No Cross-No Crown A Journey Through Autism, Bullying and Spiritual Warfare

By Tabitha Wilson

Life kidnapped the magical vision of motherhood from Tabitha Wilson, forcing her down the path of autism, while tackling the beast of bullying. Parenthood alone is an emotional rollercoaster, but an incredibly devastating experience prompted her to author "No Cross No Crown."

 

Tabitha speaks out passionately with unbridled emotion about her raw, traumatic, and heart-wrenching journey as she battles a prominent school system and a renowned hospital, fighting for the rights of her autistic son, and her daughter, a victim of bullying. The plight deepens when multiple reports of bullying and physical abuse were blatantly ignored. Complexities of life intensified this newlywed's journey as she enters the warzone of mammoth proportions to protect her children, but spiritual warfare was on a raging path to destroy this family.

 

Tabitha highlights the underlying deceit of professionals from all walks of life which ultimately impacted her children. Her boldness and tenacity were the cornerstones of this mother's victory, and her transparency is a beacon of light to guide and bring awareness to these issues throughout the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: No Cross No Crown Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Nov 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9798986169125

Tabitha Wilson

Tabitha Wilson, a native Hoosier, is a writer of all things romance. When she’s not making strangers blush with her writing, she’s most likely frightening her two mischievous kids with homework and playtime. Her debut novel, Stay Now, is available now with more novels to follow.

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The names of all known living characters and all organizations have been changed in this publication.

No Cross No Crown Publishing, LLC

www.Tabithainspired.com

© 2022 by Tabitha H. Wilson

All rights reserved solely by the author. The author guarantees the contents are original. All supporting documentation not owned by the author have been summarized without altering the interpretation and does not infringe upon the legal rights of any other person, work, or organization. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form without the permission of the author.

Due to the changing nature of the Internet, any web addresses, links, or URLs included in this publication, may have been altered or may no longer be accessible.

Unless otherwise indicated, Scripture quotations were referenced from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation (NLT). Copyright © 1996, King James Version (KJV). Copyright © 1996 and New International Version (NIV). Copyright © 2011 Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Paperback ISBN - 979-8-9861691-0-1

Hardcover ISBN -  979-8-9861691-1-8

eBook ISBN - 979-8-9861691-2-5

Introduction

God, help me! Are you listening? It’s not fair, they’re hurting my children and I don’t know what to do! Why won’t you answer me? Are you real? God, if you exist, please do something now! I can’t take it anymore! Please help my children, they need You now!"

I cried for so long I was emotionally numb to my tears. I lost count of how many times I prayed and yelled these words out repeatedly with no response from above. My faith in God was dwindling, and my heartache and the clarity of my cry still seems like the experience was yesterday. As the years continued to pass, my tears were intermittently falling as those painful and daunting memories continue to haunt me.

Raising a son with autism has been a struggle; but adding the intense behavior challenges on top of this diagnosis was beyond my worst nightmare. Nate was an amazing young man, but his behavior would often mask his true character.

My daughter was a typical middle schooler who just wanted to fit in, but who knew the cost of fitting in had a high price with no guarantees. Naomi was extremely shy, but once she warmed up, her personality was confident, bold, and sassy. She was even more tenacious than me. When facing the residuals of the beast of bullying, there is no guarantee that life for its victim would ever be the same.

I could have moved anywhere in the United States with no strings attached to get the best services for my son. I wasn’t too worried about my daughter; with her bubbly personality, she could adjust anywhere. Based on my extensive research, the county we were headed to was highly sought after, and families from all over flocked there to take advantage of their top-notch schools. Their resources for children on the autism spectrum were amazing, so this was definitely going to be a good move for us. Besides, I would accept nothing less than the best for my children.

I couldn’t wait to move out of Texas. This state was so huge I could drive for hours and never escape. Why would I want to leave since everything I could wish for was at my fingertips? There were great jobs with amazing salaries, and benefits that would allow me to afford the big, beautiful home that I dreamed of. The downfall was it was too hot, and hurricane season and I were an unbalanced blend. More importantly, I needed to find the best school for my son.

