How It Happened

Chapter 28B

Carrick

It's been a while since I've felt my heart drop like this. What have we been doing? Dr. Evans just showed Grace and I, in no uncertain terms…

"Mr. Grey? Are you alright?" Alright? No, I'm not alright. I look over at Grace who is barely holding it together. I've tried to be so strong for her throughout this entire process; since that first night in the hospital. I've had my low moment as well and she's seen me at my worst. But today, I feel the rug has been pulled out from under me and I've fallen into a sink hole.

'Mr. Grey? If I may," Dr. Evans continues. "I see a miscommunication…"

"Miscommunication? That's the best you can do? Out son doesn't speak! Of course there's 'miscommunication!' Please tell me you have something more, Doctor." As I lean my head into my hands, I'm able to think how awful I'm being- losing it completely with a member of the medical profession, but I'm really thinking my son needs a new psychologist.

"No… Mr. Grey, what I mean is, you have put so much effort into understanding what Christian is trying to tell you. Through his physical responses and the emotional level they can escalate to, as well as his more vocal, although not verbal, attempts to express himself, he is definitely trying to share with you. And you are all trying very hard to understand. However, maybe he needs you to put as much time into what you express to him."

What is that supposed to mean? We do. We always… "Wait, Doctor Evans…" Grace cuts off my thoughts. "Are you saying we're not… Wait… I'm getting lost here." Thank you Baby. That goes for both of us, although you were a lot more controlled than I feel right now.

"Please, forgive me if you feel at all insulted or offended…" Only slightly, lady. "Let's go back a few steps." I feel Grace's hand rubbing my back so I take a deep breath and lean back on the couch. I move to cross my arms, but feel a tight squeeze from my wife, indicating a silent 'Oh no you don't Buddy,' and the expression on her face confirms my comprehension.

"OK. Doctor, I'm sorry for my outburst." I reach over to hold Grace's hand and try to remember, we're here to help our son. "What are you want us to do?"

"I think what we all need to remember in this situation, is that Christian has not had the same kind of beginning as Elliot." I feel my blood pressure rise, but Grace squeezes my hand and I try to relax. "If we think back to when Elliot was a toddler, before he was speaking… That's pretty much where we are with Christian. Although Christian has a much greater understanding at four years old, than Elliot probably did at two or three. So, it's probably very easy to slip into assumed understanding." What the hell is she getting at?

"You mean…," Grace starts, and I can hear the uncertainty in her voice. "Do you mean… What exactly so you mean, Doctor?" I squeeze her hand now. I can hear in her voice, that she's not comfortable not knowing something about our child, or any child, for that matter.

"When Elliot was younger, you had to explicitly tell him things, or do things for him. Over time, with experience after experience, Elliot learned, and you didn't need to say or do, as much. As a personal example, now that my son is seven, all I have to say is 'Get ready for church.' He knows what that means. When he was much younger, I had pick out the clothes for him. I had to put them on him myself. Eventually, with enough experiences with what getting ready for church looked like, he learned what I expected.

"In Christian's case, he can do so much on his own, and in all honesty, would rather do things on his own, it can be easy to assume he knows exactly what to do. But he doesn't. He hasn't had the experiences. He knows what dinner is, but without telling him 'This is for dinner, we have to wait,' he may have no way to know. In addition, he can't ask you right now.

"He can't simply say to you 'Why can't I have pie for breakfast?' If he could, you'd reply 'Because it's not done yet…. It's for later….We'll have it after dinner,' and the moment would move on. We also, cannot forget the kind of home he came from. Our educated guess would state there wasn't much of anything there; I mean, in terms of traditional family experiences. He really has no basis of comprehension for many things. Living with the Colliers helped some, but two months is not a significant amount of time. It helped, but just about everything he's going to experience in life will be as your child, not theirs."

I want to find some reason why this lady is off her rocker, but I can't. What she said makes total sense. As I think back to things we've done with him, sometimes we've flat out told him, and those always went so much easier than when we didn't. "Alright," I quietly respond. Grace is obviously surprised at my quick acquiescence. "Alright. I get it. We need to tell him exactly what's going on; why we're doing things, what we want from him… Until when, Doctor? At what point will he get it? How long will this be necessary?"

