Self care, anger, and kicking it.


I follow many special needs mommy blogs and Facebook groups.  It is always interesting to watch the trends, themes, and general sentiment each group promotes.  If I were to describe the tone that I see crossing my Facebook feed these days it would be a combination of the superhero narrative, and sheer anger.  Many of the posts that stream across my timeline support blogs and messages that perpetuate the notion of superhero parenting and the theme of spiritual transformation along the journey.  We already know that I don’t agree with those blogs as a general, though not absolute, rule.

The other theme I see is anger.   A lot of anger. I get that one.  I spent a long time being very angry.

One of the most angry posts I have seen in a while was a blog documenting one parent’s backlash against the advice to engage in self-care.   There are tomes written about the importance of self-care for parents with special needs kids, and most of us know that we are supposed to take care of ourselves.  However, for a collection of parents who have a hard time eating three healthy meals a day and getting a decent night’s sleep, such advice is hard to take, and even harder to follow.  This parent’s post practically screamed her anger about receiving advice from people who had little to no insight into the chaos of her life and her difficulty with engaging in personal self-care.  I understood this parent’s anger.  Most of us are in the position where there are very few people who can take care of our kids, and securing caregivers other than ourselves is complicated and expensive.  For many of us, any kind of ongoing and substantive self-care is a pipe-dream.

Today I was running an errand and the person in front of me was complaining about how busy they were.  The cashier reminded this person in front of me that they had control over their busyness.  Therein lies part of the problem.  Society seems to think that we can control the content and busyness of our daily lives. Perhaps those of you who aren’t raising complicated kids can, but we who have kids with complex and severe disabilities often cannot. We spend our days providing care and responding to health issues that we may not have even anticipated.  For us, any sense of control in our daily lives often is an illusion.  Perhaps we have a handle on things for a while, but it takes very little to topple that house of cards before we are sitting in a heap.  Which is why self-care is even more important.  And yes, I know I am speaking in paradoxical terms.

For us parent with kids with disabilities sometimes taking care of ourselves means that, at least for a time, we are not taking care of our kid to the best of our ability.  I know to survive I had to learn to be okay with that. There are moments when my kid has been parked in front of a TV so I could have a cup of tea and chance to catch my breath.  I have sent him to respite knowing full well the care offered was second-rate to my own.  You know what?  Sometimes that has to be okay.   In the end I decided that for me to keep being an effective parent overall I would need accept that there would be moments that my kid was getting slightly less than stellar care.  What can I say, I am a realist.

To those parents who become profoundly angry about their inability to engage in self care I would say this.  I get it.  I really, really do.  I understand your anger. I understand your frustration. I know we are telling you to do the impossible.  I know what it is like to live months wondering if you would ever sleep or visit with a friend again.  I know how hard it is to find someone to care for your child.  My kid needs nursing level care. But you know what. Do something for yourself anyway. It is imperative that you find the time. It’s the classic airplane and oxygen thing.  The plane is out of control anyway.  If you don’t breathe there are at least two of you who will suffer. If you take the time to catch your breath at least semi-regularly before you crash the chances are much more likely you will both be okay.

For my self-care I play soccer three nights a week.  There is NOTHING better than kicking the crap out of a soccer ball when you are overwhelmed or frustrated.  My husband worries there have been moments I imagine the ball is his head!!!  These days I am adding punching to my kicking habit and have taken up karate.  My kids find it pretty funny.  I was practicing my kata last night and my kids didn’t stop laughing once.  NOT ONCE. I was actually getting a little worried they would hyperventilate.  Karate and soccer not only maintain my sanity, but keep me in decent physical shape since I also happen to lift and physically manage the care of a kid who is almost as big as I am. So really, in the end, it is also in Matthew’s best interest that I kick and punch.

As Nike says.  Just do it!



