When Simple Isn’t So Easy: Sensory Overload

We celebrated Sebastian’s seventh birthday in April with a party at his favorite trampoline park, Urban Air. It’s one of the few places he loves to go to and will stay for an hour. We’ve had times where he’s only lasted twenty or thirty minutes before he’s requesting his shoes to go home, but normally, he’ll play for a while. We landed on a How to Train Your Dragon theme, one of Sebastian’s favorite movies, and bought a Toothless cardboard cutout we thought we would get a cute photo of him with. We were sure he would love it. With our decorations and cake in tow, we were ready for the party. If only we knew that Sebastian wasn’t as ready.

I didn’t think to prepare Sebastian for his birthday party, mostly because he doesn’t have words on his tablet yet to help him understand what was going to happen. Talking to him about it beforehand wouldn’t have worked either. We’d rented a private birthday room before at Urban Air for him, so I didn’t think this time would be any different. Not even an hour in, though, he became fussy and didn’t want to jump anymore. He wanted to take his Urban Air socks off and put his shoes on to go home. I couldn’t understand why he was acting that way. It really could’ve been anything. Maybe he was overwhelmed with the number of people in the room, or he did something slightly out of routine. I tried to keep him calm with Oreos, but it didn’t work. My husband told me to tell the host to bring out the birthday cake and food. Disappointed, I found the girl and told her we were just going to have to hurry this party along. As we waited, Sebastian was still very upset, wanting to leave. He kept pressing “home” on his communication device. I felt bad that everyone saw him have a tantrum, but of course, they were all very understanding. We sang Happy Birthday and called it a day. Sebastian doesn’t blow out birthday candles, so I asked my two-year-old nephew to do the honors. He happily obliged. I left a friend in charge of handing out the cake and making sure everyone got pizza while we headed to the car. We even forgot all about the photo op with the cutout Toothless. 

Once Sebastian climbed into his adaptive car seat, he was happy. It sucked that we couldn’t stay with our friends and family, but it was Sebastian’s birthday, so he should spend it how he wanted. On the ride home, I couldn’t help thinking how something so simple, like celebrating his birthday, ended up being something that wasn’t so easy. It reminded me of other simple things that typical children can do, but that is a little more challenging for Sebastian, like appointments. I have to schedule his appointments either after school or if it’s in the morning, he has to miss school because that’s a change in routine. A couple of years ago, I had a horrible experience when I took Sebastian to an appointment in the morning and then drove him to school afterward. He started crying and didn’t want to get out of the car seat, but I eventually got him out. He didn’t stop crying as I struggled to make him walk up to the building. I begged and pleaded with him to go inside, but he wouldn’t settle down. I managed to get him into school, but I regret not turning around and putting him back in the car. I most likely could’ve missed work or asked my mom to babysit. Instead, I forced him to go to school when I should’ve understood the change in routine was difficult for him. Now I’m more sensitive to making him the most comfortable.  

Dentist appointments are especially hard and have to be modified. I sit on one of his legs and hold onto the other one as the dental hygienist works in his mouth. He’s almost ninety pounds and has Herculean strength, so it’s not easy to hold him down even this way. He doesn’t understand why a stranger needs to look in his mouth with a toothbrush. He doesn’t want to stay in the chair, and the dentist will ask me if I think it’ll help if I approach him with the toothbrush instead. I feel helpless when I get asked what I think will help Sebastian in a situation because I don’t always know what can calm him. All I know is that he doesn’t want to sit down for the dentist and would prefer to be anywhere else. The dentist suggested that the occupational therapist work on this with him so that he can get used to someone else besides me brushing his teeth. When I talked to the OT about this, she said that it wasn’t something she could do since it wasn’t related to academic goals. I would have to seek additional OT outside of school. Between long days at school for Sebastian and long days for my husband and me at work, it’s hard to have energy for much else. But what is parenting if you’re not driving on empty most days? In June, I started taking him to speech therapy once a week to increase his functional communication on his AAC device. He’s about to be evaluated for OT, so hopefully, all this additional therapy just serves to help him have an easier time handling his emotions.

After a good speech session, I decided to reward him with his tablet to watch his movies on the way home. At first, I gave him my cell phone, but then I switched it for his tablet so I could listen to music on the drive. I take him to therapy right after work, so I’m always exhausted by the time I get to go home. Sebastian was laughing at whatever he was watching while I relaxed into the familiar route home. Suddenly, Sebastian’s squeals of laughter turned into angry crying. Confused, I looked back at him, and my mouth dropped. His hands were empty. I quickly glanced around and noticed his window was open. Hardly believing my reality, I looked in the rearview mirror and saw his blue tablet on the road as cars zoomed past. I helplessly asked Sebastian why he would throw his tablet out the window. Of course, his only response was more tears and kicking. It was so stressful that he would do that without understanding the consequences. He might’ve thrown his tablet out the window, but he wanted it right back. He must’ve gotten overstimulated or overwhelmed with a scene he was watching; he gets emotional with certain scenes in his favorite movies. It was my fault for leaving his window open. When Sebastian gets upset, he’ll throw whatever he’s holding. I was upset with myself for opening his window. We were both in tears as I frantically called my husband to tell him what happened. 

I couldn’t pull over, and, because of traffic, it wasn’t safe to stop. I had to pull a U-turn to get on the other side of the median and race to the tablet before more cars arrived. All the while, Sebastian’s still crying and screaming for his tablet back. Despite the risk, I parked as close to the edge as I could, ran to the middle of the road, and picked up the tablet. That’s when I realized it was only the cover. I quickly scanned the area but didn’t see the tablet anywhere, and there was already a line of cars behind me. I ran to the car, pulled another U-turn to go back around the median, and stopped the car again. I prayed that the screen hadn’t been run over and maybe landed in the grass.  No such luck. The tablet lay battered on the road, the screen cracked with multiple gashes. Defeated, I grabbed it and got back in the car. I handed Sebastian my phone to watch his movies, and thankfully, that calmed him. Once we got home, we purchased another tablet. Leaving his window open turned out to be an expensive mistake. The silver lining was that it wasn’t my iPhone. That moment was incredibly tough, but like everything else, it was a lesson that I have to be more present, proactive, and prepared.

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