It's Grace who answers me, with a curt response; "Until it's not, Carrick." Whoa. Haven't seen that look for a while. Ok, I get it. I need to back off. I simply nod silently. "Doctor, we have a few questions if we have time," Grace continues. Doctor Evans smiles and tells us there is plenty of time to ask whatever we need. I have to wonder how long she scheduled us for. Was she expecting this to take longer than normal? But I guess this case is probably far from normal. Then again, we're meeting with a psychologist. If it was normal, we wouldn't need to be here. "We'd like to talk about touch."

"We don't agree on how to go about dealing with this issue," I add with a shortness in my voice even I can hear.

"Obviously, we want him to feel safe and loved, so we want to touch him; hold him, hug him," Grace continues, "but Carrick thinks we should just throw caution to the wind, start touching him and let him get over it." Oh thanks Gracie. Nothing like throwing me under the bus. "I see Christian's reactions and feel that approach may be more detrimental than helpful. We decided to talk with you and go on your recommendation."

I'll bet my wife has no idea how badly I just want to leave this room right now… I'm rubbing my eyes in exasperation, but mostly to avoid looking at the good doctor. I know Grace means well, but that made me sound terrible. Dr. Evans already thinks I'm the worst father on the planet…

"Well, I think Mr. Grey has a point."

"What?" I drop my hand since I'm shocked at her response. "You do?" For the first time since we walked in here, I feel my tension start to wane.

"To an extent, yes." Grace and I look at each other and I can't help but smirk a bit. She smirks back and mouths 'to an extent,' as if to emphasize that I didn't really win this one yet. Dr. Evans continues, "Yes, in most phobia cases, facing the fear head on, can lead to significant improvement in the patient."

Now I'm just feeling pompous until her words sink in. "Did you say 'phobia' Doctor? Like a real, it's-got-a-name, phobia?"

"Carry," Grace starts, like she's just about had it with me. "Phobia is just a Greek word meaning fear. Not every fear is a clinical phobia. Calm down."

"Actually, Grace, in Christian's case, yes." Did we just hear her correctly? "While it may be a bit too early for a definitive diagnosis, in my opinion, I think that's where we're heading. Christian does seem to be dealing with a real 'it's-got-a-name,' phobia."

So I win this one, but I don't feel good about it. In fact, my heart just dropped again, and I can feel Grace has stopped breathing. Thankfully, Dr. Evans sees it as well and is not too emotionally distraught, like I am, to help her. "Grace? It's OK. It's nothing to get too upset about. In fact, I often tell parents, that when something has a name, it means it's been dealt with before, and there is a better chance of positive treatment."

Well that sounds a little better. I'm actually starting to like this lady. I feel myself take a breath and reach my arm around Grace to comfort her. "So, what is it called? How do we…heal it, or treat it?" I realize I don't even know what words to use to have a conversation about a real honest-to-goodness phobia. "Do we just go ahead and touch away? Or back off?"

"If it's alright with you, let's back up a bit more, and discuss Christian's trust. We need to remember that it's been a very short time since his mother died. I had that conversation with him in the hospital and while he may know what happened to her, at his young age, processing what it actually means may take quite a while. In addition, he was quite emotional over the whole thing, and rightly so. He was hurt. Sad, yes, but hurt. I believe he feels she abandoned him. Just left him. And given the evidence of physical abuse, severe abuse, by someone much larger than her, perhaps there were times she did. We don't know what happened in his past. Maybe she left him in this man's care, which wasn't care at all. Maybe she was too strung out while it all happened to protect him. Whatever the case, he sees her death as an abandonment. That can be quite emotionally detrimental to a young child. So, that brings us to his trust.

"It's going to take time for him to trust you. He needs to feel that your home is a safe place for him; that he can rely on you to do what you say you will as well as physically be there with him. You may see him get clingy, where he doesn't want to leave your side. He may follow you around, even avoiding typical child activities such as play, if it means your being out of his sight. He may want to touch you, hold onto you. Let him. Give him this one. It may help him develop his trust. Then once we feel he knows you're not going to leave him, we can try more physical touch from you to him."