God and “special” kids: Another perspective

If you’ve been reading my blog for any length of time you know that I resist the notion of the Erma Bombeck God and kids with disabilities.  Bombeck, many years before her death, wrote a vignette that involved God and an angel sitting up in heaven hand-picking special needs children for special parents.  In the early  years I found this idea affirming and comforting, but in recent years I have rejected the idea on both personal and theological grounds.

A few years ago I stumbled across a qualitative research article that explored this very idea with mothers raising kids with disabilities.  Since I find research interesting I got kind of excited.  Weird.  I know.   The research is summarized in a chapter authored by Gail Landsman in a book called Transformative Motherhood: On Giving and Getting in a Consumer Culture edited by Linda Layne if that sort of thing also interests you.

Landsman argues, as I do, that this idea of special parents being chosen for special kids is primarily to support the emotional well-being of parents who are raising able-bodied kids.  But it is her rationale for this idea that is quite interesting.  She reminds us that in our current world we have this sense that we can control things, including health and by extension the health of a foetus.  And in many cases she is right.  We can make the sick better.  We can do things to increase the chance of a healthy baby.  We know we shouldn’t drink or smoke while pregnant.  We know to take pre-natal vitamins and folic acid.  Some may choose to have pre-natal testing to identify any possible disabilities and some will even chose to abort that foetus. Landsman suggests all of this, taken together, has nurtured this idea that creating the perfect baby is well within our grasp.  Our society often forgets, or ignores, the idea that things just happen sometimes to good people who do everything right.  Life is not, and never has been, fair despite our need to believe it is.

For Landsman then, if we can create the perfect baby what does it mean for those of us who gave birth to a baby society considers not perfect?  You will note I emphasize society here.  Many of us “special” parents think our kids are perfect exactly the way they are.  Landsman suggests society has two responses.  Either the mother is to blame and did something wrong to create a baby with disabilities, or the  mother has been uniquely chosen for a special gift because they are a special person.

Landsman argues that parents of able-bodied kids actually buy into both ideas.  They will often choose to believe that their child is healthy because they did all the right things thus making them ideal parents and supporting their sense of control.  However they will attempt to extend some form of “compassion” to those of us with kids with disabilities by suggesting our kids, seen as less then perfect and healthy, are a chosen gift to a unique and strong parent.  This idea also allows many parents of “typical” kids to keep their sense of control while also hanging on to their idea of a benevolent God because that God has chosen parents for kids with disabilities who are uniquely gifted for the journey.

Landsman notes that this thinking then very easily transfers into the notion that God doesn’t give you more than you can handle.  Parents of able bodied kids are often quite clear on the idea that they couldn’t handle the demands of a complicated kid.  They know there is no way they could live the life many of us live.  But those of us with complex kids?  We must be different apparently.  We are saints and superheroes chosen by God.

It is a nice story – this narrative society has created.  Too bad many of us with extraordinary children don’t believe it is true.


Marriage myths. Let’s get real.

This past weekend W5 aired a one year follow-up about parents raising triplets with severe cerebral palsy.  Not surprisingly the parents described a life overwhelmed with caregiving responsibilities and medical traumas.  The parents had also spearheaded a successful charity which is noteworthy and deserves mention. Threetobe  has raised thousands of dollars for stem-cell research geared to addressing neurological impairments.

Unfortunately the segment also shared that one year after the original story aired the parents of the triplets had split.  The interviewer, with appropriate dramatic flair, asked the mother if any marriage could possibly survive the caregiving demands with which they lived.  I was relieved when the mother replied that many  marriages survive, her’s didn’t.

There is this pervasive myth that raising a child with severe disabilities increases a couple’s risk of divorce when the truth is that among parents with children with disabilities the rate of divorce is no different than that of the normal population.  Let’s not get too excited here.  That means that half of all these “special needs” marriages will end in divorce.  Marriage, it seems, is a flip of the coin.  This first myth about “special needs” marriage is countered with a second myth, that if your marriage has survived it must be somehow extraordinary.  Ah, yes.  It didn’t take us long to get back to the saints and superheroes narrative.  And like many of the myths that describe our extreme caregiving journey, this one isn’t particularly helpful.

