Sufferers Stories

Gary: Aspergers Syndrome and OCD

Gary has Aspergers Syndrome as his primary condition with secondary OCD.

by Gary

When I was growing up many adults had strange ideas about children, or at least I thought they were strange. They believed, for example, that boys were simple and wild creatures, and that they could read their little minds like a book. As an AS/OCD boy, of course, I did not think there was anything at all ‘simple’ about myself.

When I was seven I came down with the measles, a serious disease that could sometimes lead to complications or even death. Alarmed, my mother immediately took me in to see the family doctor (GP). He quickly diagnosed my disease and prescribed a course of treatment, which included bed rest, plenty of water, and medication to be taken orally.

When my mother and I got home I immediately changed into my pajamas and lay down on our green couch in front of the TV. My mother put a blanket over me. I had a fever and was miserable. My red spots itched terribly.

My mother soon brought in the medication. When I saw the medicine bottle I immediately had a phobic reaction. I recoiled in horror from the oddly shaped glass bottle, which was an eerie dark brown in color. When my mother poured some of the liquid medicine onto a large spoon I reacted even more negatively. I FEARED the dark color of the liquid. I HATED the evil smell of it.

I refused to take my medicine! My mother urged me a number of times and I became even more obdurate. My older sister came in and told me I was being silly and that I should just take it. I still refused. My mother knew better than to try to force feed the liquid medicine down my throat. If she had I would have immediately vomited the medicine and also my breakfast.

My mother grew impatient and finally left the room. She phoned the doctor and explained the situation. Being a professional who ‘understood’ little boys, the doctor came up with a solution.

When my mother returned she said, “Gary, the doctor says you have to take your medicine. If you don’t, then the doctor will come over here and give you the medicine himself – with a shot in your rear end! Is that what you want?”

Like nearly all boys my age I had had experience with injections, receiving several shots for polio, diphtheria and tetanus in my early childhood. I knew that needles were scary and that they hurt a lot, especially when stuck into my butt. As an AS boy I was also fearful of being touched, especially by strangers. Finally, as if that all wasn’t enough, at age seven I was becoming more modest and did not like to be nude in front of anyone. Everything considered a shot was the last thing I wanted. All these fears and emotions swirled around in my head as I thought about what my mother had said.

In the end, of course, my AS/OCD sense of what was right and wrong won out easily over ‘common sense.’ Knowing the consequences, I still refused to take the hellish liquid!

That evening the doctor, who lived nearby, came over (yes, he made house calls). I was scared as the doctor opened his huge black leather doctor’s bag. The doctor urged me once again to take my medicine. When I firmly shook my head he stopped talking and did what grown-ups were so good at. He tried to scare the s*** out of me by showing me the huge hypodermic needle. During previous vaccinations I had rarely gotten more than a glimpse of the needle and the shot was done and over in seconds. However, this time the doctor intentionally made me watch as he loaded the medication into the syringe. I could see the light reflecting off the long silver needle, knowing where that sharp needle was destined to go. I continued to watch as the doctor slowly squeezed out the air bubbles in the syringe.

My mother turned me on my stomach, and then pulled down my pajama bottoms as I lay on the sofa. My mother and my eleven year old sister stood by watching as the doctor made his final preparations. The doctor rubbed a smelly and very cold alcohol swab on my naked butt.

I watched in terror as the awful needle descended toward my defenseless bottom. However, not for one second did I consider backing down.

The injection hurt a lot, but I did not cry. However, I almost ‘lost it’ when I turned and saw my sister grinning at me.

“Now will you take your medicine?” the doctor asked gruffly. Although my butt hurt and I felt very scared and violated I replied, “No.” The doctor shook his head in disgust. He gave me that ‘You need a good hard spanking’ look. The doctor’s plan to make me cooperate was obviously a failure.

The following day I received a second injection, again in the butt. Still I refused to take my medicine despite the threat of many future injections.

My mother then took matters into her own hands as she was apt to do. No, she did not spank me. Instead, she began to sneak the liquid medicine into food and drinks that I liked. I reluctantly accepted the compromise. I knew that I was getting the awful medicine, but at least I did not have to look at the evil bottle and the evil liquid!

Several weeks later the grown-ups told me that I was well again. Everyone else quickly forgot about this ‘little’ incident. However, as you can tell from this article I did not forget!