Stacie Sherman

I don’t have much to give tonight.

I thought the day started well. I slept well, got up, got dressed and ready for work without any interruptions. Got Bree up and she seemed OK. Almost got upset at the top of the stairs, but then got herself together.

My plan was to get her on the school bus and then just make it for a mammogram appointment on the way to work.

Bree did not want to cooperate. Five minutes before her bus usually comes, I told her to go to the bathroom. She went in and sat. And sat. And sat.

Her bus pulled up. “Come on, Bree, we’ve got to go,” I urged her. She screamed at me and sat.

I ran out to the bus and told them we’d be a few minutes, they were so nice, as they always are. I ran back in. She hadn’t moved.

I knew she was probably constipated — a common thing in our household and many autism households — but I was fighting a clock. “Come ON, Bree,” I said. And she jumped up and came at me with both hands. At least I saw it coming. I blocked her from hurting me, and pushed her back into the bathroom. She sat back down.

I waited a few minutes, then I said it again. “COME ON, Bree,” she jumped up and ran at me again. I blocked her, screamed at her, then I pulled up her pants. She cried as I got her jacket on. So did I. My son came down the stairs, his mouth open, seeing us both hysterical. I hated for him to see me like that.

I know she was probably constipated. I also know the school was 10 minutes away. Not sure why I feel like I had to defend myself, but that’s pretty much what I’m doing.  I knew I was months late for a mammogram because I rarely had time to go to the doctor. I knew if I canceled this appointment it would be months till I scheduled one again. I did what I had to do. That’s how I roll. So I got her on the school bus. As they drove away I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Sorry bud,” I texted my son as I waited at a red light. “Don’t be sorry mom,” he replied. “It’s fine just focus on work and I’ll see you later.” This kid melts me.

I went on my way. Briefly, I thought about driving and never stopping. I did no such thing. I got to the mammogram place, got her done and got to work, shitty mood and all.  I couldn’t even begin to explain my morning when my husband called me a little while later. Sometimes it’s just too much to believe. If I dwell on moments like that, I’ll lose it. So I pick up the pieces of my mind and move on.