The cost of living in Texas was incredibly low, but the tradeoff was being isolated from my relatives. The world was my oyster, but I chose to move back to the east coast. I just couldn’t get used to people wearing shorts with cowboy boots on Christmas. Besides, I missed the environment that nurtured me from birth, where my family roots were grounded. I couldn’t wait to plant my feet on the rich soil on the land I considered to be home. I yearned deeply for the four seasons, where each season gave closure to different phases of my life. Even though my mother was with me, more than anything we missed family.

When the plane lifted off to head back east, it was my daughter’s first time flying and my son was too young to remember his first experience. Nate was seven and Naomi was almost four and a half. What an awesome age to create new memories on this plane ride that fascinated them both. They were in awe as passengers on a real airplane that they only remembered seeing on TV. My innocent little angels, I promised I would do my best to protect my most precious gifts from God. I was so excited about our new life and looking forward to experiencing countless adventures with my children.

I sat comfortable yet clueless in my seat, daydreaming as we flew over the soft white clusters of cottony clouds trimmed with a brilliant gold lining from the sun’s reflection. What a beautiful day on May 15, 2010. Little did I know less than three hours away on the other side of this breathtaking view, I was destined to encounter multiple organized systems filled with lies, deceit, abuse, neglect, and bullying; exacerbated by spiritual warfare that would traumatize our lives for years. This journey took me for an unexpected ride on an incredibly intense emotional rollercoaster, taking me to places I never imagined, while adding the title super-mom advocate to my job description. I only wished someone would have gone undercover in the schools and hospital as a fly on the wall, to disclose what really goes on behind closed doors with bullied and special needs children. The lack of accountability of professionals who made major decisions in my children’s lives was astounding. If I didn’t live through this experience, I would never believe what I witnessed.

Through it all, I didn’t understand why God didn’t answer my many prayers, but I later realized that the hurt and pain I endured during this heartfelt journey was not in vain. This experience birthed the purpose that God had for my life. As I reflected on the heart wrenching events that took place during this unforeseen voyage, I thought about how God used Jesus to bear all the sins in the world for each of us. I tried to put myself in Jesus’ shoes, even though His shoes are far too big for me to fill. I wondered if God used me to bear the weight and intense emotions of every parent who has been in a similar situation; and if He used my children to bear the pain of every child who has endured similar experiences to bring the validity of these problems to life.

Just knowing what Jesus went through for me, aware of His destiny to fulfill God’s scripture, I dare not complain about the tiny cross I had to bear which only included a few problems, compared to the massive cross that Jesus bore for the world. This was my assignment from God, the cross I had to carry that would ultimately help free the minds and struggles of so many families, who are bound to a point of paralysis when fighting against these issues.

Although traumatic, these real and life-changing events made my children and I much stronger and more resilient. My prayer is this book will give those directly affected the encouragement they need to make it through their storm, and bring awareness, compassion, and insight to others regarding how they can make a difference.

If given the opportunity to choose a different path for my life, I wouldn’t change the course of these daunting events. God orchestrated my steps, guiding me to ultimately write this book to help millions of people. Not just those with children with autism, victims of bullying or those battling spiritual warfare, but to open the eyes of all walks of life and professions. Bringing full awareness to these common yet serious issues is the only way a major change can take place. I truly hope this book makes a difference in your life and opens eyes and changes lives throughout the world.

1

Help Is on The Way

"God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present

help in trouble." (Psalm 46:1)

911 what’s your emergency ?

It’s my son Nathaniel! He’s thirteen with behavior challenges; he’s having a major meltdown! I can’t control him! I need help!

Ma’am, calm down. I need you to calm down so I can help you. Tell me exactly what’s going on, and what do you mean by a meltdown?

I gasped to catch my breath.

"My son has autism, and he’s having a behavioral crisis! We were leaving a class when suddenly he became aggressive! I don’t know what triggered him! He just started kicking stuff in the hallway and banging on the walls! He was hitting the window so hard I thought the glass was going to break! I’m afraid he might get hurt.

Does he have any weapons?

No, I replied.

Is he in a safe place, she asked?

No, he’s in the parking lot with moving cars, banging on the hoods and rooftops of the vehicles! Please send help now! I don’t know what to do! 

The operator bombarded me with what seemed like hundreds of routine questions simultaneously.