As an aside my husband has just walked by and read this post thus far.  He advised me that I should probably let the secret out. He actually IS a superhero which is probably why our marriage has survived.  But I digress.

Marriage is hard work.  Like really, really hard work. Those of us raising special needs kids don’t own the story rights to difficult journeys.  Life has a habit of throwing all sorts of curveballs at us that throw all those wonderful fairy-tale like plans we start out with into total disarray.  Illness, disability, job loss, financial hardship, mental illness, death, isolation, abuse, infidelity or even just the fact that people and goals can change over time – all those can strain and break even the best relationships.  Life is hard and one of the things I  heave learned during my own journey is that most of us live through some pretty difficult stuff that can stress any marriage to its core.  I am not convinced those of us with special needs kids are a whole lot different. Blaming kids is never a good idea.  The challenges with which we live are probably just more visible to the general public giving lots of fodder for the construction of these pervasive, and not particularly helpful, myths.

About two years ago I was at a conference dealing with childhood disability.  At one point the speaker cited the statistic that “special needs” marriages end at roughly the same rate as all other marriages.  One parent in the audience became quite upset by this idea.  He believed that citing this statistic negated the extraordinarily hard work that had been necessary to keep his marriage intact. For him, the myth was important because it made the survival of his marriage  both unlikely and unique. But for me this parent completely missed the point.  Keeping any marriage intact is extraordinarily hard work.  As extreme caregivers there is no doubt our lives are very difficult.  I am brutally clear on that point.  But we are not the only people familiar with lost dreams, difficulty, tragedy, and so on.  We are not the only people who have had to work very hard to keep our marriages intact, or who have had to live with the profound loss of divorce when that hard work wasn’t enough.

Ultimately my point in all of this is, like the mom on W5 said, some marriages survive life’s challenges regardless of those challenges, and some do not.  Judgement and unhelpful narratives really cloud the issue. Very good people who worked hard at their relationship get divorced, and very average people remain married. Dooming a marriage because it involves parenting a special needs child (or three!) is not helpful.  Neither is creating a narrative that suggests that any marriage that survives extreme caregiving is somehow unique and extraordinary.  Fairy-tales and myths about life and marriage are not helpful.  Let’s get real.


A tragic rant. Take two.

This past Saturday I sat down to read the newspaper with my morning coffee and once again read about a mother who had attempted to kill her child with severe disabilities.  There is a publication ban so we don’t know the names of the individuals involved. What the news tells us is that the mother of an 18 year-old son with severe autism, whose behavior at times became violent, has spent the last 18 months in prison after the attempted murder of her child. In a desperate act she overdosed both her child and herself on codeine after watching her partner resort to punching her son into submission during a severe behavioural outburst. The presiding judge, Justice Colin Westman, in an act of humane compassion refused to allow the mother to serve additional time and has allowed her to return home. According to the Waterloo Region Record the judge, echoing many of my previously voiced thoughts on the subject, stated that our communal lack of support, including financial support, for parents raising complex children makes us all responsible. His direct quote, “shame on us as a society”. We all know I agree.

The prosecuting attorney, Jane Young, alleged that the mother created the dire situation herself by refusing to access professional supports, arranging her life to support her son, and resorting to self-medication to cope. Ms. Young alleged that it was these choices that led to the mother’s overwhelmed state eventually leading to her utter inability to cope and attempted suicide/homicide. Ms. Young goes on to harshly judge the mother calling her “misguided”, “stubborn”, and “very unrealistic”.

Are you freaking kidding me?

Where do I even begin?

Anyone raising a complex child is fully aware that the resources Ms. Young so confidently allege could have made a difference to this mother simply don’t exist. Services when available are fractured and inadequately funded. Parents are bounced between multiple ministries and funding, none of which offer adequate support. Throw in the fact that parents raising kids with diagnoses leading to behavioural challenges are often blamed for their kids’ behaviours, making the system at times punitive and judgmental (a lot like Ms. Young), and you have a recipe for disaster. Is it any wonder we keep reading these news articles?

