we thank thee for this pumpkin pie and eggnog

What to write? I've no idea. I just feel like writing. Okay, so to begin then I suppose...

Thanksgiving yesterday was lovely. I was, I admit, worried that everyone wouldn't get along, or at the very least, that things would be kind of tense.
It wasn't. Everyone got along and by the time we'd all been there for an hour, I was sufficiently relaxed and not worrying. Yay happy goodness!

I got to see my friend Anne yesterday, and found myself wishing that I kept up on my sign language more. I don't think I am any worse than I was last I saw her (about a year ago), but I am no better, and that is the frustrating part. (The fact that I was w/out glasses becasue they broke a month ago was hindering me as well lol. Could you fingerspell that again while I remember to squint?)
Communication. It is at the base of everything.
Interactions between people: words, sentences, talking, writing, eye rolling, shoulder shrugging, arm crossing, hugging, kissing, smiling, frowning, standing close, standing apart, sitting, shuddering...
Interactions between animals: meowing, barking, squeaking, growling, rubbing, licking, "marking"...
And then, even between inanimate things-
gravity's pull, electromagnetism, our own body systems: negative and positive feedback loops, hormones, cellular transport-- DNA and RNA being at the base of it all, controlling how the body communicates inside of itself and with its external environment (I think of homeostasis)...
molecules! atoms! atomic particles...

• transmit information ;
• transmit thoughts or feelings;
• convey: transfer to another;
• join or connect;
• be in verbal contact; interchange information or ideas;
(from here)

All of these things interact with one another, are joined or connected, convey, transmit... Communication-in one form or another- is critically important to this world. It is the base of life and order. Without it, everything would fall to chaos.

I wish I could communicate better with Anne. I wish I could touch deeper subjects with her- ask her about being Deaf, about her family, about her work, about people... I wish I could get her opinions on these things. I am skilled enough with my ASL to be able to conversation and to relay necessary messages. I am nowhere near skilled enough with it to be able to become acquainted with someone intimately- as I wish I could with Anne.
I'll have to exercise my ASL more.

I used to- so much more than I do. I still sign words here and there when I talk. I still have signs pop up in my head instead of words. But I don't, as I used to, practice. I would sit there and practice signs in my head. I would have a thought- and think of how I could best convey that thought in ASL. I would sometimes sign it to myself. I would sign songs while I listened to them (I still do that one from time to time). I would have, what seemed to me, very proficient and in-depth conversations with myself in sign language. (Yes, feel free to laugh at me. I am.) I can be quite comfortable signing things out... when I'm alone or with people less than or equal to my signing ability. Isn't it interesting how being around someone more proficient than myself causes me to doubt myself just enough that I loose some of my proficiency? (or, we could replace for that last word: confidence.)
I should work on that. I think I could converse with a little more ease about much more than just movies and food if I could over that.

