Too Exhausted to Think of a Title

It's been a shitty week. Four trips to the pediatrician's office, a visit to the ER, a hospital admission (complete with a blood draw that took a four-point restraint), three misdiagnoses, a horrendous rash, a five day fever, and all sorts of antibiotics and antihistamines later, Henry is finally back to baseline. He was supposed to have tubes put in his ears this week, but that was canceled because of all the other medical insanity happening with him. We're so bummed about the tubes because it could be the answer to all of Henry's problems (constant sickness, lack of language skills, incredibly low frustration tolerance-even for a two year old); and it took weeks to schedule the surgery the first time. Now, we're back to square one. On top of it all, at his post-hospitalization check up yesterday his pediatrician brought up in the gentlest way possible that she'd like to refer him to their developmental specialist because "even if he's on the spectrum. . ." Oh, Jesus. My mind went into overload and switched off. One of my biggest fears is that Henry will be "on the spectrum", as in the Autistic spectrum, as in he will have a life-long, incurable condition that will (among other things) cause him to have difficulty connecting with people. I've worked professionally with people on the spectrum, and I realize it's completely my hang-up, but I have had so much trouble with the people I've met who have had these diagnoses. Connecting with people, finding common ground, empathizing (and being empathized WITH) is so meaningful for me. It's meaningful for everyone, I realize; but this is my blog so I'm talking about me. From the time he was in utero I've been scared shitless that my kid will be autistic.
Anyway, for the past two days, I've been trying to over-compensate for the horrible week Henry has had by doing fun things with him. Yesterday, I took him to an indoor playground; today took him to get cupcakes with a mommy and me group. At both these child-friendly events, Henry had complete meltdowns. Yesterday, after the initial freak-out he sort of kept it in check and just sat on the floor moaning while we waited in line to pay. However, this did not keep a busybody old lady from making a snide comment about my parenting. This has happened probably a dozen times-strangers (almost always old ladies) forcing completely unsolicited parenting advice on me, expressing outrage, or making sarcastic, nasty comments about how I'm dealing with my kid. I hate old ladies and I hope they all die in fires. No, I don't; but it felt good to write that.
Today, mid-walk to the cupcake party Henry collapsed in the street and literally began kicking and screaming. As I was holding Sam (and Henry is 40 pounds) it was physically impossible for me to carry Henry, so I essentially dragged him to the curb like a giant bag filled with wiggling, screeching kittens. A mom from the group saw me and smiled breezily as she gently shepherded her children into the yard where everyone was meeting. "Do you need help?" she asked and didn't wait for my response, just happily slid on her sunglasses and followed her children. I continued to drag Henry closer to the yard, watching a half dozen other moms contentedly chat while their children happily played together, all of them completely oblivious to me and the human tornado at my feet. I got down to Henry's level (a Supernanny suggestion) and firmly said, "Henry, you need to calm down and walk with mommy to our friends, or we're going home." This appeared to make a 0% difference in his attitude, so I said, "Okay, we're going." Frustrated and determined, I struggled to pick him up (still holding Sam, mind you), and fortunately my dear friend Liz showed up and helped me carry a still kicking and screaming Henry to the car.
Basically what I'm saying is, I'm spent. I don't even know what this post is supposed to be about. It was going to be about how old, bitchy ladies who think they know what's best for me and my kids had better step off. But I'm too tired to even get into that. I'm just worn down. And I long for the support of people who understand me, and empathize with me, and get what I'm going through, and can/will say, "I've been there." As in, "I've been in plenty of social situations where I was the only mom with a lunatic toddler, and I've felt embarrassed, and sad, and exhausted, and worried, and fed the hell up."
Honestly, I'm probably going to have to find a support group for parents whose kids are " on the spectrum."