Many children upon turning 18, like the child in question, lose all their pediatric supports including respite support and funding, to be replaced by adult services that are beyond inadequate or don’t exist. I live in fear of my son’s 18th birthday and my kid has above-average resources.   Wait lists for services, care, and funding, are brutally long. Parents, including those in crisis, may wait years for a long-term care bed while struggling to manage the care of a child who is becoming larger, harder to care for, and increasingly complex. In other words Ms. Young, where are these supports you suggest could have prevented the mother’s overwhelmed state?

Ms. Young further alleged that the mother became unrealistic about her ability to cope. She labeled the mother misguided and stubborn. It is this part that really gets my goat. Parents like this mother, and like me, get up every day for years and decades and live lives that are unsustainable and unrealistic. It is the air we breathe. The world has been telling us since day one of our child’s life that it doesn’t matter how unrealistic the care demands are we must keep doing what we’re doing. In fact, if we advocate for more resources for our children we are told we are “unrealistic”, “stubborn”, and “misguided” about the availability of resources.    Sound familiar? A few weeks ago I wrote about a mother who was labeled as a “trouble mom” because she had the audacity to suggest her child needed more consistent nursing support.   It appears parents will be condemned regardless.

Extreme parental caregivers often live close to the proverbial edge. We are repeatedly told by a world that doesn’t care, and won’t help, we need to keep functioning. The garbage about not being given more than we can handle is just that, garbage. We don’t sleep. For decades. We lift 120lb kids. Daily. We are financially stretched. We advocate to a world that tells us we are being difficult and unreasonable when we are simply trying to support our vulnerable children or relieve our overwhelming burdens. We quit our jobs. And you know what? We do not have a choice. We do all this because we love our children. But we also do it because society has made it unbelievably clear that they aren’t willing to help in any substantive way. Our lives are unreasonable because society seems to think that we can do it all and then feels justified passing brutal judgment when we inevitably cannot. Look at the Latimer case. Look at the Ali case. How many times do we need to tell this story? How many times will I write this blog post?

And then there is the final point. The legal system suggests that to prosecute these parents any differently than any other attempted murder/murder charge diminishes the value of a disabled child’s life. I am the first to vehemently assert that my child is fully human and fully valuable and should be treated as such. But it is both galling and unbelievably ironic that it is only when a parent understandably snaps that our society demands our children be treated equally. It is only when a parent finally falls apart that our children are deemed worthy of equal treatment. Until that point parents and children with extraordinary needs are told day in and day out that we are unworthy. We are not worthy of adequate funding. We are not worthy of adequate supports and care. We are not worthy of communal compassion. We are not worthy of having a voice in important conversations. We are not worthy of inclusion, or an inclusive world.  Apparently the only thing we are worthy of is unrealistic expectations and harsh condemnation when we fail.  We cannot win.

These tragedies, and make no mistake they are tragedies, do not begin when a parent snaps. They have been years in the making as society stands back and refuses to help and then inevitably judges overwhelmed parents by unrealistic standards they themselves would fail to meet. Once again we have abandoned a parent for 18 years and then crucified her for understandably and inevitably reaching an end point. Justice Westman’s response, while affirming and a breath of fresh air, is too little, too late.

These stories remain our collective shame. How many times will I need to write this tragic rant?

Learning along the way.

As parents of extraordinary children we are often asked to share what parenting our children has taught us.  For many reasons, several already discussed here on this blog, I resist these sorts of questions that romanticize this difficult journey and force parents to ignore chaos and offer a sunny soundbite usually designed to make others feel good and virtuous.  As Craig Davidson author of Precious Cargo:  My Year of Driving the Kids on School Bus 3077 answered when asked that question during a recent CBC interview, “these kids are not mini-Obi Wan Kenobi’s, it is not their job to teach us the great mysteries of life”.

