Homage to Our Prince: Dimitri the Face of Adhd

Copyright © 2015 by Jean M. Dorsinville. 700522

ISBN:   Softcover       978-1-5035-2628-0

             EBook           978-1-5035-2629-7

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 01/20/2015

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1: Braving Life

Chapter 2: The Hodgepodge

Chapter 3: Public Perception

Chapter 4: Transition

Chapter 5: How This All Began

Chapter 6: Home Sweet Home

Chapter 7: Leslie’s Extended Family

Chapter 8: Life Goes On

Chapter 9: A Call Gone Awry

Chapter 10: The Challenging Years

Chapter 11: Home Sweet Home

Chapter 12: Epilogue

Also by Jean M. Dorsinville

Honor Thy Father/An Awakening

Franklyn V.E. Seales/Life of an Artist

The Diaspora/A Spiritual Journey of Two Friends

This book is

dedicated to my dear wife, Leslie Bernadette Maureen Dorsinville, née Seales, (Les, for her friends) who shares in the nurturing and upbringing of our son with enduring devotion and patience; distinct qualities of her motherly instincts. I also render tribute to all mothers and fathers who face a similar challenge; may their journey be one that is marked with unending courage, patience and love.

A special thank you to my family doctor and my brother for their words of encouragement.

Prologue

Writing a book is an adventure. To begin with it is a toy and an amusement. Then it becomes a mistress, then it becomes a master, then it becomes a tyrant. The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster and fling him to the public.

The words written by Winston Churchill stole my attention and intrigued me as I ventured into the past and present in a fraught attempt to immortalize events that framed our son’s life. Unlike previous journeys, this book did not follow Churchill’s sequence. It became a vengeful tyrant from the onset in my faltering approach to relive the haunting memories of our son’s early childhood and my agonizing struggle to accept his ‘incompleteness.’ My exploration of this journey began by burrowing deep into my soul only to discover to my stupefaction that I lacked the essential mental strength to revive the not so distant past and to recognize the futility of my desperate attempt at avoiding the pain it inflicted. I daily fought those impulses until my heart gave in to what I needed to relive, but not before seeking the input of others who travelled on that same journey with us. I had to gain a degree of mastery of my emotions to allow my love affair with this mistress who embraced me and encouraged me to enjoy the voyage into a past that continues to challenge us uncompromisingly.

Blessed is the little child who brings joy, hope, love from God who gifted us with your presence in our lives and entrusted us to be your guide as you begin your journey totally dependent on mom and dad who pledge to sacrifice all as you grow in wisdom.

Autism, a word that came to life for us when our son reached his fifth year. What is it? How do we know? What do we do? Questions that invariably occupy our daily existence. It seemed obvious that something in our intellectual equipment was seriously deficient. The death of a child or young person always makes us stop and wonder at the ‘unfairness’ of life because of its suddenness and finality. Autism, however, cannot be thought as the closing stage of our human potential, nonetheless, we discover that part of one’s existence reaches a stillness that reminds us that life is an eternal teacher that challenges us in a never ending search of discoveries.

In an online publication, Clearing The Fog About Autism, we learn that, "Autism is a range of complex neurodevelopment disorders, characterized by social impairments, communication difficulties, and restricted, repetitive, and stereotyped patterns of behavior. Autistic disorder, sometimes called autism or classical ASD, is the most severe form of ASD, while other conditions along the spectrum include a milder form known as Asperger syndrome, the rare condition called Rett syndrome, and childhood disintegrative disorder and pervasive developmental disorder not otherwise specified (usually referred to as PDD-NOS. Although ASD varies significantly in character and severity, it occurs in all ethnic and socioeconomic groups and affects every age group. Experts estimate that three to six children out of every 1,000 will have ASD. Males are four times more likely to have ASD than females.

The hallmark feature of ASD is impaired social interaction. A child’s primary caregivers are usually the first to notice signs of ASD. As early as infancy, a baby with ASD may be unresponsive to people or focus intently on one item to the exclusion of others for long periods of time. A child with ASD may appear to develop normally and then withdraw and become indifferent to social engagement."

Dimitri, by the age of two, exhibited an unquenchable reservoir of energy; classified as hyperactivity in the medical nomenclature. Dr Solomon, we concluded, was a wise man. He simply said that he would outgrow it, however, his curt response to us did not sound convincing. Was his diagnosis the final word? Doing our own research, we began by keeping all sweets out of his daily diet hoping that his hyperactivity would become manageable at best or come to an end as the doctor predicted. By his fifth year, we saw no measurable improvement in his demeanor. In desperation, I asked the doctor to prescribe a medication that heretofore Leslie and I had refused to consider. We had reached a critical point that mandated our search for help. We asked him for the drug Ritalin we had read was the protocol used to control hyperactive children.

When I approached the doctor with the request for the fourth time, his response surprised me once again, arguing that our son doesn’t need it. For about ten minutes, we argued back and forth until he recognized that my request was motivated by a sense of desperation, that I had reached the end of my rope.

