feel strange, the toilet paper is scratchy and dry and the disposable wipes are cold and wet. For kids who struggle with even minor changes in routine, putting "it" in the "loud, everything disappears that goes into it" potty is a BIG change in routine. Many children on the autism spectrum aren't ready for potty training until they are somewhat older, so they have spent years in diapers or pull ups which are much heavier and bulkier than cotton underwear. These kids are "use to" the feeling of a heavy diaper, so many children don't like the light sensation of cotton underwear regardless if their favorite superhero is smiling happily on their bum. Take it from me, when you are dumping poop (sorry, the word poop will be used frequently in this post) out of underwear and you see Buzz Lightyear smiling and seemingly laughing at you, Toy Story loses a little of it's magic.
Ryan was literally terrified to poop on the potty. He would start crying, screaming and completely melting down the second you sat him on it. Once when I just happened to time it right and he actually did go, he started screaming "my insides are going to flush down the potty". Poor guy, to him surviving the loud, flushy potty was like a near death experience. It didn't matter if it was the kiddie potty or the big people potty, he was utterly terrified and "it" just wasn't going to happen. We used a potty chart as seen here, that the occupational therapists made for us. This chart gave step-by-step instructions on what to do. When he did one step, he would peel it off the velcro and stick it to the back of the chart. This helped Ryan break down the steps of potty training to try and ease his anxiety by showing him that there was an end to this horrific process and the reward for completing the process was video game time. He loved the chart and the Spongebob Gameboy reward time, but it still wasn't enough to convince him that the potty would not "destroy" him. We tried rewards, treats, extra TV and video game time. Nothing. We tried days with no pants at all, but the end result wound up in Kyle's closet...he wasn't pleased. At the time, Ryan was obsessed with Ice Age the movie, particularly Scrat, the prehistoric squirrel who spent the entire movie trying desperately to get an acorn always just out of his reach. I could relate. When I found Scrat underwear I felt the secret to potty training had been unlocked. Although Ryan would never wear any type of movie or television character on his shirt (he still won't today) he would allow them on his underwear. I have no idea why. I told Ryan if he pooped in his Scrat underwear we would have to throw them away and he did NOT want that to happen. When I shared my new strategy with Ryan's occupational therapist she told me, I was "thinking like an OT", so I gave myself a pat on the back...with the same hand that two days later was plunged back in the toilet cleaning underwear with Scrat smiling, holding his acorn and mocking me.
When rewards, charts and bribes didn't work, I resorted to the ugly, mean AWEful stuff. I yelled, I screamed, I threatened and if I'm being AWEnest, I even tried shaming Ryan. The irony of shaming a 6 year old boy by telling him that kids will tease him, call him names and that they won't want to be his friend because he smells stinky, really is not a motivator when this particular 6 year old boy couldn't give a rat's a** what anyone thinks of him. Shaming Ryan backfired in my guilt ridden face and I wound up feeling like crap (no pun intended), not him. You would think all the ear splitting yelling I did, while once again wiping up poop and flushing out underwear, would have caused Ryan to just sit on that potty and go so he could quickly escape the lunatic woman who vaguely resembled his mother. Ryan's fear of his mother slowly sinking into madness did not outweigh all the other sensations about pooping that he hated because sadly, autism had a firm grip on Ryan's brain in the world of potty training. After these ugly mom moments, I would call my girlfriend sobbing saying Ryan deserved a better mother than me and she would quickly enumerate all the things she would have said and done years ago had she been in my shoes...or should I say, in my bathroom. It eased my conscience a bit, but not much. My poor son was unable to help his fear and sensory overload, yet here I was his loving mother, whom he loved and trusted more than anyone yelling and crying like a mad woman.
As much as it broke my heart to watch Ryan have such fear over a "must do" bodily function, I also worried that Ryan would end up going to elementary school in pull ups and be teased relentlessly. Kids can be mean anyway, throw in a pull up on the sliding board and I might as well have placed a "Kick Me" sign on Ryan's back. I can happily say Ryan jumped on the bus and went off to kindergarten with big boy pants on because he decided to save his pooping accidents all for me. I understand that Ryan knows Mommy will love him regardless of how many times she has to throw away underwear because her Clorox raw skin couldn't handle one more toilet washing, but I really was ready to blow. Our pediatrican explained to me that Ryan's colon was so distended from holding his poop because he hated going so much, that the "accidents" were a result of leaking. AWEnestly, I didn't care what was causing it or what you called it, I just knew it stunk, literally, and figuratively, and I wanted it to stop. I swear to you, the smell was in my nostrils 24 hours a day and no perfume or hair product could make it go away. I truly considered huffing Febreeze, but of course my fear of causing brain damage outweighed the stench in my nostrils. I just couldn't understand how a child who hated to be messy or sticky didn't mind sitting in his own mess at all. I love my son, but I wondered if a mother had ever been committed to a mental health facility as a result of potty training trauma. I was convinced I would be the first.
Once, in an effort to put a stop to these accidents all together, we told Ryan (who was 7 at the time) if he had any more accidents we would throw the Nintendo Wii in the garbage. Talk about tough love. He loved that Will more than most people. Guess what? The Wii went into the trash (we quickly got it out after he went to bed...those things aren't cheap) the night before trash day. Ryan was horrified. He sobbed, screamed, and completely shut down. Both Ryan and I went to bed sobbing. Ryan for his lost Wii and me for my lost sanity. For most of two week, Ryan thought the garbage men took his Wii, until we finally returned it since losing the Wii had no impact on poopy accidents whatsoever. We consulted doctors, therapists, specialists and employed natural laxatives. Yes, in the battle between laxatives and autism, autism won. Truly unbelievable. You name it, we tried it. We even tried bribery with large ticket items like $50 video games, large amounts of cash, his favorite restaurants, vacations....all to no avail. I had reached my scrubbing underwear in the toilet limit, so there was nothing left to do but break out the big guns. The little white lie.