However I did want to share some of the things I have discovered while caring for my son.

1.   60cc syringes can double as turkey basters in a pinch.

2.  “How did you get poop THERE?”  is a perfectly reasonable question to address to my 17 year old son.

3.  “How did I get poop THERE?”  is an equally reasonable question.

4.  Hot coffee and really good hand lotion are signs that there is a God and She loves us.

5. There is nothing worse than the smell of puked Peptamen.

6.  6occ syringes made excellent water guns for children whose pacifist mother did not allow toy guns.  This particular problem was eventually rectified when their father came home with an arsenal of super soakers telling me that such toys were essential for a “normal” childhood and were not likely to turn my children into mass murderers.  Thus far my (now 15, 17, and 19 yr old) children are not mass murderers and the super soakers have been enjoyed by young and old alike.

7.  You can read Robert Munsch books for 17 years continuously and never get tired of the stories.  They are that good.

8.  Tinkerbell movies can be equally as effective as morphine.  Makes you wonder if Disney is doing something subliminal we can’t understand.

9.  The Wiggles and Teletubbies  videos played endlessly qualify as torture and guidelines for their safe use and consumption should be mandated by the UN.

10.  I was apparently put on this earth to do laundry.



Stone cold coffee.

Call me crazy, but I like my coffee hot.

A while ago I noticed that coffee seemed to taste better while consumed in my car.  It was usually take-out coffee so I went through this whole analysis of whether it was the coffee, the cardboard cup, or what, that made the joe taste better.  And then it dawned on me.  The coffee was HOT.  When drinking coffee in the car I couldn’t get distracted by life.  I had nothing else to do but to drink the darn coffee as I drove.

I love weekends.  On weekends I have a nurse start at 7am so I am not responsible for Matthew’s morning care.  On weekends I get to drink my coffee piping hot.  I usually have a second cup and drink IT piping hot.  Hot coffee might well be my bliss.  What can I say.  I am easy to please!

Because during the week my life usually looks like the picture below.


The cup of coffee you will note is full.  It is also stone cold.

Every morning I make a pot of coffee with the plan that I will drink a cup while it is still hot.  What can I say, I live in a state of perpetual hope.  Some might call it delusional I suppose.  Every morning I take that cup into Matthew’s room to start his morning care.  I assume I will drink sips of the hot coffee between priming his feeding tube, drawing up meds, maybe even while doing his nebulizer treatment.  And every morning I get caught up in the busyness of morning care and the darn coffee becomes cold.  Another opportunity lost.

In two more days it will be Saturday and I will enjoy not one, but TWO, steaming hot cups of coffee.  You see.  Perpetual hope!


Am I a caregiver? Or his mother?


IMG_1739Yesterday I was listening to CBCs The Current where a panel of three individuals was discussing how the word “disability” is used, and not used, in current discourse. One of the participants was Ian Brown, author of The Boy in the Moon: A Father’s Search for his Disabled Son. For those who don’t know, Mr. Brown’s son, Walker, as described in his book, lives with severe disabilities and is medically fragile and technologically dependent. As an aside, I loved Mr. Brown’s book. For me, it was the first book that adequately described the chaos of my life without sugar coating the story with some mandatory happy ending. He let the story stand in all its chaos while still conveying his profound love for his son. That is a caregiving story that resonates for me.

During the course of the program Mr. Brown suggested that when caring for his son the bulk of one’s energy is devoted to managing chaos. I think the phrase he used was something like preventing fires, but I would have to re-listen to the podcast to be sure! However, what caught my attention was when Mr. Brown suggested that it was when his son, now 19, moved a to a group home he was able to more fully develop a relationship with his son because he could hand off caregiving responsibilities.