I left his office with the prescription for Ritalin firmly in hand, then drove to my neighborhood pharmacy to have it processed. Upon my return home, I impatiently administered Dimitri’s first dosage, trusting that Leslie and I had finally found the magic potion, the cure all. Lo and behold, literally within minutes, we witnessed a dramatic change in our son’s demeanor after administering the very first teaspoon. He looked like his very existence had come to a sudden halt. He exhibited an unexpected withdrawal from his usual self, a calming effect that gave us reason to celebrate. We finally found the holy grail we both had hoped for, but had we? We monitored his behavior that showed him in an almost catatonic state, more alarming than reassuring. Alas, it was at best a false flag. The effect of the medication after a second and third dose had quickly vaporized, or his system had quickly neutralized the drug, rendering it completely inert, reacting as his old self. We were thrown for a loop and experienced a renewed sense of desperation.

Braving Life

Vanity of vanities—it is said—but I have to, at times, take a degree of pride in myself. Our son is now a youthful looking 39-year-old, a handsome six-footer with what some call ‘classic European features’, blended with Afro DNA coursing through his veins; the upshot of the miscegenation of the races, giving him the look of Aphrodite’s lover, Adonis, in Greek mythology or Eurydice’s lover, Orpheus. His face reverberates with rugged masculinity. His tanned skin contrasts with his dark curly hair. His thick eyebrows show content accentuating his almond shaped brown eyes, but inviting at the same time. His eyelashes are, from childhood, exceptionally long and remain the same for the man he has become. His chiseled nose looks well-centered on his perfectly oval face.

The years are passing us by very rapidly, leaving traces of the aging process, but our son’s physical outward transformation challenges the norm. His exhibits a very slow maturation, very much out of the normal scheme of life aging process. He looks half his age. He is a perfect healthy specimen who never contracted a cold or suffered any illness of any kind. We count our blessings every day for his robust physique.

He’s a hunk…a lady killer an acquaintance once remarked adoringly as she gazed at the photograph I was showing her during a brief encounter at a mutual friend’s house. She could barely hide her infatuation.

I had relocated the family to Savannah in December 2006 following my father’s death who lived alone in Queens, NY after the lost of his wife of fifty years, a decade earlier. At the time, our house was in Somerset, NJ. We lived closer to the condo he shared with my mother for more than four decades than my brother who resides in Montreal, Canada. While we made our home in New Jersey, Leslie was tasked on occasions to prepare his meals that I would deliver to him. I had hired an attendant who spent eight hours, seven days a week to provide him with companionship and render help when needed.

His death came shortly after his ninety fifth birthday, putting closure to our residence in the North East. Savannah, GA became the preferred destination for the three of us where we could enjoy the semi-tropical weather and the slow pace of southern living.

In New Jersey, I had also purchased a computer for Dimitri along with several games that he quickly mastered without any direction or prompting from me, after my initial installation. His mind was working in astonishing ways that I could not quite understand, yet content to observe his development. He would spend his evenings on the computer until bed time that came at 10 PM on weekdays. He observed this schedule for the 18 years we lived in that house.

Upon our arrival in Savannah, I concluded that time had come to upgrade our son’s computer by purchasing the latest model with a flat screen monitor. This decision quickly became a huge unexpected mistake that I will always continue to regret. Dimitri, like many autistic children, is a creature of habit. This is one of the characteristics of Autism syndrome that I mistakenly failed to fully comprehend when deciding to make that purchase. It is a subtle quirk of his psychological makeup that escaped me until it was too late. He never, not so much, turned on the computer in his bedroom since our arrival eight years ago. He lost interest in the computer he did not recognize. I may never recover for what I consider an unpardonable miscalculation. He was never interested in watching television, so adding one in his bedroom was not a decision for us to make.

When notice of our son’s acceptance to the Coastal Developmental Center reached us, we felt we had crossed another hurdle. We arrived at the Center in the morning to meet with the Executive Director, Ms Kathy Thomson who I discovered had a long career with this organization that began in 1972 when she was a Case Manager. Over time we become well acquainted with Mr. Bartell who is a very amiable individual. He is the go-to man for any question. Another person who maintains a close contact with Dimitri is Ms Shurley (her preferred spelling) who supervises Dimitri’s and other clients’ work, tasked to administer the workshop programs.

The one story building consists of a large open area with desks and chairs where the residents of different levels of needs are placed. Dimitri’s first day, we were told by his teacher, went extremely well. He had no difficulty following instructions.

Dimitri responds to a structured schedule that does not deviate. From Monday to Friday, he’s up by six forty five with Leslie who prepares his breakfast. He then takes his shower, gets dressed and awaits for the van that arrives a little past 7:30 to transport him and four others to the Coastal Center located at thirty minutes from our house. He is driven back to the house at or around 4 PM. All three of us then seat together for dinner. Yes, we eat dinner early in our household. Following dinner, Dimitri follows his custom of getting on his bicycle to ride back and forth for nearly three hours or until the darkness of the night catches him.