Also, on my mind, is my health. Well, more specifically, my nausea. (Those who have weak stomachs/low tolerance for more in depth body discussions, would do well to stop here. Skip over. I'll let you know if/when it's safe again.)
I am a bit picky about where and when I throw up. Mostly because, I suppose, I am a bit self-concious about the whole thing. I don't want people to hear me, and aside from my immediate family and very very closest friends, I don't want people to know I am throwing up. Yes, I discuss it with relative easy, but it's much easier said than done (in more ways than one, actually).
At home, my family can tell when I'm throwing up not because of the duration of my bathroom-bonding, but because I turn on the fan. I don't really care much for the fan- I hardly ever turn it on after I shower- but I find it highly useful to helping me to feel.... I don't. Secure? Enough to proceed with my vomiting.
I have, at times, vomited in garbages because I figured they afforded me more privacy.
At seminary. We all know those girls who spend more time than they should in the bathroom, primping themselves for the day (we have, most of us girls, probably been one of them a time or two)- skipping class. Well, I usually don't care, aside from to roll my eyes... but I would like to add that the bathrooms at the church building where I have seminary are kinda small. And I'm friends with some of those girls. And they're really nice, decent people. So if I go in and start vomiting, it's different than it would be even at school because they will be concerned enough to ask me, multiple times, if I'm okay. And they'll actually be concerned about it- not just "oh no, someone's throwing up" but "oh no! cassanndre's sick! i hope she's okay..." I honestly, do not like the attention. (Even aside from the fact that I hope they're not all secretly wondering if I'm bulimic...)
Becuase of that, I have a new routine for when I have to vomit at seminary. I walk all the way around to the opposite side of the building- to the foyer where no one is. Then, grabbing the little garbage can from that foyer, I head outside- grab a twig to keep the door from closing all the way, set my garbage can down off to the side of the door (where passing people will be less likely to see me) and then proceed to doing my business. Bring the garbage can back in, go to the bathroom and wash my hands, go back to class.
Throwing up without worrying about anyone hearing me. Yay.
Except for the one time that were two friends of mine in that foyer. That was uncomfortable. They looked at me funny, asked if I was okay (I thought- wow! I actually look how I feel for once, apparently.), looked at me funny again as I grabbed my garbage can, explained I was going to go throw up and I'd be back (if the nausea had been any amount less, I would have turned around and just tolerated it until I got another chance later to throw up). That was fun. Thankfully, they had the good grace enough to not say much when I came back. I laughed a bit and joked about how I hoped that no one thought I was bulimic or anything- I just have health problems. (Yes, that's my way to make sure no one thinks I have an eating disorder.) I then went back to class. That was that.
Public places... I go to throw up in the school bathroom, but dangit, there's always a bunch of girls in there, so I either have to temper my throwing up (which leaves me still nauseous and with more coming later, undoubtedly) so they won't hear me, or wait until they vacate the place, or just go on with it as I would, hoping for enough toilet flushes, hand washing, and paper towel dispensing form them all that they won't hear me too much.
Being in public places with friends... ha. I remember coming out of a movie a couple times having to throw up. Excused myself to use the restroom (got someone to hold my purse for me once), and spent my fair time in there- grateful to friends who waited for me. Coming out, I'm sure I didn't look well- in fact, I even got the sympathetic look (more on that later, perhaps) from those who know me well enough to realize that I was probably throwing up. Some quiet are you okay?s came from those people as well. The funniest, though, I have to say, was when Derek was joking afterwards and asked if I had to throw up or something. I was taken aback, and still am not sure if he knew he was right, but I responded as nonchalantly as I could, "actually I was". Silence. Change of subject. I laughed inwardly.

(Okay, weak of stomach, 'tis safe again.)
The sympathetic look. Even though I don't like the attention being drawn to me while I'm not feeling well, I do really really appreciate my friends' concern. I appreciate it when I've told them that I'd be okay- go have fun- and they did. I appreciated it when one dear friend out of them all would stay behind with me and just sit with me, talk to me, while the rest of them went off as I wished they would. I appreciated it when, after having some more fun, the rest of my friends came back a bit earlier than normal so they could check on me, and decided to leave a bit earlier than normal on my account- but let me think that it was because they all got tired just a bit early. I appreciate the friend who I can call up when I feel like crap, and who will just talk to me about anything to distract me. I appreciate the friend who recognizes when I am really really not feeling well and makes sure to let me know I am cared about- without drawing everyone else's attention to me. I appreciate those who can tell, in one second, what everyone else can't. I appreciate those who respect me and understand when I don't want extra attention, and when I both want and need it, give it (sometimes without even being asked). I appreciate those who keep in touch. Who call me and invite me to hang out or go do something, even when they know I may not be able to, but make the effort just the same- reminding me that they still want me around. I appreciate those who are willing to just hang out at my house (or sometimes theirs) instead of doing something more- because they know that I'm too worn out. I appreciate those who ask me what I need from them, and then try to do it. I appreciate those who help me to remember that it'll all be okay, that I have the ability to endure it all and come out the better for it. Those who understand that I have to miss out on things, and rearrange things, and don't judge me for it. I appreciate those who listen to me complain and vent, and then help me to find my optimistic outlook again.

I appreciate this opportunity to see just how wonderful my friends are.

how are you?

