Dear Fabulous Readers! It's been a challenge to get through with next parts of this story, so I came up with an idea... The next few chapters will be parts of the same chapter, but I don't want you to have to wait so long between them. In addition, to get where I want to go, you'll see large sections in flashback. Thanks for holding on! Love, Kelly
"Mr. Grey, Dr. Trevelyan… Please, have a seat." Dr. Evans politely greets us, as we walk into the colorful and youthfully decorated office. We've already met with her once, but she asked to meet with us again. I'm not too proud to admit that I'm a bit concerned. Our first meeting with her was pretty uneventful. I mean, we just listened and got caught up with what she'd been doing with Christian. Mostly, she was still working to get to the root of everything. When your patient won't talk, you need to find some other way to get the information out of him. He can't exactly answer the 'And how does that make you feel?' kinds of questions.
"Let me begin by asking how things are going at home. I mean it's been quite a transition for Christian in a pretty short period of time; from the apartment downtown, to the hospital, then the Collier's, and now to your home. How is it going there?" Carrick and I exchange glances, each silently supporting the other one telling the truth.
"Well, Doctor," Carrick begins, leaning his elbows on his knees. "To be honest, it's been bumpy."
"That's not to say it hasn't been wonderful! We love him so much…" I feel the need to jump in and assure her we have no regrets. Absolutely none. "It's just that sometimes, he gets so emotional. And it flips on a dime. He can be fine one moment, then angry the next."
Carrick continues, "Some things that upset him on Monday, don't bother him Tuesday. Or he's fine about something in the morning and it's a huge issue later on in the day." Carrick runs his hands through his hair and lets out a deep breath. "It's hard to predict. It's been a challenge for Elliot. He doesn't really understand…" My husband takes another deep breath and leans back into the couch. "Hell, to be honest Dr. Evans, we don't understand."
"So what is going well? Let's start with the positive." With the way she stated that, I have to wonder if we're the parents in a meeting about the patient, or the patients in a session ourselves. "What does he seem to enjoy? What interests him? Or at least, keeps his attention?"
Carrick and I look at each other again. He motions for me to take the lead. "Um…the piano. He seems very fascinated every time I play. Elliot was never interested. Still isn't. But Christian responds to it. It calms him." I continue to tell her how I accidentally discovered this in a moment of sheer need. I tell her about how he's tried plinking around a bit and that I'm hoping maybe I can get him lessons.
"It's wonderful that you've found something you can go to, that he can go to, when things get upsetting. Perhaps formal lessons should wait a bit," she adds. "If it's calming for him right now, adding expected practice time and lessons may take that away. But I'm glad he has something. You said it calms him. Have you used music at night at all, to help with the night mares?"
I tell her how we got a small stereo and put on soft piano instrumentals, and other kinds of quiet music, at night. "It hasn't stopped the nightmares, but it does at least allow him to relax a little and he can usually get back to sleep."
Carrick jumps in with an almost exasperated response. "That's one of a several things that we go through almost nightly." He starts running his hands through his hair again. "In addition to the music, we give him some warm milk, read a few books, and make sure he has his blanket; which we still spritz with Grace's hairspray. Apparently he finds that scent soothing."
"Carrick started that one way back in the hospital. When he starts the nightmares, I go into his room and lay down next to him. He always leans in and breathes in deeply, right into my hair. It's fine with me. As long as it works, right?" Dr. Evans seems surprised by this piece of information and asks how I know the nightmares are happening. I tell her we got a baby monitor so we can hear him before they become intense. I watch as she makes some quick notes in her file. Why is that unsettling?
Dr. Evans asks Carrick if there is anything positive at home he can think of. I think she's trying to bring him into the conversation. "Well, he and Elliot do really get along well. Usually. There's only a problem if Christian gets angry and starts getting physical. We've had to put him in a time-out a few times already… That gets complicated…" Dr. Evans reminds him to try to stick to the positive. "Right. Well… they play together pretty well. Elliot seems to be taking the lead and Christian is following- I mean he's learning behavior expectations and even how to play, with Elliot's leadership. El isn't always the best example, but he's only six, so…"
"Elliot's been wonderful and patient with him, though too." I feel the need to smooth over anything that seems at all off the norm. I realize I'm much more nervous than I expected to be. "He just wrote a wonderful piece in school about Thanksgiving, and how did he put it? Something like 'I'm most thankful that Christian is my brother now.' It was precious, really." Dr. Evans makes a few notes in her file. I'm wondering what she's writing while Carrick is running his hands through is hair…again. That's never a good sign. I guess I'm not the only one feeling nervous today.