Ma’am, I need your full name, your location, and a good call back number. What’s your son’s full name, his date of birth, and what school does he attend? Does he have any medical history or mental health history? Is he on medication? Did he take his medication today? Blah, blah, blah...

I was so frustrated with all her questions; I felt like I was running out of time.

Wait, operator! Please make sure the officer knows my son has a disability and not to hurt my child!

I deliberately added more details about Nate’s mental health history. I didn’t want him to get hurt simply because he was misunderstood. The operator assured me that help was on the way, and that all the officers were skilled at managing children with mental health challenges. Her words gave me no comfort as my anxiety shot through the roof. I could hear my heart pounding deep in my ears, racing at what seemed like a thousand beats per minute. I was a nervous wreck.

I read a story about an autistic teen whose mom called the police in a similar situation while at home. The police knew the boy had autism, but he was shot and killed by an officer who claimed the boy was a threat. This story was so traumatic it deeply hurt my heart. 

Nate was an amazing young man who appeared to be a typical teen. Managing his emotions was his only challenge. I understand the primary responsibility of a police officer is to protect the community, but it terrified me to think that an officer may shoot first and ask questions later. This was my worst nightmare. I was afraid for my son’s life.

Nate ran zigzag aimlessly in the parking lot paying no attention to the moving cars. He acted as if he were playing a game of tag wanting me to chase him. He clenched his teeth together, grumbling as he kicked the headlights and pounded on cars with his tightly balled-up fist. At that moment not even the finest car had value to him. I tried to gain control of the situation before the police arrived, but he appeared agitated and uncomfortable in his own skin. His typical characteristics were unrecognizable, as if someone had taken over his body. He carefully studied my every move with a glazed look in his eyes, glaring at me fearlessly. I had never experienced my son having behaviors to this degree in public.

Nate was diagnosed with autism at age two but displayed challenging behaviors at a much younger age. At that time the behaviors were triggered when he couldn’t have his way, but as he aged and more demands were placed on him, his behaviors became more frequent. 

He was very keen, hyper-focused, and in-tune to facial expressions, especially disappointment. If he sensed disappointment, he’d whine annoyingly with repeated apologies until he was verbally forgiven. The longer it took for a verbal response to his plea for forgiveness, the more anxious and behavioral he became. 

Nate needed to be in control of every situation and couldn’t move forward without making amends. He also never handled reprimands or disciplinary tones well, especially coming from a stranger. This bothered him deeply, causing him to cry just from the residual thought of an external disciplinarian.

I was perplexed as I retraced our steps to determine the culprit that initiated his behavior. I reflected on the sequence of events as we were about to leave Dr. Tee’s martial arts class. Dr. Tee was a former U.S. Marine Officer with a black belt in karate. He designed a special class for students with autism and ADHD (attention deficit hyperactivity disorder). The goal of this therapeutic class was not to teach students how to fight, but to teach them how to become more focused, structured, and to use mental discipline. This was a brilliant concept since Nate needed a combination of techniques to help control his emotions.

Dr. Tee ran a well-structured class. He taught the students a few basic karate moves to build their confidence and self-esteem. He was a strong male role model for young boys and a stickler for good grades, good manners, and respect. Nate really liked Dr. Tee and looked forward to his class. He had no problem with following instructions if he wasn’t singled out from the other students, but he was extremely sensitive about the tone used when speaking to him. Talking to Nate was like walking on eggshells. He could impulsively break down in an instant over the smallest things.

I recalled before leaving the class, Dr. Tee gave Nate the key to the restroom. Since Nate was getting older, I used every opportunity to allow him as much autonomy as possible to develop his independence. This boosted his confidence and self-esteem even more, but he was so temperamental; I worried about impulsive behaviors in public, especially if he was alone.

When Nate was out of my view, I trailed behind him to make sure he had no conflicting issues. When I heard him about to come out of the restroom, I hurried back to the office and sat with Dr. Tee. Shortly after, Nate walked into the room and hung the key on the wall. Dr. Tee gave him a high five and praise for him bringing the key back. I also gave him praise, but then he made grumbling sounds and uttered the word stupid under his breath. It was unclear whether his negative grumbling was toward me or Dr. Tee. Either way, Dr. Tee stood strong on his foundation regarding respect, and interpreted Nate’s response as disrespectful. His authoritative tone immediately kicked in as he reminded Nate about the meaning of the word respect. 