Wow. That's a lot to take in, but it seems to make sense. "So I need to back off a while?" I ask, even though I already know the answer. Dr. Evans nods, but adds that as Christian's trust grows, we should try simple touch. We can already touch his head, and he'll hold hands, so going from there I guess; lower arms, maybe his shoulders…

"I will add though," Dr. Evans continues through my thoughts, "He may never be totally over this. His chest and back may remain off-limits, as it were. Those areas were severely injured in a very painful way. Coincidentally, he was burned in those areas, and…"

"Wait," I cut in, "What could possibly be a coincidence about any of this? About a small child being burned by cigarettes?" Did I say I was starting to like this woman? Maybe I spoke too soon.

"Well, people who suffer from Haphephobia describe touch as a burning sensation. As I mentioned earlier, it can be significantly painful…"

"Haph-e-phobia?" Grace asks slowly. I'm not sure if she's mulling it over in her mind or just trying to pronounce it. "Is that the name?" Dr. Evans nods. "How do you spell that? I want to do some research on my own." Dr. Evans quickly jots something down on a small note pad and hands it to my wife. It's at times like these, I guess, that it helps to be married to a pediatrician. She at least will know where to look. "If he may never feel comfortable with touch to those areas, will I ever get to hug my son?" Grace's voice is almost a whisper, and she's white as a ghost.

"Baby…" I lean over to pull her closer into my arms. I realize what she's getting at; Elliot is so affectionate. And Grace wants so badly to show Christian her affection. Hell, I want to, too. "Baby…" I gently kiss her on the temple and we just sit quietly for a few moments.

"Grace? Mr. Grey? Are we OK? How about we put the touch concern aside, for now?" Dr. Evans is asking as if she wants to move on. How much more is there? It's gotten pretty overwhelming pretty quickly.

I feel Grace nod and release her slightly so she can sit up. I'm sure she's trying to put on an air of professionalism, even though she's not the professional this time. Dr. Evans wants us to find something positive to end on. After all this? Not sure I can shake all this heavy stuff to find something. "Thanksgiving dinner," I hear Grace whisper. "It was good," she manages to choke out. "Can we talk about that?"

"Of course." Dr. Evans replies softly. "I'd love to hear about it."

I pull Grace close again as I see her gently smile at the memory. It was an exceptional dinner…

"Mom! MOM!"

"Oh, Elliot. No yelling in the house. You know better. What do you need, Sweetheart?" I feel the pressure of hosting a big holiday dinner beginning to bear down on me. My parents are arriving in about an hour, there's still so much I have to do, my younger son is sitting at the kitchen table looking at a book, and now my older son has some emergency I'm sure is nowhere near…

"I'm hungry. When's dinner?" Oh he's got to be kidding me, right?

"Elliot, you and your brother, already had lunch. We're not having dinner until it's ready, and Grandma and Grandpa arrive." I feel like I'm turning in four directions at once to have everything ready at the same time. Or at least as close as possible. "Why don't you and go outside and play on the swing set?"

Christian's ears perk up at that suggestions and he climbs down from the table. I watch as he heads out of the kitchen and toward the hall closet. Elliot is right behind him yelling to his brother to wait up since he's the oldest and should be first. It makes me smile. I hear Carrick in the hall helping them with coats and other cold weather wear. It's a pretty day but quite cold. I have to be thankful it's not snowing yet.

I turn back to my multiple tasks and lose myself in my plans for a moment. "I don't think that will ever get old," my husband murmurs to me as he leans in for a kiss. "Watching our little boys is really a joy for me."

"Just wait until they're teenagers," I joke with him. "Rumor has it, adolescence can turn the sweetest little teddy bear into a snarling grizzly."

"Well, then I'll enjoy it while I can… and buy stock in some hard liquor to save for later." Carrick leans around me to snitch from the relish tray. I don't even know why I put this together every year; black olives, green olives, pickles… Do we ever eat any of this? All I remember from every Thanksgiving ever, is putting all these back into their jars, and eventually tossing the whole thing. But Carrick has just had three of everything on the tray so I guess somebody eats something.

"You know, I just told Elliot no food until dinner."

"I'm not eating, I'm taste testing," he smiles at me. "And I must say, you open a mean jar of pickles Doctor." His wink makes me smile and I'm chuckling as he leaves me to my dinner preparations.