When she's finished making her notes she asks about the food issue. That one's easy and I can see Carry visibly relax when he talks about Christian and meals. "Nothing's ever left on his plate. Usually he wants more. A few times he's eaten everything we served him, but didn't want any more. We're kind of keeping track of those meals. We're thinking that may mean those are not his favorite foods. Really, the only thing we've found he doesn't like is pumpkin seeds. But he loves French bread." He looks over at me and smiles. "He ate all of Grace's sandwich the other day. The boys had PB&J on regular wheat bread but Grace had a turkey on French left over from work or something. He kept looking at his sandwich, then hers and back and forth. And, well, Grace why don't you tell it."
"OK, so he must have felt his sandwich was lacking in comparison, I guess. I let him have a bite and his eyes got huge. I just traded sandwiches with him and he ate it all. I thought he just wanted turkey instead of peanut butter. But the next day, when I made lunch, he saw his turkey on wheat and was visibly upset…"
"Upset is an understatement," Carry chimes in chuckling. "The boy was totally pissed off. Well, I mean, he did eat it. He just wasn't happy about it. He got mad. It was kind of comical, because he was eating the sandwich and kicking his feet. He had his cheeks full of turkey sandwich and his legs swinging… I finally had to take him away from the table." I note that Carrick catches himself as Dr. Evans starts writing things again. "Wait, weren't we talking about his eating habits? He eats whatever he's given. He'd rather have French bread." Carry sits back again, crossing his arms. Even I can see by his body language that he's pulling himself away from the conversation.
"Mr. Grey, I hope you don't feel nervous with me. Please, share anything and everything. The more I hear about home, the better I can help." She smiles at my husband, but Carry is still being guarded. She turn to me. "Dr. Trevelyan…"
"Please, just call me Grace. I'm no longer his doctor, I'm his mother."
"OK, Grace," Dr. Evans smiles reassuringly. "How did Thanksgiving go? If there is any day where food is the focus of attention, it's that day. Can I assume you had a traditional dinner? How did Christian react?"
I think back to that day and can finally give a relaxed smile…
It's morning, and happens to be Thanksgiving Day. Carrick and Elliot are sound asleep, but Christian is up. His early waking in the hospital doesn't seem to be an anomaly. He's definitely an early riser, which amazes me, since he's still disrupted with nightmares pretty much every night. I'm concerned about how much sleep he's actually getting. We're hoping these issues lessen after some more time.
He's already in the family room, looking at a book when I come down the stairs. He sees me and puts the book down to follow me into the kitchen. "Good morning, Darling. Happy Thanksgiving!" He looks at me with a questioning expression. He's given us that same expression every time Thanksgiving has been mentioned. It's pretty obvious it wasn't something he celebrated before. "Would you like to help me get things started?" He nods and I get out the step stool so he can see what's going on. I'm not sure he understands the extent of the job we're about to do today.
I bring out all the items I need for the pumpkin pies. I like to get them done first and out of the way, even before I make breakfast. I let him help stir in the spices and mix everything together. He's curious about the big bowl full of orange… well, I know what it is, but I don't think he has any idea. He does notice the picture on the can and points out the round pumpkin to me. "That's right Darling, this is pumpkin, just like we had on Halloween, except this is what it looks like when we use it to make a pie."
I taste a bit since I never actually measure any of the spices I add. I just keep adding until it tastes right, then add a little more. He pulls on my sleeve. "Want a taste?" I get a floppy copper nod. I get him a small spoon and a little to taste. I have to giggle when I see the crinkled nose, but note how he licks his lips to get every little bit. "It always tastes better once it's cooked, Sweetheart," I chuckle.
Next, I get out the pie crusts. I have to admit, I cheat on this one and buy pre-made crust. It's well worth it, to avoid all that time it takes for homemade; not to mention the flour mess! I have way too much to do today to get mixed up in that! I let Christian help me spoon the pumpkin into the shells and it's going well, until he accidentally splashes a big spoonful of the pie filling right into my eyes. "Whoa! Christian!" Thankfully, even though I can't see anything, I'm able to keep control of the bowl, and put it back down on the counter. I feel my way to the sink and grab a dishtowel to wipe my face. When I'm able to open my eyes again, I notice Christian is gone. I feel a panic in my chest, as I look around.
"Christian? Darling? Where did you…?" I see him hiding under the table. He's crouched down, behind the center post, with his eyes squeezed shut. He obviously thinks I can't see him… He's scared and it breaks my heart. "Darling?" As I approach, he pulls back a little and still hasn't opened his eyes. "Darling, it's OK. Look at me. It was just an accident. You're fine. Mommy's fine. It's alright." He slowly and cautiously opens his eyes. It's evident he's not sure he believes me. Not knowing exactly what to do, I join him under the table. This surprises him and those gray eyes go wide and unsure. "Sweetheart, sometimes things happen. I know you didn't mean to splash pumpkin in my face," I'm chuckling as I say it because it seems so ridiculous. "Will you come back and help me, please? We have a lot to do and your brother and Daddy are still sleeping, so they're no help at all!" This gets a small smile. Then he reaches a pointed finger out to me. "What? Did I miss a spot?" He reaches out and wipes a pumpkin smudge off my cheek. We crawl out from under the table together and finish cleaning Mommy's face.
