Who Are They?

I am conscious of my sensitivity to words. I try to be mindful of it, and to realize that people, including myself, have slips of the tongue, moments of being inarticulate. I try to be less sensitive.

But I feel a little chafed lately by a four letter word.

We see a dentist who performs miracles with my son, because he loves his job, loves kids, and specializes in pediatric dentistry for children who have special needs. When his nurse accidentally gave the Roo a flouride treatment his chart said he should not have, the dentist blanched. Reading a scary look on his face, I asked why that was such a big problem. "Well," he said, "THEY, you know, with metals, THEY..." and he cocked his head toward my child. "We try not to give THEM those treatments because sometimes severly autistic kids..."

For some reason, I reassured him. I think I wanted him to simply stop talking. What was done was done. There was no point to saying my son is not "severly autistic" because I don't even really know what that means, and thanks to Christine I understand how objectionable and ambiguous terms like "high functioning" sound. I could not undo what the nurse had done, and I didn't really even know how a big a deal it was - I'd have to figure that out later - I just wanted the dentist to stop talking because his pronouns made me feel a little novicained and queasy.

I like our dentist, and I like the teachers at my son's school. I know they try hard to help my boy, and they value inclusion of all kinds of kids. But when Roo got hurt at school last week, a teacher called me very worried. "I think his nose is bleeding because he banged it, but since they don't feel pain like other people... I mean, I just don't know how badly he is hurt because I know they can't feel pain, and I just want to be sure he does not have a head injury."

At the phrase "head injury," I flew out of work to go to my boy, no time to explain that my son, and many kids with autism, feel pain, and made sure my boy's nosebleed was just a nosebleed. It was. I found him weeping, because it hurt. I wanted to cry too -- the "theys" were getting to me.

They say April is the cruellest month, and I have to say our April of dentists, dramas, disasters, bullies and booboos lived up to that. On the one hand, I was probably too sensitive amid the chaos. On the other hand, April was autism awareness month, and I'm not sure I was as good of an advocate as I should have been. Next time, I want to do better. Next time, I hope to embrace the teachable moments better, not let the "theys" slide.

Is it me, or sometimes is "they" is a four letter word that hurts?