It's really quite an innocent question. I promise. I ask it all the time, and then ask it again two minutes later because I can't quite recall if I had already. And for some reason, it seems vitally important to me that I make sure to ask someone how he/she is. If I don't, they might think that I don't care about them or something awful like that! Oh the horror... or something akin to it.

For as much as I like to ask the question, I have recently developed a distaste to people asking me how I am. I may even start replacing this question in my own speech. What does it really matter if I don't ask someone "how are you?" or "how's it going?" every time I see them? I do it only because I want to let that person know I care, and I really am (at least usually) genuinely interested in how their life is going. However, maybe I just need to trust that if I can express my concern some other way and get a conversation started, people will tell me how they are without even being asked. Especially if something is on their mind. Why should I force it? It will come out when it's ready, and the telling of it will (generally speaking) be much more beneficial in that situation than in one in which I poked and prodded for information.

But I digress. The reason I dislike people asking me "how are you?" is because despite being programmed by our culture to offer the standard "fine. you?" and brush over it as being just a formality, a common salutation;- I often cannot just dismiss the question. I feel an urge to answer it honestly, if not succinctly. I see the question as more than just culture-programmed-greeting, almost as rhetoric. I see it as a real desire for information (that is how I employ it). I see it as an opportunity for conversation and bonding or something cheesy like that. Perhaps I put too much weight on those poor three words. Perhaps it is more than they are meant to bear with each and every use. Despite this, every time these three words cross me, I can't help but think "But surely I owe you an accurate answer!"
It's not so much that it's a nuisance to try and give an accurate answer- I don't mind tangents, and summaries, and rambling stories (the sorts of answers one might get if people took the time to "accurately" answer our favorite loaded question). The problem is that as of late I never know what to say! I don't know whether to tell the truth, or to lie.
Yes, yes- my gut screams at me-- lying is bad! But honestly, if I were to answer truthfully everytime someone asked me how I was, it would very well have the potential to get depressing. The most promising accurate answer looks something like this:
"Oh, not too bad today, actually. I only have a little headache, and my nausea isn't all that bad today! If this keeps up, I may even brave solid food for breakfast!"
Less promising is something like this:
"You know what? I don't know. I think I might be getting a migraine. I also feel incredibly nauseous and might have to go throw up in a few minutes, which kind of sucks because then if I were to take my migraine medicine it would just come back up and not do me any good."
First place on the sucky-answer-o-meter would be:
"Not good. I just puked my guts out for the second time in an hour, and it was really hard work, so now my asthma's acting up and I have to use my inhaler, which is annoying because it doesn't seem to be working and the more I spray it, the more shaky I get- and I was already shaking and shivering before the danged inhaler! I also feel kind of light-headed, tired, and really weak. [there's a reason I'm holding on to this chair in between inhaler spurts. it's because i feel like i need the support, or grounding, that a chair can offer.] My headache seems to be less for now, but I'm wondering if that's because it's actually better, or just because I threw up. In the case of the latter, I hope I'm not getting a migraine..."

Yes, exactly- there is a very pronounced disadvantage to answering the "how are you?" question accurately.
I don't want to be the sort of person that always complains about her illness. I don't want to be making people feel bad for me every time they ask me how I'm doing. I don't want to revel in my health problems. It's just no fun- yes, even with a sense of humor it gets old!
But what to do?
My other dilemma is if I just say "fine", "good", etc. when I'm not actually doing "fine" or "good". In all actuality, I feel quite the opposite.
I can say I'm good, and really mean it- as far as my mental, emotional, and spiritual statuses go, and honestly, that usually doesn't get me in any trouble. Sometimes, however, saying I'm doing well can lead to some trouble. Especially when people actually believe me.
For example, if I don't manage to get something done because I was fighting the urge to reject my lunch, or the urge to drop everything and go find a pitch-black, noiseless room to go take a nap in, people may get upset and ask why I didn't complete such-and-such-task. When I respond "I'm not feeling well" they look at me dubiously and seem to be saying, "but you said you were feeling well!"
To which I almost want to put my hands firmly on my hips and angrily respond, "and you believed me?! I only said it because I didn't want to complain! I neever feel good physically. The variance isn't in feeling good and bad, but in what level of bad I feel and how tolerable it is and how well I am able to be my happy self in spite of it! Get used to it and don't get mad at me when I can't get everything done because I'm dealing with whatever health problem I have to deal with!!"
(What we have here is a failure to communicate. (One of my grandpa's favorite movies.))
But that would be unkind and uncalled for. But you get the idea. You understand my frustration, right?