Dimitri’s contagious enthusiasm attending the Coastal Center on week days is a God sent. For the past eight years, he’s been looking forward to his daily activities. Saturdays and Sundays, however, present quite a different challenge that rests on us. He respects the fact that we remain in bed longer on Saturday mornings, ergo, knows instinctively not to awaken us like he does during the week days at 6:45 AM. Though he has overgrown his hyperactivity, he gets bored easily. We take him for a ride around town, accompanying Leslie to do her shopping or to the movies which he prefers, giving him the opportunity to munch on a large bucket of popcorn.

On Sunday we attend Church at the Cathedral of Saint John the Baptist, the largest Catholic church in the state of Georgia, the ten o’clock or the eleven thirty mass which varies with my assignments as a Lector and Eucharistic Minister. We return home and have dinner no later than 2 PM. Dimitri follows by getting on his bicycle that he rides for an hour instead of the three hours on week days. He had long decided to curtail his riding to get into the shower and get ready for next day Monday to resume his weekly activities at the Coastal Center.

Leslie’s devotion to our son coupled with mine is constant and unrelenting. We take a very protective approach in our daily interaction that needs not be verbally communicated but left at a level that defies the mundane. We often interact in the silence of our thoughts without the need to interject words that may divulge an awkward sense of helplessness. There’s a natural symbiosis that grows overtime suppressing the use of words when dealing with certain situations. It is a natural fall back that complements his lack of verbal skills.

For the past two years, I detected a very new development in Dimitri’s behavior: His reluctance to eat at the table in my absence with one exception; breakfast time does not require my presence on weekdays in preparation for his attendance at the Center. He understands the urgency to get ready for the van that transports him. Even during our sharing of meals together, when I briefly pull myself from the table to go to the refrigerator, he will stop eating until I return to my seat. He unwittingly restricts my mobility to travel solo. I can’t explain this response behavior. It is a development that I must accept until, or if, he snaps out of it. It’s more of a matter of when because I sense this to be another passing behavioral quirk.

We discovered that our son’s perception of his environment is developed in ways that continue to surprise us. His verbal ability may be impaired but another part of the brain is developing to compensate. When Leslie and I plan on going to a destination of choice, we discover to our utter amazement that Dimitri surprisingly already knows our plans. We would turn to each other and ask in unison: Did you tell him? The answer from either one of us is invariably, No! So, how did he know, we ask ourselves? Does he have an acute sense of hearing? Can he discern our thoughts without hearing them expressed? They’re both possibilities because I’ve observed him demonstrating what can only be called a ‘psychic gift.’

Dimitri expresses a behavioral response with marked differences to our individual requests. He will at times refuse to respond to Leslie when asked to do a chore that he deems will inconvenience him. This comes naturally as a consequence of the pampering he received early on which he is now reluctant to forego. Leslie is less likely to forcefully demand obedience, and he knows it. My approach by contrast is to lower my voice and give him a command that he responds to without a slight of hesitation. Truth be told that at dinner time, he reverts to a habit of getting up in the middle of our meals and pretends to go for the refrigerator and returns to his seat. After the third or fourth time, I will tell him to sit down and finish his meal. Every day the same stubborn routine is repeated, leaving the table and me reminding him to sit down and finish his meal. After multiple attempts, I surrender. He knows his persistence will win out in the end.

We also detected Dimitri’s reluctance to accept a simple touch to his shoulder or his arm. He instinctively stiffens and pulls back. However, if I ask him to give me or Leslie a hug, he will immediately comply without hesitation. He will also kiss and hug friends and family members. He however does not exhibit the typical behavioral responses of the Autism spectrum: None of the hand flapping, rocking, aggressive behavior.

Dimitri, we long discovered is surprisingly very ‘territorial’ when treating family members visiting us for an extended period of time. This may be as short as an overnight stay or a week. He’s so programmed to our routine that he reluctantly accepts the presence of anyone intruding in the privacy of his house. He’s friendly but will whisper to Leslie, but never to me: When are they leaving? His requests come nightly, and Leslie’s response is to reassure him that they will soon leave. However, let’s be clear, no one is denied overnight or extended visits at our house.

There comes a time—strike that—come many times, when I allow my mind to wander pointlessly to a world that we and all parents look forward to; reflecting on the possibilities of what might become of our son. The thought that recurs much too habitually is an hopeless attempt to accept the fact that the family name ends with my generation. Years ago, my father had meticulously written the family tree for us, that goes back to the late 18th century. My nephew Hans sketched the tree that began with my great grandfather, Dr Dorvil Dorsinville, his four sons: Henec, Louis, Luc, Emile. My grandfather Henec begat two sons, Max (my father) and my uncle Roger. On a large canvass are displayed, in minute details, several branches of the Dorsinville tree. My