One of the very (very very very) few positives about severe autism is meeting some of the best people in the world. It takes exceptional people, special people, to work in the world of special needs. I am not a believer, but I can’t help but see so many of the people who have been in Ben’s life over the years as true angels — his guardian angels. It is an extraordinarily demanding path to choose, and those who do have my deepest gratitude. They — you — amaze me.
I met another one of these people over the weekend. Eric Calhoun got started cutting hair as a Naval barber, keeping fellow servicemen looking dapper on the USS Kirk. After the Navy, he received licensure in Cosmetology. OK, nothing particularly noteworthy about that. But what he’s done with his expertise sure is.
As his bio says, Mr. Calhoun seeks to “…address some of the problems that are present for the special needs, elderly and cancer-fighting community by taking his talents, patience and compassion directly to them, thereby removing the need for them to arrange transportation to a salon, and reducing sensory challenges by creating a professional and comfortable experience in their home.” This is the mission Mr. Calhoun pursues with his Personal Touch Barbering Services, and he is a regular at Ben’s group home.
And watching him buzz around Ben’s uncooperative noggin, as he gives his chinny chin chin a stylish trim, is to watch a razor-wielding wizard.
Later the same day, Ben received a different kind of cut. And I’ll never figure out exactly how he did it. Ah, autism.
Ben hates when his things get wet, especially clothes. If his shirt gets a drop of water, it’s instantly yanked off and he hunts down a replacement. No problem if we’re home. He often opts for one of Karen’s tops. It’s a look that makes us, and his staff, chuckle. Dude’s a true Metro-Sexual. (Less chuckle-worthy is when it happens when we’re some place like 5 Guys. Or if we’re out and he spills something on his pants…hoo boy. Other stories for other days.)
Because of this, we hold a hand below his chin to catch any stray drops. This time, it wasn’t water drops.
As he tilted his head back and let the water go from glass to gullet, he must have bitten down.
KLINK!
“OH MY GOD!” I said to Karen. “The glass just broke in his mouth!”
I pulled the thumb-sized shard from his mouth and looked in. There was some blood on his lower lip and my finger, but I couldn’t find a cut. Then I saw where the blood was coming from. Somehow, the cut wasn’t on his lower lip or in his mouth, where you’d expect, based on where the glass broke. The cut, fairly deep, was on the bridge of his nose! How the heck is it on the bridge of his nose??? Ah, autism.
And the bleeding! Poor liquid-averse Ben was dealing with this red liquid running down his nose onto his lips, which he kept trying to wipe with his shirt. But it kept coming.
He also pushed us away when we tried to see it, let alone touch it. Finally we got him in the bathroom on the toilet seat, as we wiped the blood off and tried to get the band-aid on.
But what’s a band-aid for? It’s true purpose? As far as Ben’s concerned, it is there to be yanked off, that’s what, and immediately.
We kept telling him the band-aid would stop the bleeding. Finally, he gave in and let it stay on for a little while. Luckily, no stitches required.
The takeaway? Only plastic cups from now on.