I have lately taken to responding to the offending question in one of the following manners:
"I'm happy!"
"You know what? Life is really good."
"Hmm... I don't feel my best, but I'm doing quite well up here" (tap my head)

When friends ask me and I happen to be feeling worse than normal, I respond with my own little joke:
"How do you mean? Mentally or physically?"
this one usually takes them by surprise. I can see the gears churning in their heads as they think "is there supposed to be a difference?"
I laugh and answer my own question, "I'm really not feeling my best. But life is good, and I'm happy and that's what matters."
In these situations, I can't help but feel like I'm trying to convince myself of it just as much as my audience.

It really isn't that difficult of a question to answer- even with my dilemma. As demonstrated above, there are ways to answering succinctly, accurately, pleasantly, happily, and still fall within the realms of culturally appropriate.
Hi! How are you?

Nonetheless, I'd rather not bother.
Hi! I'm so happy to see you!!

in awe

I have recently taken to reading medical blogs, such as Code Blog, A Chronic Dose, and oncRN. They are terribly interesting to me, and have gotten me to think- so much so that I may even take up blogging myself! (not even just settling for posts of my schoolwork!)

On my thoughts today is this post by an oncology nurse.

i don't know what it is about this woman, but i know she has buoyed me somehow today and i feel grateful. why does it feel like she has taken care of me? ... as i go to leave, i want to say thank you...but that sounds weird.
so i just say good night instead.
see you in the morning.

I think I know what it is about that woman. It is her ability to see the world as normal while she is in a completely abnormal situation. It is her refreshing point of view. She is like breathing the crisp morning air. You breath it in- long and deep, savoring the smell and taste-, and you feel it spread from your lungs outward. It pushes out that stale lifelessness, reminding you to really live.
It reminds me of Roo. She had the amazing gift to be comfortable at the thought of her disease. It still caused her pain- both physically and emotionally, but she took it all in stride- accepting it as just another normal part of life. She didn't avoid or dodge around a topic. She lived loving people. She was happy- cheerful, joyful. If she had something she wanted to say, she would say it. She always spoke that way. She was the crisp morning air. She woke people up, gave them life, and reminded them to live it. Blunt. Realistic. Tenacious.

That tenacity for life- while being in constant pain, when isolated, and despite knowing that you may very well die- is contagion. It is what "buoys" the rest of us.
It is how the patient paradoxically becomes the caregiver.
It is that quality which boldly allows one's greatest strengths and deepest shortcomings to be equally displayed to the world.
It is what allows the world to analyze those strengths and shortcomings.
It is what causes the world to look on an imperfect person in awe.

after "voices off"- KW play

november 16, 2006 10:59pm

Soo... I'm home now.... and strangeness...... so, I called my folks and asked if they could come pick me up- lo and behold, they were in bed!! how's that work?! Well, Scott had somehow thought that I did have a ride home, when we really hadn't talked about that at all... in fact, I'm not sure why he thought I had a ride home.... so, I'm thinking, anyone here left that I know and feel comfortable getting a ride home from? nope.