Nate’s facial expression displayed a flat affect. He nodded his head, and in an almost inaudible tone, he respectfully said, Yes sir. This was the standard response for all the students. I was surprised how well he had maintained his composure and handled Dr. Tee’s response.

Normally Dr. Tee and Nate would bump fists before we left. Nate always looked forward to this ritualistic connection that Dr. Tee would initiate, but it didn’t happen this time. Nate was sharp, and immediately perceived the omission of their ritualistic bond as a reprimand, subconsciously believing he had disappointed Dr. Tee.

When we left the class, I closed the door behind us. Nate’s facial expression instantaneously deflected from blank to preoccupied. He appeared disturbed as he started banging lightly on the hallway wall with his fist in a rhythmic pattern. This was always how he presented before a behavior crisis, so I tried rushing him towards the exit. The light banging became progressively louder and more intense as he mumbled single curse words that gradually amplified to loud profanity. This had to be it! The last interaction with Dr. Tee is what triggered Nate’s behavior. 

Typically, Nate would have tried to redeem himself and mend the dismantled bond he perceived existed between him and Dr. Tee, but at that point the situation was out of control. The profanity magnified his behaviors and drew the attention of individuals who were entering the professional building. Bystanders kept their distance as they quickly shuffled past Nate proceeding to their destination.

Gaining control of the situation seemed impossible as I tried distracting him with conversations about things he enjoyed. While attempting to rush him to the car, I also tried bribing him with a trip to the dollar store if he could control his emotions, but nothing worked. 

As we walked toward the stairs, he began kicking the potted plants in the hallway, banging the glass-framed pictures hanging on the wall, and punching the glass window as we walked down the stairs. When he reached the bottom step, he ran to the entrance and repeatedly banged his fist violently against the square metal handicap button that regulated the automatic glass door. Nate then forcefully kicked the door and ran aimlessly into the parking lot, paying no attention to the moving cars. Then he ran back towards the building and deliberately kicked and uprooted the freshly planted spring flowers that were being planted upon our arrival.

Nate’s appearance was bizarre; he looked so different. His paranoia was obvious and distracting, and he appeared confused. From a distance, I stretched my arms out toward him and said, You need a mommy hug.

This was the one technique I had not tried that usually worked. It was my way of saying everything was going to be okay. 

Nate didn’t cry often, but during a behavior crisis he would remorsefully respond to my outstretched arms by hanging his head down low, and occasionally looking up at me with soft teary eyes. He would walk slowly toward me like a zombie with his arms extended and his face distorted, squealing the most agonizing cry that converted to a deep wailing moan. I hated hearing his voice dragging in anguish; it made me want to cover my ears. When his extended arms reached mine, he would normally give me a big bear hug and his tears would pour like a faucet as he would repeatedly say, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, it wasn’t me, it wasn’t me. I never understood what he meant by it wasn’t me. It just didn’t make sense. 

During moments like this, if he would allow me to embrace him, that was my window of opportunity to reverse the behaviors. On this day when I held my arms out, he paused his actions and sighed, as a blanket of calmness immediately covered him. He appeared as if he were going to tear up as he walked slowly toward me in zombie mode. I knew if I could just embrace him for a moment he would break down and cry like a baby.

I was puzzled by his conflicting facial expressions that were a mix of rage and remorse. When he was finally close enough, I attempted to give him a hug, but in an instant, he forcefully pushed my outstretched arms downward and cursed at me in an unexpected deep foreign voice. 

Get away from me *B*!

Nate mimicked cursing from a peer at school. He didn’t know the meaning of the curse words, but he knew it wasn’t acceptable. I was stunned! It felt like all the blood in my body rushed down to my feet, leaving me paralyzed and helplessly out of control. I never took Nate’s actions or words personally because I knew he had a mental health condition, but his response was unnerving, and the voice change threw me for a loop.

At that moment, I knew I was dealing with a spirit of confusion that was trying to control my son’s mind. It was evident that my battle with spiritual warfare was active and in full effect. I started to pray and plead the blood of Jesus while trying to gain control. When I tried to pray over him, he yelled, Get off of me, don’t pray for me, in the same unfamiliar dragging deep voice that resembled torment; then he ran aimlessly back toward the parking lot, banging on every vehicle in his view.

