Yesterday began really well, with the postman delivering a couple of wooden engines from Thomas the Tank Engine that Sam had asked for only a couple of days previously (yay for ebay!). A super happy and excited Sam then spent a couple of hours re-enacting the related episodes using brio railway in his bedroom, reciting the narration perfectly as he did so. Eventually however, custom reasserted itself and down the stairs he came to watch Thomas DVDs and write his version on the PC.
Around lunchtime he was in a DVD watching phase, and sat on the sofa with the Playstation controller so he could pause and skip the programme as he wished, while consuming the pile of toast which was all he would accept for lunch that day. Suddenly he began to moan, a sort of low “aaaaaah” noise that he uses for anything distressing, whether physical pain or something distressing him from his environment.
I dashed over, not seeing anything which could be causing a problem. The pitch increased with my arrival and he stuffed the remaining strips of toast into his mouth, virtually choking himself, then gripped the controller tightly and fast-forwarded and rewound a Thomas scene repeatedly.
He then hurled the controller across the room, spat the toast on the floor, leapt at the Playstation and tried to throw it. Attempts to intervene and herd him back to the sofa result in a wail and Sam starting to punch himself in the side of his head. I grab his hands, and now the rage is all directed against me. In tears he tries his best to bite, scratch, pull my hair. The plate that held his toast is hurled to smash against the fireplace, his fisher price camera has its bump-proofness thoroughly tested as he bounces it across the floor, his colouring pencils are hurled at me one by one, and finally as I attempt to cuddle him on the sofa and he slowly retreats from full blown meltdown he tries to spit on me and scratch my arms, as the pleading “what’s the matter Sam?” from me just seems to distress him more. Attempts at destruction, and attacks on me go on for 15 minutes or so while I slowly attempt to bring him back from over the edge.
Once I have held and calmed him slightly I move to a separate chair and start trying to find out just what the matter is. Questions on the lines of “hurty sam?”, “bad telly yes or bad telly no?”, and finally “doctor yes? or doctor no?”, eventually elicit a “doctor yes?” as a response. As Sam has refused to set foot in a doctors or hospital for over a year I decide something must be really hurting and bundle him off to A&E.
Once we have the doctor goal he calms right down and is quite happy for me to get his shoes and socks on and take him to the hospital. He lets a nurse take his temperature with an ear thermometer (he never lets me do this at home!), and only shows the faint edges of his earlier distress, hurling a proffered teddy bear and attempting to ram me with his wheelchair when he begins to get bored of the wait for the doctor.
However when the doctor arrives he allows the most comprehensive set of checks I have EVER seen him allow before, including use of stethoscope, more looking in ears, a light in his eyes, and even letting the doctor feel his teeth and gums with surgical gloves on! And they find.. nothing! So home we go, luckily we are seeing his paediatrician and clinical psychologist this afternoon so I’ll go over it all with them too, but it still leaves me with an unexplained violent meltdown of a type I haven’t been subject to for months (not to that degree anyway).