Autistic people have varying degrees of sensory issues. For Sean it was mostly tactile. Children gradually develop tolerances to unpleasant substances on their hands as a part of their natural development but Sean was hypersensitive. Sylvia worked on Sean's sensory/tactile therapy weekly. As a start, she had him "play" with shaving cream. He slowly learned to tolerate it. On the other hand he loved the tactile rewards such as the bowl of raw rice or beans. He loved playing with sand and water. At home he played with the hose in the driveway and flour in the garage.
Week by week, Sean's acceptance of certain textures on his hands improved. Luckily, he didn't have an unusual sensitivity to sound or busy stimulated environment. As with any typical person, he was mostly affected by the length of time he was exposed to particular sounds. Overall, he coped with his sensory issues rather well.
I noticed that Sean wasn't phased too much by pain, though. It actually briefly caught my attention (even before Sean was diagnosed) when "Mister Spoon" was used early on - before I knew better - before I missed him and hit myself - before I knew it stung like a mother.
One morning I was stunned to find that half of Sean's big toenail was nearly off. I found it that way! He didn't come to me and point to it. He didn't cry. He acted as though nothing happened. I kept looking back and forth from the toe to his face, like, "Why aren't you reacting to this?"
I am ashamed to admit it, but I put a bandaid on it and sent him to school. I suppose the same question could have been applied to me, "Why aren't you reacting to this?" I don't know why I didn't take him to the doctor right away. I was freaked out and in shock, I guess. Who knows? It wasn't a problem to take him but instead I sent him to school for two days. When I told the teachers, I focused more on his lack of reaction instead of the physical problem. I was unable to look past his inability to feel the pain. Or did he feel it and didn't know how to tell me it hurt like a mother? Regardless, I should have taken him instead of sending him to school two days with a bandaid and a closed toe sandal! I knew what the doctor was going to do and I couldn't handle it. His dad was in the room when they gave him a shot in the toe and removed it. I heard him scream then. What had been the difference? Why did he react differently to the unexpected injury and the treatment of the injury? Was it strictly the sight of the needle? Or was it because the pain was deeper? From that moment on, I knew, in a way, I had to be the one to feel his pain for him.
Sean's inability to process pain was due to Sensory Integration Disorder.
How ironic was it that I had to be his pain sensor when I was barely able to sense my own?