My mind was discombobulated; it was like a nightmare, and I couldn’t wake up. Bystanders watched from a safe distance as I overheard someone call 911. My heart raced out of control making me dizzy. I knew no one would understand my child’s behavior, nor would they know he was autistic, so I felt compelled to explain. My lips trembled as I tried to speak, but my mouth was paralyzed. I couldn’t help but wonder about my son’s future. It was a feeling of impending doom. My priority was to protect my son who didn’t have a clue how serious his actions were. If he made the wrong move, it could have been a deadly decision in the eyes of the law enforcement. As I watched Nate in action, I was living my worst nightmare. What was taking the police so long? The operator said help was on the way.

Suddenly, I heard a shrill siren in the distance. Within seconds the sound faded and four police cars with flashing lights turned swiftly into the parking lot at the speed of a SWAT team. I was relieved yet afraid and in a state of emotional overload. Nate gazed in awe at the speeding police cars as they abruptly parked near the curb where I was standing. He had always been fascinated by police cars and flashing lights.

When the officers got out of their vehicles, Nate’s eyes were torn between the officers who walked slowly towards me and the flashing lights on the rooftops of the police cars. They gathered around and began to ask me the same questions that I had previously answered with the operator. It was overwhelming to speak with them and watch my son at the same time. One officer identified himself as being experienced with children with mental health conditions. He explained how he was going to proceed, but after his initial observation, he advised that Nate be transported to the hospital for a psychiatric evaluation.

The officer walked slowly toward Nate and said, Hey buddy, are you okay?

Nate appeared confused by his question as he intentionally deflected from making direct eye contact. More confusingly, he responded to the question by partially nodding his head yes and then shaking his head no. While he attempted to gain a rapport with Nate, the other officers bombarded me with more questions. I answered, but I wouldn’t dare take my eyes off my son who appeared to be responding well to the officer.

Suddenly Nate saw Dr. Tee walk out of the building. Dr. Tee glanced over at all the commotion and appeared to make eye contact with Nate. Nate’s confused facial expression quickly transitioned to desperate relief. His eyes silently screamed to gain Dr. Tee’s attention to acknowledge the horrible position he was in, with hope that he would come to his rescue. He stared intensely with baited eyes as Dr. Tee walked past the scene and headed toward his car. With every step he made, Nate’s eyes widened and screamed even louder, but Dr. Tee couldn’t hear his silent plea for help. My motherly connection sensed the deep hurt that transferred from Nate’s heart to mine, as he perceived that Dr. Tee had betrayed him. I could feel the intense despair that hovered over my son’s mind and weighed heavily on his heart.

Nate had the utmost respect for Dr. Tee and depicted him as a fatherly figure. He always tried to prove himself worthy to gain praise from his coach who he looked up to. He was convinced there was a magical magnetic bond that was strong enough to pull Dr. Tee to the scene. Knowing my son, he was more disturbed because he believed he had missed the only opportunity in the world to make things right in this situation.

When Nate saw Dr. Tee in the parking lot, he had a glimmer of hope that he still had a chance to resolve their bond. All he wanted was to make amends since their last encounter was unresolved within his spirit, but Dr. Tee had no idea what Nate was thinking or what he needed from him. If Dr. Tee would have walked over to the scene, Nate would have used that opportunity to apologize. He would have calmed down and given him a big bear hug and cried crocodile tears on his shoulder while asking for forgiveness. More importantly, Nate craved their ritualistic fist bump, which was the main reason he was in distress. It was what he needed to be assured that their relationship was back to normal. 

Dr. Tee didn’t know Nate on the level where he was aware that this simple response on his part could have made all the difference in the world; otherwise, I’m sure he would have intervened. Nate didn’t realize the seriousness of his actions, which complicated their connection because no one wants to get involved in police matters. Under normal circumstances, I would have immediately reached out to Dr. Tee to inform him how he could assist, but at that point, the matter was beyond my control.

