Patience

“Geez, you must have a lot of patience.’’ This line was uttered to me twice within a space of twenty-four hours. The first time was after calmly sorting out Visa issues with a group of travellers who barely spoke a word of English between them, by an Australian businessman who was stuck in line behind the group. I sighed in weary resignation to the Businessman, giving him a ‘what can you do’ shrug. In reality, I felt a deep empathy with these travellers and compassion for their plight, feeling resentful towards this Businessman’s lack of tolerance.

The second time was by a Mother at the local playgroup my daughter attends. Elizabeth simply refused to come over and join in with the other children, preferring instead to cling to the fence in hope it would be her gateway to freedom. I would have shrugged off these words if it weren’t for what she said next. “You must get really short with her sometimes.’’ I baulked at this. At the playgroup Elizabeth never threw things, or snatched toys, nor interfered with the other children’s play. She simply did not want to be there. And I could not blame her. It was a hot muggy day, the kind of dog day that makes everyone a little grumpy. I would also love to be in the cool, comfort of my home, sitting back and watching my favourite DVD. Not being forced to socialise of group of people who were not so tolerant of differences as they pretended.

Scooping Elizabeth up in my arms I gave her a kiss on her wet cheek, my heart going out to this beautiful, little girl. “Lets go home.” Giving a cursory wave to the other Mothers I walked through the gate. Perhaps if that Businessman had a child with a disability he too would be just that little more compassionate towards the plight of others. But I’m also starting to learn that perhaps I should not be so judgemental towards those like that Mother and her (genuinely) thoughtless comments. They live in a different reality to what I do and their comments are based on ignorance not spite. I too remember being quick to judge those parents with their screaming children trailing behind them in the shopping centre. Now I know life is not so black and white.

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My life has been a chaotic mess of late which is only going to escalate with an impending job change (I finally got my rotation notice, six years overdue), so after another sleepless night and hot, muggy day I packed up my daughter and headed towards the local shopping centre to enjoy the cool air-conditioning and just unwind. Elizabeth fell asleep quite quickly so I was able to enjoy a Latte and just browse. About an hour later she woke up so I headed to the closest Parents Room to warm up her milk so I could finish up some shopping before we headed home.

Once we got to the Parents Room though all these plans came undone. Elizabeth, without any warning, started throwing up. Before I could get her to the sink she had thrown up over the pram and the both of us, leaving a large sticky puddle on the floor. Trying not to cry, I undressed her and threw her clothes into the sink and washed her face and chest down. Then, with a little toddler cuddling into my chest I tried to mop up the mess but it was just too much. Giving up, I rang my Mother to see whether she could get there with a change of clothes. At this time a cleaner came in to help clean up the mess, she even scrubbed the pram (I will be forever thankful for her help).

For the next twenty minutes a parade of perfectly coiffed Mothers with their $2000 Bugaboo strollers went in and out of the Parents Room as I stood there with Elizabeth in my arms, spew clinging to my thin shirt. I held Elizabeth closer, feeling their judging eyes upon me. Not one person asked whether I needed any help. When my Mother finally arrived I quickly dressed Elizabeth and head down, navigated my way towards my car, which happened to be on the other side of the shopping centre. On the way I passed one of my friends from work who pretended not to see me. We used to catch up regularly for coffee, that is, until Elizabeth was diagnosed with ASD. Like she was afraid it was some disease her child could catch. I use to feel angry, now I just feel defeated.