Once the pies are in the oven, we move onto the layered salad. It's always better if I make it early and it has the day to settle. It lets the dressing mix in. It's fun to watch Christian as I put the vegetables in, layer after layer. He's hunched down looking at the side of the bowl noting the different colors… "Green, purple, dark green, yellow… Green. Like your pajamas," I point out. He looks down at himself and then sees the yellow stripe. He points to it, then the yellow pepper. "Yellow. Yellow stripe, yellow pepper." I hand him a slice, which he eats, and loves. Elliot won't even try them. He doesn't believe me when I tell him they're actually sweet. He thinks I'm trying to trick him into eating, as he puts it, a 'grown up vegetable.'
We get that into the fridge and I work on the cranberry relish. Carrick was brought up on, well let's just be honest, that crap from the can. But my mother always made hers from scratch and I make it every year now. Elliot won't eat that either. I think it's a bit too tart for him. Carrick won't eat it since he never liked the canned stuff to begin with, and he just equates anything cranberry with that other crap. I make it anyway, because my parents like it, I like it, and there will be plenty left over! I let Christian taste it. It's still warm from the hot water, and it will be better when it gels, but he's tried the pumpkin and pepper, so it makes sense to try this too.
I give him a taste and watch as he licks his lips and gives a small smile, but then the tartness kicks in and he does the whole-body shutter. I laugh out loud, it's so precious! He stares at me almost hurt. I lean down to kiss the top of his head. I feel him tense up, and give me a questioning look. "A little tart, Darling? Kind of sour?" The questioning look is still there. I guess 'tart' isn't a word he knows quite yet. "Maybe you'll like it better when it sets up. It'll be more like jell-o salad, and probably a little more sweet." He licks the spoon to get the rest and I see the body-shutter again. I have to shake my head and chuckle.
I hear Elliot coming down the stairs and am silently thankful. Now he and Christian can play and I can work on cooking up the sausage and onions for the stuffing. I'm a bit more concerned with Christian 'helping' since I'll have to be using a hot frying pan. "Good morning, Sweetheart, Happy Thanksgiving!" Elliot is still rubbing his eyes while he gives me a muffled 'morning Mom.' "How about you get you and your brother a bowl of cereal? He hasn't eaten yet either." Elliot mumbles an 'OK' and gets out the box of Fruit Loops. Usually, this is a 'Saturday' cereal, but there's no school today, and it's a holiday so, whatever.
Elliot pours two bowls and gets out the milk. "Let me do that part, please," I tell him and I take the full gallon out of his hands. He wants to do it himself, but I have no desire to clean up a mess that has nothing to do with Thanksgiving dinner today. He's already digging in, but Christian isn't even sitting at the table. This is odd, since he's usually the first one ready to eat. "Christian, Darling..." He looks at me confused and hurries over to the oven and points. "The pie? You can't have any pie. It's still baking. Come and eat." He looks worried for some reason, but hurries over to the refrigerator and opens the door. What is he doing? Oh, no…
"No, put that down. You can't have the salad either." His expression is changing from worry to panic. I quickly lift the salad dish out of his hands and put it back in the fridge. He's starting to flap his arms. What on earth? "Christian, there's a bowl of cereal right on the table..." The arms are going about a mile a minute now and the squealing is just slightly louder than his stomping feet. At just this moment, my husband makes his entrance. He's really good at coming in at the height of the tantrums. I'm starting to wonder if he thinks Christian ever acts any other way other than this; like he's blowing his top!
"See what I mean, Doctor?" Carrick interrupts. "He was fine while they were making the food, then throwing a fit about it just a few moments later. And I'll be honest, a Christian tantrum was not what I wanted to deal with at nine thirty on Thanksgiving morning."
"I do see, Mr. Grey. May I make a few observations? I know there is much more to this story, but if I may…" Carrick runs his hands through is hair again, but nods, telling Dr. Evans to continue. "Well, what I'm hearing is that Christian helped prepare the food, but was told he was not allowed to eat it. Is that correct?"
"What? No…." I feel insulted, that she would even suggest I would deny him food. "We didn't tell him he couldn't eat. We know about his history…"
Carrick makes his own adamant comments, jumping to my aide. "We are very cognizant of Christian and food. We try very hard to keep a meal schedule so he doesn't ever feel overly hungry…" Dr. Evans is letting him say his peace, but it's evident she has more to add.
"I understand, and I think that is a wonderful idea. But from what you told me, he was told he could not eat the pie, he could not have the salad…"
"But the pie wasn't even done yet! And they both were for dinner. We were all going to eat them, just later in the day."
"Yes, I understand. But if I may ask, did Christian know that?"
I feel the lump in my throat as I look over at my husband and watch his expression of indignance, quickly turn to one of regret.