As someone who is only beginning to entertain Matthew’s residence in a home other than our own this idea is fairly new to me, but makes a great deal of sense. For the past 17 years my “mothering” role has included being an advocate, a nurse, a diagnostician, an ethicist, a human resources manager, and a case manager in ways that are generally not required of the typical parent.  In many ways I see myself as a caregiver first, and a mother second.  If I think about that for any length of time it will make me sad.

It also seems that in recent years our caregivers and nurses are the ones who tend take Matthew to the movies and his various evening activities while I manage the ongoing demands of Matthew’s daily life and care. In other words, staff often get to do the fun stuff with Matthew while I wash the laundry, manage his funds, advocate for services, meet with health professionals, and organize his staffing needs. I am the one who is with him constantly during illness and hospital admissions. These days the bulk of my time with Matthew is providing care, or managing that care when not provided by me. There are many times I wish it were different but I am only human and I can only accomplish so much in a 24 hour period.  There seems to be little energy left for fun.

Like Mr. Brown has pointed out, it is beginning to dawn on me that once Matthew lives elsewhere and others take on those management and caring roles I will have the time and energy, perhaps for the first time in his life, to be Matthew’s mother first and foremost. To be sure, parenting any child involves elements of the responsibilities I noted above, but for extreme parental caregivers these roles reach the point where they can essentially replace all other parenting experiences. While Matthew lives at home and is primarily in my care my mothering experiences cannot be separated from these other overwhelming responsibilities.

As someone beginning to contemplate long-term care for Matthew I find I am increasingly attracted to the idea that others will be the one’s changing his diapers and managing his staffing schedule while I am the one who might take him to his evening activities and the movies.  It will be my turn to have fun with him!

Don’t worry. Be happy. And other lies.

It seems that every day I am bombarded by memes and messages on Facebook that suggest that world peace and a cure for whatever ails me is just a cup of tea and a few positive thoughts away.  Today a good friend (hi Gary!) posted a message that tells me that if I am too busy loving life I can avoid anxiety, worry, drama, or regret.

Baloney!  And that is using my polite voice.

Fortunately Gary, in additional to being a good and thoughtful friend, is a good sport and accepted my comment about the fact that such posts royally piss me off with his usual good grace and humour.

A few weeks ago I stood in the emergency room of our local children’s hospital having a conversation with a doctor about my expectations for life support should Matthew’s condition further deteriorate. To translate for those of you who don’t spend time in the ER having chats like this, the conversation was about how far the team should proceed with medical intervention before we all simply accept my son’s inevitable death.  For the record, if I presented as happy during that conversation the team would have reasonably suggested a psych consult for me.

Unlike what Facebook tells me, thinking happy thoughts was not going to reduce the drama or the anxiety that filled every inch of that moment, or the ones that followed.  There are simply times in life when it is acceptable and appropriate not to be happy.  There are times in life when sadness, anxiety, fear, despair, and anger fill us and all the spaces of our lives.  Saying these things does make me a pessimist.  It makes me a realist.  I accept that suffering is a fact of life and that happiness is not necessarily an achievable state at all times.  In the end I think I am a happier person because I am realistic about the elusiveness of perpetual happiness.

Suffering is unfortunately a part of life.  Sadly, our Western society is desperate to do everything possible to drown out that idea.  There is this sense that if we just keep talking (screaming?) about how we can be happy all the time we can keep suffering and difficult moments at bay. If we read enough Facebook messages about how to be happy then we will miraculously be happy. All. The. Freaking. Time.

It doesn’t work that way.  Life isn’t fair.

There are moments in life that are genuinely awful. To suggest that we should walk around being robots programmed exclusive to the happy mode all the time is ridiculous. This constant pressure from our prosperity gospel society that tells us that a happy life is the only way to live and is only a few happy thoughts away does an incredible disservice to all of us, particularly those who for whatever reason are suffering or who are clinically depressed.  There are many situations in life when happy thoughts do not help and telling someone to think themselves happy compounds suffering.