so I call and scott's grumpy "i thought you had a ride... alright... i'll come pick you up...." and then i see john-o. "hi john-o!"
"hi" (by the way, the setting is outside of the PAC on the sidewalk)
"could i get a ride home from you?" I said it extremely quickly and proubly rather quietly 'cuz I'm feeling rather embarrased at this point, and i'm pretty sure i had my hands clasped togethor (or very nearly since I had stuff in 'em) in some sort of pleading supplication
"what?" he looked confused
"i'm sorry- could i-uhm.... possibly... get a... ride-home-from-you?" I'm nervous here... the most i ever say to him is "hey john-o! what's my name?" and "how are you?" and "haven't seen you in awhile!" and "well, see ya later! have a nice day!" pretty generic... however, since he's a member of the church (even if he is inactive... what a silly-billy....) i guess i feel more comfortable going out of my acquaintance comfort zone thingie.... did any of that make sense to you? well, anyhow... back to our regularly scheduled conversation...
john-o responds slowly, giving me a quizzical look "uhm... if you really need one"
i wince- why did i wince?? probably because i was embarrassed (it didn't help that when i was having difficulties in the restroom after the play i heard john-o come up to christine in the foyer and then a few seconds later hear her say "IBS... I-B-S... I..B...S...!!" and I can just imagine her fingerspelling it as she says it to Davy Jones knows who, hopefully not John-o 'cuz I don't know him well enough to have him know that... or maybe I do, and it's just different to have someone else tell someone that I've got Irritable Bowel Syndrome... well anyhow, I was embarrased enough from that, so putting myself in an embarrasing situation just maximized my embarrasment... ugh!) "yeah... I really do... need a ride" i feel like i'm apologizing
he looks at me slowly and narrows his eyes like he's thinking- gad-dungit! why do you have to take so long to answer! if you're gonna gimme a ride i need to call my step-dad and tell him that!! "where do you live?"
"about five minutes from here?"
..."which way?"
"that way" I point
"uhm... okay"
i apologize for asking and explain (not very well) that my step-dad didn't know he was supposed to pick me up and... i'm not sure i made sense.... so i quickly call scott back, "i'm just about to leave right now, cassanndre" he says
"no no no- i have a ride! you don't need to..... from who- from john-o.... John-O!... he's... a guy in the stake. yeah- i'm sure. yeah. okay. thanks. you're welcome. okay. bye" john-o's just watching me, and I'm praying that he doesn't think i'm some sort of crazy person who randomly asks people she doesn't know very well for rides and likes to take advantage of their driving skills...

I sigh in relief as we walk towards his car... wait as he unlocks it and climb in, moving a receipt on the passenger seat out onto the floor with its kindred reciepts.
"sorry, my car's a mess" everyone says that when there's just stuff lying around like that
"oh no- it's like my mom's"
silence. he backs up and turns in the direction to get out of the parking lot.
i tell him, as i had a few minutes earlier, that "i really enjoyed the play. it was pretty cool"
"it was stressful"
i look at him- "oh yeah- you had to learn it pretty quick didn't you?"
John-O nods. "yeah, in a week, on top of school and everything..." and he kind of mumbles there, or maybe my brain just short circuited 'cuz I could have sworn he said internet and classes or something... I directed him to the Savana neighborhood, and then tried to clarify his classes- online at greenriver? is that what you said? no? oh, highline, cool. yeah, that sounds like it would be hard to memorize all that with your classes. It was, he says. Silence. Again. I shift in my seat. This is sooo uncomfortable! I barely even know this guy- most of what I know from him is second-hand, like an older sibling that handed down their used clothes, friends have handed down information about him to me. How else would I know he's been inactive for a year? I didn't until tonight when Christine told me... ugh. I feel slow. And John-O is driving just how I feel- slow. And hesitant. I realze that I haven't told him what to do after turning into the neighborhood. I instruct him on where to turn next and that it's not for a little bit. "oh okay" he says and speeds up to a more steady pace.
in retrospect, i could have said many things to ease the tension. i could have pointed out that he got a goatee since the last time i saw him (i think he looks better w/ it that he did w/out it, actually... i always thought he looked kinda funny, but with the goatee thingie he looks... good-looking), I could have talked about how during the play I wondered if some of the pretend mess-ups were real ones. About how I missed a bit after the intermission (leaving out the fact that I was in the bathroom and my stomach hurt really really bad at that time) and what happened during the very beginning of act two? I could have commented on the British accents and confessed that I am hopeless when it comes to imitating accents... or that my brother is hopeless as well, except for he doesn't quite know it yet.

And to any of these, John-O would have responded with something rather funny to say, and I would have laughed and felt more at ease.
But of course, that didn't happen, because I was preoccupied at how peculiar it was to be getting a ride home from him. I felt slightly awkward when I was alone in the car with Blake once, and he's one of my really good friends. And plus, my mind was in a flurry and I really wasn't thinking clearly.

