PTSD

The first traumatic flashback episode hit me while I was driving on the way to work. It was a rogue memory of the unfortunate event that happened two weeks earlier on the fourth of July. The memory invaded my thoughts and it was just like I was back there. Again. Living the emotion and the events of it all.


The traumatic flashback episode took me back to that fateful day at the pool. It was America's birthday. Kids and their parents came out in droves to swim in the neighborhood pool. There was oldies music being piped through the pool speakers. Happy, splashing kids were everywhere. Folks were eating ice cream. Since my kids were busy playing and splashing in the pool and didn't need my constant supervision, I settled into my comfy plastic lounge chair, baking in the sunshine and enjoying the view of my kids playing in the pool. Sure, my autistic son was getting into the personal space of a newly married couple- I think he may have even touched the girl's hair, but all in all it was a perfect day and the personal space invasion situation wasn't so bad that it warranted me getting out of my lounge chair. I just watched as the couple in love kept inching away from my boy with looks of uncomfortable annoyance. All and all, things were happy and peaceful.


Looking back, perhaps my downfall was uttering to my sister about what a perfect day we were having at the pool. Maybe it was me having the audacity to lounge on the outside of the pool when everyone knows an autism mom should not blink or lounge- not even for a second. My sense of tranquility was a foreshadowing of the horrible events ahead. The calm before the storm.


Then, it happened. Something I never dreamed I would have to live through. Something that caused me to have flashback episodes similar to PTSD that would haunt me at random times throughout the summer. It was the brown cloud of doom.


As I lay in the sun, my sister suddenly screamed at me, jolting me from my zen like relaxation state and the only words I heard coming from her mouth involved "Poop" and "Pool." I looked down at my son and saw a telling brown cloud making its way through the blue chlorinated water and knew the worst had happened- he pooped in the pool.


People around him started screaming and running through the pool water to get out as fast as they could. But it was too late. The toxic brown water had spread like a fog.


I yanked my son out of the pool and pushed him into the women's bathroom. My voice was only a hiss at him but the venom behind it was a social clue that he did not miss, "YOU DON'T POOP IN THE POOL." I hiss whispered. He cringed. 


As I left him in the stall to finish his business, I went to find the pool manager so I could share the good news. After all, I hadn't yet ruined everyone's fourth of July pool day - there were still blissfully ignorant pool goers in the deep end enjoying their swim so I needed to tell the pool manager to put an abrupt end to their fun too.


I stomped over and mumbled something about my son having an accident. At first, the manager thought I was mumbling about a first aid accident. Somehow, I managed to mumble poop and pool, just like my sister did earlier. Hearing this news, the pool manager was visibly upset with me. He asked me if it was solid or liquid. I stared back at him unable to speak. I hadn't anticipated having to answer the shape of the poo. Then, the pool manager shouted a curse word at me and started yelling to get everyone out of the pool. It was an exodus like I had never seen. Kids were crying, adults were swearing, people were scattering. 

If the shame I felt were an earthquake and scientist measured it at that point, it would have been a twelve on the richter scale. Follow that shame with guilt for ruining the fourth of July for close to a hundred people, and you have a tsunami of emotion similar to what I felt that day.


I tried to keep my head bowed as I walked out of the place, but the corner of my eye caught the line of happy people that were excited to get into the pool as it snaked out into the parking lot. Little did they know that they would never be allowed in with their kids, coolers, and pool toys. They would have to take the fun and go home.


I climbed into my car and could not even look my husband in the face, he drove me home and I don't think I spoke a word to anyone for the rest of the day. It was just too painful to talk about.


The neighborhood pool was closed for five days after that incident. The empty chairs and lonely water slide all witnesses to the event that shut it down- a small boy, red hair, almost nine years old, and his mother who dared utter the words of relaxation and enjoyment at watching the kids have fun at the pool.


It was after that day, that I learned...


Poop Traumatic Stress Disorder. It is real.