I never thought about emotional trauma in relation to autism until the first time we went to a homeopath. I remember her asking about how I ‘felt’ during pregnancy and how I ‘felt’ about my baby postpartum. I explained the pre-natal and hospital birth trauma though she persisted that there must be something more. Despite her attempt to assure me there would be ‘no judgment’, I remember feeling irritated as if she didn’t believe me when I said that I did in fact feel very bonded to my baby. I felt bonded to him despite the fact that the doctor who delivered him was a monster, despite the fact my pre-natal experience had been unnecessarily physically and emotionally stressful, despite the fact that due to hospital atrocity and incompetence they gave my baby formula, before I was able to breastfeed him and continued to keep him from me for 6 hours… Looking at it with fresh eyes, I can see where she might have thought I would have trouble with the bonding process and I have no doubt given that birthing in America is almost always extremely traumatic, that many women do feel detached.. But I didn’t feel that way at all. I loved Aydan immediately. I always found him delightful. I remember him as a wee little baby before the vaccines robbed him of his potential… when he still felt good in his own skin, when he enjoyed being in and exploring the world. I remember waking early in the morning and how we found it ironic that his initials were A.M. (Aydan Michael), since he seemed to be such an early riser. I would pop in my Mommy and me yoga VHS tape and start my work-out, even if he was still asleep.. Predictably as I turned it on, he would climb out of the bed that we shared and crawl to the next room where I was beginning my stretches.. I can still see his bright smile with big dimples as he rounded the corner, as if to say ‘I’m ready to play…’ I was happy when he woke up. In yoga, I used his body as a weight.. lifting him above my head and resting on my legs. We laughed a lot and had fun!
But lately, I’ve been thinking about the emotional trauma.
By now it is clear that vaccines are a toxic soup that reek havoc on every aspect of our bodies… This is where the DAN (Defeat Autism Now) and most of the natural health community has laid its focus. How to remove the toxins? How to seal the leaky gut? What therapies does the child need? What vitamin deficiencies need addressing? And on and on… But what about the emotional trauma of vaccination?
When my 7 month old daughter meets a new person, even a loving Grandma, she is apprehensive. When Grandma goes to pick her up, she anxiously looks at me on the verge of tears, as if to say ‘mom, is this okay?’ ‘Am I safe?’ I smile at her and assure Grandma’s a good one. After a few loving attempts, she realizes she is safe and the anxiety subsides.. This got me thinking.. I wonder if when in the doctor’s office, did my son, Aydan, look to me as an infant wanting to know the same? Did he look for reassurance, as if to ask ‘Mom, am I safe?’ Did he do this, as I handed him over to this doctor or nurse, who unlike Grandma took him without love into their arms, forcing him down on a table of cold and synthetic material, then proceeded to inject him with a sharp metal object laced with poison? Did he think ‘mom is this okay?’ ‘will I be okay?’ and did I look at him with terror and tears in my eyes, as I always feared the needle… I instinctively understood it was wrong for anything, anyone, under any circumstances to hurt my child.. As I ignored this instinct, could he read it on my face? I know, I told him ‘it would be okay..’ I didn’t mean to lie but deep down, I knew it was wrong.
I also didn’t mean to omit this information when I talked to the homeopath because though our bond may still be strong, our trust had been broken. Over the years since the vaccine assault… The rape that took place before my very eyes.. It has been a barrage of blood tests, urine/stool analysis, enemas, chelation treatments, supplements that didn’t work, MB12 injections… Countless offices with doctors, therapists, institutionalized schools, assessments, people who come and go… cause they aren’t family, they aren’t friends.. they are staff.
So at this time, I’d like to address Aydan, though he may not understand everything I’m about to say, he probably understands more than I know and perhaps someday he will understand it all…
My son I find this letter very difficult to write, as I am about to talk about things that are very uncomfortable for me to admit.
I don’t know if you remember being a baby like your sister but when you were little like her, I took you to a place where people hurt you. They injected you with a sharp object that had stuff inside (poison) and that stuff made you sick. It would change the rest of your life and that is why you have a hard time trying to speak. That is why sometimes you feel confused. That is why you get stomach aches and why your body hurts. I want to make it very clear to you that this didn’t happen because you were bad or because you were different or defective. I allowed this to be done to you because I was ignorant and didn’t trust myself as your mother. I am sorry that I failed to protect you.
I don’t know if you remember the first day of school when you were 3 years old but I remember the first 2 weeks where I walked you to the gate and the teachers took your hand. You looked at me with fear and cried. I know you didn’t want to go and I don’t want you to think that I left you there because I didn’t want to be with you. I left you there because I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to help you on my own and I didn’t know where else to turn. I’m sorry that I did that too.
I remember when you were 5 and someone gave you a shirt that said ‘I’m not autistic, I’m autastic!’ You hated that shirt and always wanted to take it off. I recall the day, I put it on you, as you were crying and trying to keep it away.. I looked at you and told you I understood that you hated the shirt and didn’t want to wear it. I said that I would throw it away and you would never have to wear it again. I threw it away in front of you and you seemed happy about it. I want you to know that you were right to hate that shirt. You were right to know that it wasn’t cute or funny.
And Aydan, when you are outside in the world, with all those groups of people or ‘society’ and those people look at you strange or tell you to calm down or be quiet; I hope that you know that this does not mean there is anything wrong with you. The only reason we adults say things like that is because we are ashamed of the fact that we have allowed you and other children like you to be hurt.
As I write this you are 10 years old and though you are a big boy now, I hope it is not too late to re-gain the bond of trust that has been broken between us.
I know that you know, I love you, since I tell you at least 5 times a day and I remember before that sharp needle of poison took your words away, you told me once too.