It ended just fine, John-O got confused and remarked on figuring out how to get to my house- "that's tricky" and pulled in. I thanked him much for the ride and told him I really appreciated it. "no problem" he says easily, and I began to believe it and have my anxiety alleviated.

Having typed that all out now, I am reasonably sure that when I asked for a ride home John-O didn't think I was some crazy person. I think he was just surprised. I mean, really, it's not like he was expecting it or anything. And my abrupt, anxious manner- yeah, that probably didn't help at all with clarifying things, it probably just surprised and confused him more. So I need not fear that he thinks I'm a freak, I think once he figured out what was going on, I was a normal, fairly unconfusing, person again. Oh goody.

That goatee thing works pretty well for him.

in progress... a special community (??)

So, I currently am not enjoying how my community essay is going along (the one about greenriver and seminary), so I am going to see what will happen if I change my subject entirely. I am toying with the idea of writing about the community in the developmentally disabled section of the special education division of my high school. I will edit this post as I come along with my writing, so just be aware that what you see now may not be what it'll look like in a day or two (until I tell you that I'm done writing it and have moved on to another draft). Also, I have initialized the names for privacy purposes, and I have changed details here and there (and will change more along the way) for the same reason as well.
~Cassanndre


"No hitting, no kicking.... No hitting, no kicking!!" I look over at M. as he leans forward in his chair, looking assertively into F.'s eyes.
"Good job?" F. asks, his voice low and garbled as if he were a human sublifer underwater.
"No, not a good job." M. states firmly. Not with malice, but with a stern and clear voice. M. points to the small room to his right, "go bounce", he says as he stands up and positions his body as a wall between F. and the rest of the room, so F. has nowhere to go from his chair at his desk but to the small room with the large blue ball on which to bounce.
A strange sight, I always think when M. works on correcting F.'s inappropriate behavior. F. is on the tall side of average, while M. is on the rather short side, being no more than two inches taller than my 5 foot 2 inch self. Very strange that someone as small as M. can so effectively head off aggressive behavior from F. I wonder what F. was trying to do this time. And how did M. spot it? Was it F.'s body language and hand moving forward ever so slightly, as if testing the water, that got M.'s attention? How does stay so constantly aware of every little motion of F.'s all day long? That must be exhausting... Is it rewarding to him? How does he know what to do?

Those thoughts are ones I wonder every day as I hear the well known phrase of, "no hitting, no kicking". I am used to this phrase, though it does not cease to set me wondering.
What is F. thinking when he tries to assualt someone? [note- by "assualt", I mean behave in a way that could cause himself or someone else physical harm.] Is he aware that his behavior will cause another person (or himself) pain? What is he thinking? F.'s behavior is so different from behaviors that I normally exhibit or see exhibited in my family and friends- so much so that I can barely even fathom what his thought processes are. The one thing I am reasonably sure of is that when F. behaves in whatever manner he behaves in, it makes sense to him. It may not make any sense to me or M. why F. is more prone to assualting when M. drinks something in front of him, but I am quite positive that hitting and kicking are perfectly reasonable reactions to whatever stimuli it is that F. is reacting to- at least, they are perfectly reasonable to F. To M. however, F.'s behavioral specialist, and to every other employee in the special education department, it just doesn't make sense.