On Ryan's 8th, yes 8th birthday I looked that beautiful boy in the eye and lied my face off. Yep, I lied and AWEnestly, this time, I felt no guilt or shame, because in the end it worked and I was tired of cleaning up poop. I told my terrified of pooping boy, that "It is against the law to poop your pants after you are 8 years old." That was it. One sentence. I didn't say he would go to jail or the police would come because I didn't have to, my rule and law abiding son knew just what "breaking the law" meant and to this day, almost 4 years later, there have been no more accidents. Judge me if you will, but until you spend 5 years with your hands in the toilet washing underwear with the likes of Buzz Lightyear, Scrat and Spongebob smiling up at you, you have no idea.
As much as it broke my heart to watch Ryan have such fear over a "must do" bodily function, I also worried that Ryan would end up going to elementary school in pull ups and be teased relentlessly. Kids can be mean anyway, throw in a pull up on the sliding board and I might as well have placed a "Kick Me" sign on Ryan's back. I can happily say Ryan jumped on the bus and went off to kindergarten with big boy pants on because he decided to save his pooping accidents all for me. I understand that Ryan knows Mommy will love him regardless of how many times she has to throw away underwear because her Clorox raw skin couldn't handle one more toilet washing, but I really was ready to blow. Our pediatrican explained to me that Ryan's colon was so distended from holding his poop because he hated going so much, that the "accidents" were a result of leaking. AWEnestly, I didn't care what was causing it or what you called it, I just knew it stunk, literally, and figuratively, and I wanted it to stop. I swear to you, the smell was in my nostrils 24 hours a day and no perfume or hair product could make it go away. I truly considered huffing Febreeze, but of course my fear of causing brain damage outweighed the stench in my nostrils. I just couldn't understand how a child who hated to be messy or sticky didn't mind sitting in his own mess at all. I love my son, but I wondered if a mother had ever been committed to a mental health facility as a result of potty training trauma. I was convinced I would be the first.
Once, in an effort to put a stop to these accidents all together, we told Ryan (who was 7 at the time) if he had any more accidents we would throw the Nintendo Wii in the garbage. Talk about tough love. He loved that Will more than most people. Guess what? The Wii went into the trash (we quickly got it out after he went to bed...those things aren't cheap) the night before trash day. Ryan was horrified. He sobbed, screamed, and completely shut down. Both Ryan and I went to bed sobbing. Ryan for his lost Wii and me for my lost sanity. For most of two week, Ryan thought the garbage men took his Wii, until we finally returned it since losing the Wii had no impact on poopy accidents whatsoever. We consulted doctors, therapists, specialists and employed natural laxatives. Yes, in the battle between laxatives and autism, autism won. Truly unbelievable. You name it, we tried it. We even tried bribery with large ticket items like $50 video games, large amounts of cash, his favorite restaurants, vacations....all to no avail. I had reached my scrubbing underwear in the toilet limit, so there was nothing left to do but break out the big guns. The little white lie.
On Ryan's 8th, yes 8th birthday I looked that beautiful boy in the eye and lied my face off. Yep, I lied and AWEnestly, this time, I felt no guilt or shame, because in the end it worked and I was tired of cleaning up poop. I told my terrified of pooping boy, that "It is against the law to poop your pants after you are 8 years old." That was it. One sentence. I didn't say he would go to jail or the police would come because I didn't have to, my rule and law abiding son knew just what "breaking the law" meant and to this day, almost 4 years later, there have been no more accidents. Judge me if you will, but until you spend 5 years with your hands in the toilet washing underwear with the likes of Buzz Lightyear, Scrat and Spongebob smiling up at you, you have no idea.
My girlfriend who thwarted my attempt to drown myself in the toilet during Ryan's potty training years, now lives most of the year in China where children wear splits in their pants to do their "duty" anywhere the mood strikes them. On sidewalks, in parks, in restaurants and stores. Disgusting? Yes. Horribly unsanitary? Of course. A hypochondriac's worst nighmare? Absolutely. But I bet those parents don't have to worry about their child wearing pull ups to kindergarten. And I bet those little children never fear their "insides coming out and getting flushed away" as the evidence of their "insides" lies fresh on the sidewalk just waiting for some unsuspecting texting teen to step in. Had my girlfriend been living in China during the dark potty training days, maybe my fear of poop and my fear of the pull up wearing social stigma, would have outweighed my fear of dying in a fiery plane crash and Ryan and I could have spent a few months potty training on the streets of Shanghai while taking in the sights.
Since I was unaware of the fashionable and functional split pants of the Chinese culture and applying for a passport to China to potty train did seem a bit drastic, I just did what every other mother who came before me when trying to potty train a child on the autism spectrum did. I hunkered down, battoned down the hatches and quickly added a new offense to the PA Crimes Code. Just like so many developmental milestones in Ryan's life, he figured out potty training on his own terms in his own time (with the help of a little birdie putting the fear of prison in his heart). So, until I get that commercial grade toilet installed, I will continue to plunge with a mixture of revulsion and pride. My boy may still hate what a "waste of time" "taking a dump" (his words, not mine) is, but his 20 minutes on the toilet while playing his iPod and singing away is a sign of yet one of the many hurdles we have overcome together with sweat, tears, curses and occasionally, the little white lie.
Ryan's 8th birthday...the day "it" all came to an end. Hallejuah!
RSS Feed