My mind briefly drifted as I imagined Nate running toward Dr. Tee, only with intentions of asking for forgiveness. None of the bystanders or officers knew that this was my son’s martial arts teacher. If Nate would have impulsively run toward this man, officers could have easily perceived him as attempting to attack someone in the community. Leaving me with little to no time to explain, my son could have been shot and killed instantly since no one other than myself knew that his only intention was to restore the relationship he believed was broken. Being the only person aware of Nate’s actions left me bound as a victim of silent torment, where the worst potential outcomes forced its way into my imagination. I knew I couldn’t protect my son forever, so I worked hard toward helping him to get his behavior under control, hoping he could be a productive member of society.

I could sense Nate’s hope dwindling as the scene didn’t play out quite the way he anticipated. I knew he didn’t want to leave feeling that Dr. Tee was disappointed with him, but once he closed his car door and drove away, all hope was lost in Nate’s eyes. His entire world came crumbling down as he saw his final opportunity to make amends vanish right before him. He expressed his hurt the only way he knew how, through a behavioral meltdown.

As Nate watched Dr. Tee’s car turn out of the parking lot, his opportunity for closure was suddenly stripped away. He impulsively lost control and started running throughout the parking lot aggressing on the car hoods. At that point multiple officers got involved. When the officers gained control, they grabbed him and tackled him to the ground. Nate fought fiercely to get out of the physical restraint while making direct eye contact with me. I felt so guilty putting my son in this position, and my heart wrenched because I couldn’t intervene. I prayed he didn’t think I was okay with everything that was happening, but he couldn’t see or feel how terribly heartbroken I was. I started beating myself up inside, thinking I should have handled things differently without calling the police putting my son on display. 

While Nate laid on the ground face down, one officer sternly gave him the option to either calm down on his own or they would have to handcuff him. Handcuffs? I was so shaken up; it felt like I was watching a movie.

Nate’s voice was monotone as he agreed to remain compliant. When the officers released him, initially he was cooperative, but shortly after he appeared afraid and impulsively tried to run away. The officers quickly regained control and refused to give him a second chance. I could hear the clanking sound of the heavy metal handcuffs. Was this necessary? He was just scared.

Within seconds, Nate’s hands were cuffed behind his back like he was some sort of criminal. My heart sank beyond the earth’s surface as heat flushed through my body and my inclination of thought vacated my mind. I tried to hold back my tears, but I cried a river as I watched my son in this uncompromising position.

The officer calmly explained to Nate that the handcuffs were temporary until he got to the hospital. Nate’s facial expression appeared clouded and displayed confusion and remorse. I couldn’t stop crying if my life depended on it. There was a crowd of Caucasians staring at the scene. It was probably my imagination, but their facial expressions appeared stereotypical as if my son were this teenage black boy who was a menace to society.

Nate had so much potential, but no one knew it except me. His behavior interfered with everything that he could possibly accomplish. It was questionable whether he would be a productive member of society. I was disheartened and couldn’t believe what I was experiencing was my reality. I wanted to yell out to the crowd that my son was not crazy; he has high functioning autism, he’s smart, he can read, and he has potential. Why did I feel like I needed to explain? I don’t know what the crowd was thinking, but I certainly cared. I didn’t want Nate to be viewed as just another statistic.

A female bystander who overheard me talking to the officers made her way toward me. She gave me a hug as she tried to provide comfort, but I was inconsolable. She made light conversation, then felt compelled to tell me she worked with autistic children, and she understood exactly what I was going through. Although I appreciated her attempt to console me, I wanted to say, Lady, I don’t know what flight you just got off, but spending eight hours of your day with children with autism, and then going to your peaceful home without an autistic child, in no way compared to my life. I lived and breathed autism every day. Autism flowed through my veins. How could anyone fix their mouth to say they understood my situation if they’ve never walked in my shoes? I could tell she was genuinely compassionate and felt sorry for me. I tried my hardest to show my appreciation for her efforts, but this woman was extremely irritating, perpetrating as if she knew what my life was like. My life was the purest form of hell on earth, and she appeared far too pleasant and at peace to understand even half of what I was going through.

The clueless lady said she watched my interaction with Nate from her car and commended me for being a great mom. Although I appreciated her compliment for what it was worth since I did my best as a single mom, I hardly felt deserving. I felt like the worst mother on earth calling the police to control my child. I thanked the nice lady for her kind words since I knew she meant well, but I was too emotional as I tried to pick up the shattered pieces of my heart. My mind was preoccupied as I reflected on what I could have done differently to deescalate the situation on my own.

