Guest writer

Of great service

Families need Arkansas’ HDCs

On Sunday, Sept. 4, I made the familiar trip to Arkadelphia to visit our son, a longtime resident of the state-operated human development center (HDC) located there. These events unfolded:

The middle-aged man with the mind of a young toddler impatiently watches me cut up his evening meal in bite-size pieces. In less than 7 minutes, he finishes off a beef filet, spaghetti with sauce, spinach salad with tomatoes, and a perfect Arkansas peach, the size of a large softball. I am careful not to turn my back or to leave the peach pit where he can see it: he would eat that too.

"Slow down," I say, "Chew ... chew."

"Take little bites," demonstrating chewing as I have done all his long life.

After the meal, we are of two minds: I am turning away, thinking the meal is over and ready to move on to the next in-room activities (flossing and brushing his teeth, then nail trimming) but our son wants to leave the B&B guest-room and return to the inn's galley kitchen. John is non-verbal; he simply gets up and heads toward the door. I am arm's-length away: "No, John," I say, and I instinctively try to pull him back in the room. Startled, he bellows.

Our son avoids being touched. I know this but I also know that hotel guests are just outside our door visiting in a common sitting area. My 47-year-old son bellows. In a blur, he brushes me aside and he is out of the room, across the hall and then he turns back to me: I see his left arm go up to his ear and then to his mouth in a familiar gesture of the beginning of self-abusive behavior. This time he does not spiral into ripping his skin with his teeth. He bellows.

John moves across the sitting area, which presently has four--perhaps more--hotel guests who sit, now frozen. My eyes are on John. "Sorry, guys," I say to these strangers, without looking at them but pulling them into the scenario. John goes to the narrow kitchen galley, which is stocked with snacks. He looks back to me. I stand outside, speaking to him, not crossing the common room.

"Choose one," I say, hoping against hope his body will tell him that he is not hungry, that really he doesn't need more food. I am also hoping that he will not escalate into more and louder bellows. Miraculously, he picks up a package of peanut-butter crackers and I say, "Come," and he comes, and we walk through the close space of hotel guests to our room. "Sorry," I say, as my tall son and I brush by. An older woman--perhaps my age--says, "No ... no problem."

My heart is pounding.

After I take John to his home at the HDC, I walk the quiet streets of Arkadelphia. I think about the visit and how I might have avoided the incident at the B&B. I hope the guests will not complain to the innkeeper who has been our understanding hostess for many years. I say prayers for John, for the staff members who have worked a weekend shift, and for the other 16 guys in his home.

In the morning, I call Lake DeGray State Park Lodge restaurant to make arrangements for my son to come for lunch. "This is John Sherman's mother, have you helped me before?" I ask. She has not and I quickly describe what I will need: John's food on the table when we arrive; damp paper towels and the bill. Our son does not understand "to wait." Over time, both the lodge staff and I have grown comfortable with the routine of his lunch there: The wait staff assures that his order is ready and on the table, the bill is there, which I quickly pay. We have had successful visits here: Our son's behaviors have not spiraled out of control/there have been no meltdowns in the beautiful restaurant. Our luncheon visits at Lake DeGray Lodge last perhaps 10 minutes.

Back at the HDC, I say my thanks to the direct care staff who have worked a difficult job on the holiday. I am grateful.

It is late Monday afternoon, Sept. 5; I am on the road back to Little Rock. I stop to call a friend, another HDC mother, who describes the Democrat-Gazette Perspective article printed the day before.

The article about Arkansas' human services has not described the realities of our family members who require eyes-on close care, those who have slight or no awareness of danger, individuals with lifelong profound cognitive deficits. The writer's message is that our state's facilities for people who cannot care for themselves cannot be justified.

My thoughts wheel back to the events of the last 24 hours, to our son and his housemates, and to the people I saw working on a holiday to keep grown men unable to care for themselves healthy, safe and clean; to the nurses on weekend duty who measured and dispensed each person's medications; and to the welcoming grounds where our at-risk family members with disabilities can move freely and with safety, and where routine medical, dental, training and other support services are located on-site.

My heart is pounding.

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Carole Sherman of Little Rock is mother and co-guardian of John.

Editorial on 10/24/2016

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