As Salaam Alaykum wa Rahmatullahi wa Barakatuhu,
Dhuha loves bath time. If you let her she would never come out. She also loves toothpaste and toothbrushes, just not for brushing her teeth. She chews on the brushes until all the bristles are broken and she eats as much of the toothpaste as she can before someone stops her. If we try to brush her teeth she bites down hard making it impossible.
Zahira and I noticed that some of her teeth looked bad so we took both the girls to the dentist. Sabah happily sat while the dentist looked and worked on her teeth, took her sticker and spent the rest of the day telling everyone that they mustn’t eat any chocolate. Dhuha being Dhuha simply refused to open her mouth for the dentist to even look. We were referred to a ‘specialist’.
At the specialist’s office Dhuha still wasn’t willing to cooperate and so the decision was made that Dhuha would be put to sleep and they would do a ‘check and extract’ procedure. Meaning they aren’t going to try to fix any teeth. If they’re bad they come out.
All we had to do now is wait for an appointment, it could be a month. Meanwhile, Dhuha is having toothaches and she’s getting ready to start school. Her teacher informs us that they are only able to give the children their prescribed medications. It all means that if Dhuha hasn’t seen the dentist by the time she starts school, she won’t be given any pain-relief at school. It’s all very worrisome.
After a week and a half, the dentist calls us, there was a cancellation and Dhuha has an appointment. Alhamdulillah.
We head down to the hospital. After the standard check-in, which is feeling all too familiar, we are told that were first in line and shouldn’t be there more than an hour, giving a half-hour for observation after she wakes up.
Only one of us is allowed to accompany Dhuha in to the operating room and only until she’s asleep. At first this was going to be Zahira. She went in with her when she had her hearing test and seemed like she wanted to again. I was happy to sit in the waiting room blissfully ignorant and perhaps find a cup of coffee. Zahira changed her mind. I would have to go.
In the operating room the dentist attempts to show me Dhuha’s bad teeth, but Dhuha still isn’t cooperating. I have already seen her teeth. When she plays and laughs, she naturally opens her mouth. I noticed at least two black looking teeth. I don’t need to see her teeth I told her.
The dentist explains the check and remove procedure, which involves checking her teeth, removing any bad ones and removing opposites so that he mouth will stay straight. Oh and by the way, Dhuha won’t be given any numbing drugs because autistic children often find the numbing sensation more distressing than the pain of having teeth pulled from their mouth. ‘Is that OK’, she asks me. Let’s see, I have the option of potentially causing serious distress to my child because of a numbing sensation or the distress of the pain of having teeth forcibly removed. In any case, she didn’t ask like I had a choice.
Next the anaesthetist sits next to me and asks me a few questions about Dhuha’s health. All the questions we have already answered in our check-in meeting. I answer them. Then he asks if Dhuha has been put to sleep before. Yes, she has when she had a hearing test. He wants to know the outcome. She did really well and recovered from her sleep quite nicely. No, no. How is her hearing? What does her hearing have to do with putting her to sleep? Any way her hearing is fine or so says the test. Has Dhuha been in the hospital any other time? Yes, we are in and out. In fact, I know my way around that building so well that it upsets me. We have been to the ENT clinic (more than once), she has had an epilepsy test, blood tests and a bunch of other stuff, which is too labour-some to mention. Does she have epilepsy? No, these are the normal gambit of tests that they force children with ASD through. Physically, she is fine. She has a social and communicative disorder. What is ASD? AUTISM SPECTRUM DISORDER. You have it written on that paper your holding. You already know. Why are you asking?
I wonder if these people know how difficult it is to take care of a child with ASD or any special need and I wonder why they feel the need to make the lives of parents even more hellish. We don’t go to the hospital for a fun day out. I don’t want my daughters teeth removed and certainly don’t want her lying on that bed in the hands of people I don’t know.
He explains to me what he’s going to do. They will give her oxygen to make her sleep, then insert an IV into her hand and they will give her acetaminophen through the IV so when she wakes it will already be working. Fine.
I carry her to a chair next to the operating bed and I sit down with her and cradled her. They put an oxygen mask on her face, she’s upset and tries desperately to remove it. I hold her arms and legs down. Her eyes start to gloss over and I’m feeling devastated.
With her asleep, I place her gently on the bed before I’m ushered out rather quickly.
I was only back in the waiting room for ten minutes when a nurse came and fetched Zahira and I. Dhuha’s operation was finished, she was awake and she was upset. I could hear her crying far down the hall.
When we got to the room, two nurses were trying to clean the blood from her face and mouth. Dhuha was screaming and squirming making it impossible to care for her. I picked her up, which didn’t calm her in the least. She screamed and cried and bled and bled. Her, I and anything that got near her mouth was soon covered in blood. The nurses did nothing to help. What could they do? Their worried glances only made it more difficult for us.
One could hardly blame Dhuha. She didn’t know why we were at the hospital that day. Even though I did tell her. She would have remembered being put to sleep in a similar fashion to someone running up behind you with a chloroform covered rag and wrestling you to the floor until you unwillingly slept. On the best of days, Dhuha is a grump when she wakes up but surrounded by people she has never seen before, with a mouth full of blood and pain with them holding her down wasn’t going to make that process any easier. And as far as she knew as long as we stayed in the hospital it could happen again.
The anaesthetist redeems himself and allows us to leave the hospital without waiting for a 30 minute observation. Dhuha screamed and then cried and then was upset for the next few hours. Then a mercy from Allah came to Dhuha and the rest of us when she dozed off to sleep. She sleep for a few hours. When she woke she was able to eat and drink and was closer to her normal behaviour. Except for the occasional poke with the finger and the feeling with the tongue, you wouldn’t have known the trial of the morning.
Dhuha had four teeth removed four baddies, two from the bottom and two from the top.
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