Trapped in a Pressure Cooker

27 Oct 2010 10 Comments

by Bruce (born 2b me) in Asperger's, autism, burnout Tags: Asperger's, autism, burnout

Trapped in a pressure cooker that was about to explode! That is how I felt for a few years leading up to my Midlife Autistic Burnout. I couldn’t see a way out, and I knew I was in very serious trouble — life threatening trouble — where I was.

THE PROBLEM:

The future looked bleak and scary. My health was rapidly deteriorating as I tried to function as a child protection social worker in the Neurotypical world. I could not imagine any other work, in our rural area, that would enable me to continue to support my family. Every career change I could see, involved a substantial drop in income. My wife and I were in agreement about homeschooling, so I had to be the sole breadwinner. We, at the point of my burnout, could not have switched duties because my brain was so fried that I was not able to teach. Jobs available to my wife in our area would have paid too little. Perhaps if we moved to the big city I could have gotten another data analysis position. But both my wife and I preferred the country over the city, for both ourselves and our children. And the city is an almost insurmountable hazard to this Aspie/autie. There is a reason I was attracted to rural life. I need the peace and quiet.

A couple of other social workers, who had lots of connections, and were laid-back extroverts, left the agency to become insurance salesmen, but Aspies need not apply! And an NT friend, and fellow social worker, commented that the job took so much out of us that there was absolutely no energy left for job hunting.

The present was unsustainable. I was having chest pains, palpitations, migraines so bad I would have to pull the car over and vomit, so little endurance that I had to squat or lie down on the floor to avoid a faint after any unusual exertion (this was really embarrassing in stores), extreme memory and cognitive deterioration, inability to sleep more than three or four hours (and no deep stage 3 or 4 sleep at all, and that’s where our body/mind rebuilds), subnormal body temperatures (chills) or chronic mild fever, sudden drop in blood pressure. I better stop, but the list goes on and on. My doctor knew I was in deep trouble and counselled me to stop work, take a break, and make a career change.

THE SOLUTIONS:

Physical exercise: I actually enjoyed exercising when young. But all attempts were a disaster during my burnout. They would literally put me on my back for days.

Trust, faith and hope. I was a believer and a practicing Christian at the time. I knew the benefits of dwelling on the positive, trusting God to look after the future, having faith that all will be well, etc.. But in my mind-numb downward spiral towards death (I’m not exaggerating) I have to admit that I couldn’t generate enough faith, hope or trust.

Creative alternatives: My doctor knew I had paintings hanging in several galleries at one time and that I loved driving. She encouraged me to consider art or truck driving. These occupations would have been much more fun than child protection, but they wouldn’t have paid the bills. And the fact is I had deteriorated so much by then that I could not have functioned in any occupation.

Get rescued: This is what my doctor, bless her soul, did just in the nick of time. She told me I should stop working. I didn’t want to stop because I had my family to support. So I worked out a scheme with my supervisor whereby I would work halftime. When I returned to my doctor a week or so later and announced this scheme, she yelled at me, “YOU HAVE TO STOP WORKING!”. I had never seen her get angry in the thirteen years my wife and I had been her patients. We also brought our children to her, and we always appreciated the way she would say, “I don’t know what it is,” on the rare occasion when some illness was puzzling to her. That gave us confidence that when she did make a diagnosis it was correct.

MY RESPONSE: 

Listen to my doctor: I decided that I had better listen to my doctor. I went back to my office, picked up my briefcase, walked out to the parking lot, got into my car and drove home. The next morning I telephoned my supervisor to advise him I was now on sick leave. That led to getting Long Term Disability Insurance Benefits for seventeen years until I reached retirement age. Even the insurance company doctors said I was “totally disabled” (unable to work at all) and that I would probably never recover.

THE OUTCOME:

Still here: Well with extraordinary, sacrificial support from my wife, and lots of help from my kids, and a level of care from my doctor that was “beyond the call of duty” (she even gave me her home phone number), and help from various specialists, etc., I am still here and I am HAPPY!    Praise the Lord!