As the officers escorted Nate into the police car, it reminded me of a scene I had only witnessed on TV. My whole body was numb, and I was in disbelief. It just didn’t seem real. I gazed at my son in the back of the car with a metal gate resembling a cage separating him from the officer. The inside of the vehicle intrigued him as he curiously looked around, not appearing to have a humiliated bone in his body. Nate viewed riding in a police car as fulfilling one of his life dreams. He always said he wanted to be a cop.

I had a flashback to when he was about ten years old. A police officer came to our house after someone heard Nate screaming and acting out. When the officer arrived, he talked with Nate and let him sit in the police car, allowing him to press a few buttons that made the roof lights flash and spin. He was fascinated. Before the officer left, he gave Nate a toy sheriff badge. That was the highlight of his day, so I had no doubt that even in his manic state he experienced some enjoyment in riding to the hospital in a real police car.

Although he loved attention, I knew these were not attention-seeking behaviors. Something was really wrong, but I couldn’t get him to see the seriousness of what was happening and how things could have ended so differently. I declare I had a praying grandmother whose prayers covered her future generations.

Nate had been hospitalized three times previously because of aggressive behaviors, so this process wasn’t new to me, but it was all so unexpected. It was hard to fathom how this beautiful spring afternoon in 2017, which began more peaceful than usual, took such an unexpected turn, resulting in chaos, confusion, and heartbreak. The intensity was mind-boggling as I tried to grasp the sudden shift in the atmosphere.

I had so many other obligations that day, which included taking Nate’s sister Naomi to her therapy appointment, which was a top priority. Naomi was about two years younger than Nate and was a victim of bullying. She was very fragile-minded and overly sensitive about me spending time with her. She always felt as if she competed with Nate, and often complained that Nate unfairly received more attention than she did. Sadly, she was right, but it wasn’t intentional. It was difficult being a single mom spreading my time evenly between the kids, but in this case, I had to prioritize, and Nate’s behavior was a safety concern that took precedence.

I hopped in my SUV, trailing closely behind the officer with my eyes glued on the back window view of my son. When we arrived at the ER, the officer escorted Nate and I walked beside him. He still looked confused, and I could tell he didn’t want to be there, but we had no choice since I couldn’t manage his behaviors at home. Besides, I had to think about the safety of Naomi and my elderly mother.

The ER was jammed packed. As we walked down the overcrowded sterile appearing white corridor, patients who had been waiting hours for a room were lying on stretchers, and some were sitting in chairs being seen by healthcare providers in the hallway. The smell of the hospital environment was all too familiar since I had previously practiced as a physician assistant in a different emergency room, but the aura was much different when it involved my child. 

Nate was a priority patient and was immediately escorted to a room in the adult ER. His behaviors were too intense for the pediatric ER. As we walked toward the room, people stared as they took notice of the officer and the handcuffs on Nate. Nate hated when people stared at him; it triggered agitation, so he started kicking anything within his foot’s distance. This reminded me of when he was a serious kicker in-utero. I thought about the night I was reading a book that was propped on my oversized pregnant belly. Suddenly baby Nate kicked so hard the book flew clear across the room. He was like a baby Samson, the strongest man in the Bible. His dad and I were both amazed at the distance the book flew. My husband declared he would play for the Dallas Cowboys, but autism skewed that prediction.

When Nate was finally in a room, the staff attempted to calm him. A nurse rushed into the room with an intramuscular (IM) dose of medication. I wasn’t surprised since IM medications were absorbed rapidly and worked more expeditiously. The medication was Zyprexa, an antipsychotic that affects chemicals in the brain. It treats mood disorders and functions as a sedative used urgently to calm patients in distress. Being familiar with this treatment, I was sure it would calm Nate down, but the medication seemed to worsen his behavior, so much that the bed with locked wheels began to move. I had never seen my son respond at this level of intensity, but this was also his first time receiving this medication. Since he was much calmer prior to receiving the meds, I assumed the exacerbation of his behavior was a medication-induced response.