Later….

"Oh, Gracie, everything smells wonderful, Darling." My mother and father arrived and she wastes no time in grabbing a glass of wine and gushing over my holiday meal. She loves that I make her cranberry salad, but can't resist critiquing the sweet potato casserole.

My dad is in the living room with Carrick and the boys, I'm sure with a glass of something much harder than wine in his hands. He doesn't drink all that often but for some reason, has determined that the holiday season is his time to whoop it up. Just as long as you're not shnockered before the pie, Dad.

As my mother and I start to bring out all the food, Christian has made his way into the hallway between the kitchen and dining room. I think all the different scents of the many kinds of food have triggered his heightened appetite. He is just staring at me as I'm heading toward the buffet to put down a hot serving dish.

"Christian, Darling, you need to move. This is hot and Mommy needs to put it down." But he doesn't move. He's looking from the dish in my hands to the dining room. I see his eyes go wide and assume he's noticed the elaborate spread in there. He hurries over to all the different formal serving bowls and dishes. I wish I could see his face, but I'm trying to find a spot for the dish in my hand before I drop it.

I hear a 'click…click..' and see a flash in my peripheral vision. Carrick has his camera and snapped a few shots of the scene. When I look over to him, he mouths something about hoping he got that expression on Christian's face. I take a step back and watch my younger son in his amazement over so much food.

I guess it didn't occur to me what this display of food… a veritable royal feast would look like to him; Thanksgiving gets overwhelming for most people! I can't even begin to imagine what must be going through his mind at this much food… and we haven't even brought the turkey in yet.

I kneel down next to him and gently touch his head, as I take in the whole moment in his eyes. I will remember that expression forever, even if the photos don't turn out. Overwhelming amazement, and something expressing his comprehension that those days of hunger are over. I can't even give it a name. Maybe it's something like…. Peace.

Everyone enjosd the dinner. Carrick had discussed a few things with the boys before we came to the table, and I figured out exactly what about, when both boys were standing by their chairs waiting for my mother and I, to take our seats. I watched as Elliot tried to help push his grandmother's chair into the table, then they both calmly put their napkins on their laps.

Elliot is trying so hard to use his table manners, which is usually a challenge, but he goes wild over the turkey when it is brought in and placed in the center of the table. Christian is in utter shock over something so large. My father leads the prayer, Carrick carves and we all proceed to gorge ourselves on everything! And seconds! Elliot gets picky about not eating certain things, but Christian, true to his behavior with food so far, eats everything put on his plate.

We wait for a while after dinner before cutting into the pie. Dad and Carrick wanted to finish watching the football game; the Lions are losing…. again. My mother is reading to Elliot, who is curled up right next to her. Christian keeps his distance and has come over to be near me. I do see him stretching his neck to see the pictures in her book, and my mother makes sure to show him what's on each page. I'm really enjoying curling up on Carrick's overstuffed chair. Another glass of wine is my treat to myself for a job well done, if I do say so myself.

After a while, we have dessert. Totally against tradition and against pretty much all of our rules, we eat the pumpkin pie in the living room. I just about have a heart attack when Elliot, not watching where he is going, bumps into the end table. I see his plate tip and the pie start to slide, but, Grandpa is able to grab it before the whole thing makes a mess on the carpet.

"That sounds like a lovely holiday," Dr. Evans' voice brings me back to the here and now. "It sounds like Christian did well, and everyone was able to enjoy themselves."

"Yes," I reply, still in a bit of a day-dreamy feeling. "We all did."

"It was special. Oh, and the pictures came out too. We put them all in the photo album when we got them back from the drug store." Carrick says proudly. That photo album is filling quickly.

"So we're heading into another big holiday; Christmas. Have you thought about it?" she asks us. Carrick and I look at each other with uncertainty.

"Not really, Doctor," I tell her. "I mean getting through Thanksgiving was a chore. Christmas… I mean we did take the boys to Bronner's, so there's been an introduction… a big introduction, really. But we haven't …" I look to my husband for a little help.

"…Haven't thought about it, yet," he finishes for me. I'm not sure where she's going with this, but it makes me uneasy.