An Autistic Visit to the Orthodontist

The white snow reflects light off of the bare, gray bark trees and pebbled cement sidewalk. I watch my son walk slowly up to the front doors of the high school with his head down. He has just been to the orthodontist’s and the orthodontist explains that if D doesn’t start brushing better, he cannot continue D’s braces. At his morning’s appointment, the hygienist had D come get me in the waiting room to explain how he had plaque left around his brackets. They would rather see him with crooked teeth than with cavity holes where his brackets are. I get it. D hangs his head while the hygienist reports the grim news. He thinks he is in trouble.

I want to explain to the orthodontist that D hates the electric toothbrush because of the feel of the rough bristles against his gums and how what sounds like a small noise to most children is loud to D’s sensitive ears so brushing is one of those activities that we have to enforce daily because it is physically painful to D. But I’ve never had the sense that the orthodontist gets it; "it" being how autistic children react to the touch and sound of things. While on one hand I feel I should educate this orthodontist, on the other hand, it is just easier to just agree that we will help him brush and leave. Should D be in trouble? I ask myself as we walk to the car. Just this morning when I asked if I should check his teeth, D exclaimed, “No. They are fine.”

I don’t press the issue. I am trying to let him gain more independence. He has been doing really well with the independence of high school for the most part; he is turning in his homework on time; keeping up with his classes; earning a 3.2 grade point average; and reading at grade level. He comes home each time and gets his homework done without being asked. We have this feeling of humming along so it catches us by surprise where is a glitch in the smoothness.

I close my eyes for a minute against the bright winter sunlight. Soon it will be spring and I won’t feel so cold. Spring is coming, right? But this morning I am not feeling like a very good mother because I should have spared D the humiliation in the orthodontist’s office. I knew that I should have checked his brushing, but I didn’t. I let them scold him because I thought it would have more impact. And yes, it did; but instead of feeling better with this incidence of him hearing it from someone else, I feel ashamed. I feel like I let D down because he doesn’t always quite get it.

I spend the day wondering how he is doing in his classes. Did the morning incident distract him from paying attention in school? I call him at lunch to see how he is doing and to tell him that I love him, but his phone goes right to voicemail, which means his phone is off. Finally, after track practice, he calls to have his dad pick him up from school.

“How are you?” I ask him over the phone. I've been waiting for hours to know.

“Fine.” D is the master of one word answers. There is no sign of morning anger or sadness. He is back to his cheerful, “normal” self. When he gets home I ask him again, how he is and how his day went. And he smiles, “Mom, you know I get over things quickly. I am fine. My day was good.”

I smile at him, and shake my head at myself; another perfect example of me worrying too much. “Okay; well, brush your teeth, and I’ll double-check from now on.” And so our new routine begins without an argument. He brushes; I double-check; and we can only hope it will be enough to get him through one more year of braces.