Even among those of us who are not struggling with depression or who are not suffering, this blind adherence to finding unending happiness not only sets us up for constant disappointment when we cannot find perpetual bliss, but it mutes the full range of human emotions because we are told that only one emotion counts – happiness – particularly a warped form of North American happiness that values fleeting attributes such as youth, health, beauty, wealth, and influence.  There is so much wrong with this thinking that I am not sure I could contain it to one blog post.

As an extreme caregiving parent I have found that this crap about constantly striving for happiness is just that, crap.  In my view we ought to be striving for different experiences such as contentment, community, hopefulness,  and gratitude, while acknowledging that the full range of human emotions are both appropriate, but also acceptable.

Somewhere along my journey of life I was offered some excellent advice.  I cannot remember now if it was actually a person, or book, but it doesn’t matter.  I was advised not to strive for a “cup of life” that overflows with joy and happiness, but rather a cup that is full enough.  A metaphorical cup that is so full that it overflows is defined not by me, but by the size of the cup.  The bigger the cup, and we in North America insist on some pretty damn big cups, the harder it is to make it so full it overflows. Our expectations for joy become so overwhelming that it becomes very difficult to find “full”, much less overflowing.  Enough, however, is an elastic measure. Full enough is defined by me and can change to accommodate the bumps of life. Enough also reminds me to adjust my expectations to acknowledge that many would be grateful with my cup even if only containing a few drops.  Enough allows me to find and define contentment even during difficult moments.

Like the days when Matthew is in the ICU and I allow myself the daily treat of a latte. Those are the days that hot coffee fills my  metaphorical cup quite enough.


Garbage Day



Monday is garbage day in my part of the world and what could be more mundane than garbage.  The extraordinary waste produced by extreme caregiving is rarely discussed, but as municipalities start placing stringent limits on waste disposal it is something that the general public needs to be more aware of.

My kid produces a LOT of garbage.  Our region has yet to charge for garbage bags and garbage removal so we have been able to get away with putting more garbage at the curb than the average suburban family.  Those days will be ending soon and I am not entirely sure how families like ours will be accommodated.  Families with young children will have a time-limited allowance for increased garbage during the “diaper years”.  But, what if those diaper years never end?  Or, what if you are providing end-of-life, or eldercare at home?

During my early mothering years I attempted to be environmentally friendly.  I used cloth diapers and tried to make sure my environmental footprint wasn’t ridiculously large.  But these days I am beginning to think that we might need to name a landfill after my son. During an average week my 17 year old son produces at least one full garbage bag of of diapers – adult medium sized at that. The days of cute little diapers with bunnies are well behind us.

Matthew goes through about 55-60 diapers a week.  Every week.  And will continue to do so indefinitely. That’s a lot of diapers.  He also uses a range of incontinent products like adult sized wipes.  Baby wipes just don’t cut it these days.  Throw in the fact that, weekly, we also dispose of syringes of various sizes, bags for his feeding tube, tube extensions, medicine cups, oral swabs, gauze and other assorted and sundry medical supplies (all of which are individually wrapped) and Matthew alone produces a lot of garbage.  Garbage that we cannot avoid producing by reducing, reusing, and recycling.  Many of these supplies have been contaminated with body fluids so for safety reason we cannot just toss them in the recycling bins.  Similarly, for safety reasons, we cannot re-use many of Matthew’s medical supplies for any length of time.  We do re-use syringes and feed bags for several days to try to minimize garbage.

But, in the end, lots of stuff ends up at the curb, and in a landfill, because, in essence, our home is a mini-hospital that generates a lot of biohazardous waste.

As someone interested in environmental issues I am all for reducing waste wherever possible.  But there are some situations where reducing waste is very difficult, even impossible.  Will families raising exceptional children with the exceptional garbage that goes with that task have to bear yet an additional cost – the cost of increased garbage disposal.  In many cases exceptional families are already coping with a reduced income and increased costs.   Ideally cities will provide some form of compassionate exemption for families in situations like ours.

Something to think about during municipal discussions and voting.