Shortly after he received an IM 1 mg dose of Ativan, an anxiolytic used to treat anxiety and seizure patients. After receiving the Ativan, Nate calmed down, but he still had a lot of fight in him. Five minutes later, he was back at it again in full force, as if he were untouched by the effect of this medication. He was invincible! Observing his breakthrough behavior after receiving two strong sedatives was unreal for a thirteen-year-old.

The nurse returned with another IM medication called Haldol, which is an antipsychotic that decreases the excitement in the brain. It’s also used to treat psychotic disorders such as schizophrenia and used to control severe behavior. 

Within seconds after receiving Haldol, Nate’s body was limp as a wet noodle, and he appeared lifeless. His speech was distorted, but still comprehensible. He looked like he was dead. I cried and told him I loved him and assured him as I tried to convince myself that he was going to be okay, but truthfully, I wasn’t sure. He gazed at me with tired sleepy eyes and drunkenly said, Mommy, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you or to make you cry.

I was shocked at his cognitive status with such heavy sedation on board, and I was deeply touched that he used his last words for the night to apologize to me. Even though I believe the last interaction with Dr. Tee is what triggered Nate’s behavior, I asked him just to be sure. I squeezed his hand gently a few times to arouse a verbal response, but he drifted into a deep sleep from the heavy sedation. It hurt my heart to see my son lying in a comatose appearing state, but I sighed with relief that he was only sleeping and that his behavior didn’t result in his demise. After all that fighting, he had to be tired, because I was exhausted from just watching him. With all the medication in his system, I knew he was going to be knocked out for a while.

The nurse said the on-call psychiatrist would assess Nate, but there were multiple patients waiting to be seen before him. She said we could be waiting for hours or until the next day. I was hungry, irritable, exhausted, and not prepared to spend the night in a cold uncomfortable hospital, but my life was now structured around the schedule of the on-call psychiatrist. I had no choice but to make myself as comfortable as possible, so I planted myself in the parent recliner next to Nate’s bed for the rest of the night.

2

Pieces of The Puzzle

Yet you, Lord, are our Father. We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand.

(Isaiah 64:8)

Profanity filled the air when the hospital staff buzzed me back into the adult ER. As I walked through the door, I heard crashing sounds that sounded like objects being deliberately thrown. There was a booming voice that sounded like Nate’s. But how? Nate was in a deep sleep when I went to the hospital cafeteria to grab breakfast that morning. It appeared that all the staff had left their assigned patients to observe the action. God forbid if a patient went into cardiac arrest and the staff were too distracted to respond.

Out of nowhere, a loose object flew from Nate’s room. It was chaos! Families of patients were standing in the hallway at a safe distance to get a glimpse of the excitement. Even the mental health patients were standing at their doors stretching their necks to see what the commotion was about. It was easy to identify the mental health patients by the one-to-one staff sitting outside their door.

I ran to Nate’s room finding his mattress and the recliner I slept so uncomfortably on toppled over on the floor next to a broken nurse call button. I announced myself as mom, then rushed into his room without hesitation to assist the staff. Then I sat my breakfast tray on the counter next to Nate’s tray and repositioned his mattress.

Nate stopped and gazed at me for a split second. For a moment, I recognized my lovable son, who still looked confused from the prior day. A crowd clustered in front of his doorway peeking in with no consideration for his privacy. This made matters worse because Nate hated crowds. Suddenly his facial expression changed, and I didn’t recognize my son anymore. He looked like the confused boy in the parking lot. He rushed over to the counter and with a single swoop cleared the counter with one hand, simultaneously yelling, I don’t want stinky eggs for breakfast, I want bacon!

As I watched Nate’s hand swipe the countertop both trays of food went flying in the air. My thoughts replaced my words as the food appeared to be falling in slow motion as it landed on the floor. I silently screamed, Nooo...! I was at my wit’s end with Nate’s behavior, which was now clearly about him not getting his way. He couldn’t control his emotions long enough to notice that I had bought him bacon from the cafeteria.  I was starving, and my mind was set on enjoying my food that was now all over the floor.

Nate! I yelled,

All this behavior over eggs? Really?

I knew my tone didn’t sit well with him, but I didn’t care. He gazed at the crowd that looked as if they had the best seats in the house to The Nate Show. Then he glared fearlessly at me, shifting his eyes toward the TV mounted on the wall. I recognized that look, and I knew he was going to aggress toward the TV. At