Brantley’s week was full of challenging days, tears and screams at school triggered concerned messages from teachers two days straight. On the second day, I picked him up early, thinking that he truly must not feel well. Once home, Brantley reverted to his usual cheerful self, tinged with an extra dose of wildness. It made me ponder if my mischievous boy had played us all like a fiddle, it wouldn’t have been the first time.
When his ABA therapists arrived for their evening sessions, Brantley unleashed heart-wrenching screams and sobs, mirroring the school's observations. Neither I nor his therapists knew how to help him; he appeared to be in physical pain with no apparent trigger. The question lingered: was this extreme demand avoidance or was he genuinely not feeling well? I leaned towards the former.
After therapy, his exuberance returned with no plans of going anywhere. By the weekend, I felt the need for change as my husband was off working another long shift. Brantley's exuberance had pushed my sanity to the edge after playing single parent for days on end while my husband was out tending the snow covered roads.
Contemplating the need to channel Brantley's excess energy, I discussed putting him on the treadmill with my youngest son, he candidly expressed concern that Brantley would shoot off the back and break a bone. I asked Brantley what he thought would happen, and he simply laughed. So, to the treadmill we went.
It took Brantley a moment to catch on, but soon he walked willingly on the treadmill, with me standing behind to ensure he he did not shoot off the back like his brother envisioned. We didn't spend much time, but I wanted him to get a sense of it. He giggled his way through the short walk.
A few hours after my husband's return, he noted Brantley's newfound calmness. I reflected on the day which had included a significant decrease in Brantley's wild side. I don’t know if it was the treadmill or not, but you'll surely find us trying it again tomorrow.
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