burp!
"T.! Did you just burp?" I ask, my eyebrows raised in suprise, chin tucked in, and lips pursed in a playful but persistant smile.
"I-oh-oh," T. slurs, his voice dipping and rising as most peoples' do as he lifts his shoulders with his palms raised up.
"You do too know, T." I give my best imitation of my mother's reproving look.
"Oh-oooooooo!!" T. swings his arm in a disappointed surrender, as if saying "dang it! you caught me!".
"what do you do when you burp, T.?" I suppress a smile, trying to be serious and also patient as T. processes.
"I-oh-oh." T. smiles. I love his smile. It's one of those smiles that I'm sure at first sight makes mothers light up with joy and pride for their child.
"You do too know." Pause. T. looks at me. Nothing. "Excuse me," I say and model the sign with my hands. "Say it or sign it, please."
"Oh-oooooo!" Just as I expected- the one word he should use the most, he usually refuses to use.
"Oh-oooooo!" I mimic, eyes and mouth wide open as I play along. I then sign EXCUSE-ME very clearly for T. "Do that, please, and then I'll stop bugging you about it."
T. stays in his seat, hands folded on his lap. He shakes his head briefly.
I sigh. "You know I'm not gonna leave you alone about it until you say 'Excuse me', so you should just say it now and you can go back to your snack."
A blank stare. Then, a few minutes later, after some coaxing, I see some movement. I almost missed it, but there it is, half-hidden beneath his desk, T. is signing EXUSE-ME.
"Is that 'excuse me', T.?" I ask in surprise and extreme interest, leaning forward in my seat.
T. shrugs, and smiles.
"That was, wasn't it?" I nod my head in approval.
T. hesitates, and then nods briefly.
"Yay!! Thank you, T. for saying EXCUSE-ME!! Good job! Hi-five!" T. sticks his hand up like a tree, and I reach forward and give him a hi-five.

16 November 2006

Today I worked with D. on the concepts of empty and not-empty. I know that he understands the concepts, because when he walks up to a bin to recycle that turns out being empty, he turns around and walks away. However, the fact that many thoughts, or concepts, like that can be expressed with things called words, I don't think he realizes. Oh, he knows that if I point to me he says "Cassy" and point to him is "D." and point to the teacher is "R." and to that one student, "I." "T." "S." etc. Although he usually needs some prodding along with that, as well.
I point to the recycling bin full with papers before D. picks it up.
"What's in there?"
D. looks up at me. "Doo-ga-doo-ga-doo-ga!" He mumbles; his pitch wavering like a broken stereo. I remember what Mrs. B. told me- that reaction can mean that he is confused and doesn't know what to do.
"You know this. Look in. What's in there?" D. looks in. "Something, right?" I show him the sign.
"suh-ding" D. repeats.
"Something, good! Show me with your hands; say it with your hands." I repeat the sign. D. repeats me.
GOOD-JOB I sign. "goo jah" D. says in response.
"Yes, good job!" We repeat the exercize. "Go ahead and empty it now." D. grabs the bin and empties it into the four foot high, round recycling receptacle. He then sets the bin down.
"What's in there, D.?"
He looks at me. "suh-ding." He's repeating what I told him before, exhibiting that he doesn't understand the meaning of the word.
Patiently I explain. "No, nothing. Nothing." And I show him the sign. "What's in there? D., look. What's in there? Nothing."
"nuh-ting"
"Good! Sign it with me, please." I show him the sign. "What's in there, D.?"
"nuh-ting!"
"Good job. Sign it please." He signs NOTHING.
"Good job! Hi-five!" D. smiles faintly and gives me a high-five.
I look around and spot a piece of paper. I grab it and stick it in the bin. D. makes a move to remove it to his receptacle. I sign, NO. STOP. WAIT. He stops and stands in front of me, looking at me, then the bin, then back at me. I point to the bin. "Look at it. What's in there?"
"nuh-ting" He's repeating what I said before again.
"No." I grab the piece of paper, show him, shake it around and drop it back in. "Something" I stress as I show him the sign.
"suh-ting" he says, and SOMETHING, he signs.
"Good! Good Job!" The inside part of my fingertips of my right hand touch my mouth and then my hand moves down until the back side lands flat in my left hand. GOOD JOB.
I take the paper out. "What's in there, D.?"
"suh-ting" He's still repeating.
"No, nothing." He says it. I sign it. D. signs it. I put the paper back in. "What's in there, now?"
"nuh-ting"
We work on this for a few minutes, until a magical moment. The paper is in the bin. "What's in there, D.?"
"suh-ting" he says. I take the paper out quickly.
"What's in there now?"
"nuh-ting!" D. says.
"Yes!!!!! Good job! Nothing's in there! Good!" And I give him a double high five. Progress.
However, I find ten minutes later when we work on the concept again, I have to repeat teaching it to him just as before. Except for one small detail. He gets it more quickly this time.