I haven't yet been to a therapy center that offers pinball therapy. Max's occupational therapists have yet to recommend it, though I feel certain they would endorse it. Insurance surely would not pay for it. But it's awesome, and a good reminder that therapy comes in all shapes and forms.
We'd road tripped to Asbury Park, NJ, our first time down at the shore since Sandy; the boardwalk reopened just last month. Wandering around we came upon the Silverball Museum Arcade, home to 150-plus pinball machines, some of which date back to the 1930s. We paid a flat fee to hang out for an hour.
We found Max a tall chair to sit on, and he played using both hands—always a big deal, since he tends to mostly want to use his left hand, the stronger one. Dave helped him out.
When Max was a tot, the thing that used to most stress me out—well, other than the what-will-he-be-like stress—was whether I was doing enough therapy for him. I never felt like I was, especially because each of his therapists (the occupational therapist, the physical therapist, the speech therapist, the vision therapist) gave me exercises I could do with him.
There was no possible way I could have done all of them, unless I performed therapy on Max while he slept, but that didn't stop me from freaking out. I so badly wanted Max to walk, to babble, to be able to grasp toys and spoons. I felt like not doing all of the exercises was impeding his progress. Then I'd despair that I just wanted to enjoy my child and I wouldn't do any exercises all weekend long. It was a vicious cycle.
Some things were a natural part of our days, which of course is the best kind of therapy there is. I'd bicycle Max's legs and massage them while he was on the changing table. I'd stretch out his arms when I dressed him or when I got him to do "How big is Max? SO big!" In the bath, I'd massage his face and jaw with a washcloth to loosen him up. We'd crash toy cars as I helped him grasp.
I always wanted therapy to be fun for Max, and the best therapists knew how to make it so. I learned to ask them to refrain from saying it was "time to work." I figured Max had a lifetime of therapy ahead of him, and I didn't want him to consider it work. But, yes, there were exercises that were just...exercises. And there were times when getting Max to play with toys was exhausting.
Some things were a natural part of our days, which of course is the best kind of therapy there is. I'd bicycle Max's legs and massage them while he was on the changing table. I'd stretch out his arms when I dressed him or when I got him to do "How big is Max? SO big!" In the bath, I'd massage his face and jaw with a washcloth to loosen him up. We'd crash toy cars as I helped him grasp.
I always wanted therapy to be fun for Max, and the best therapists knew how to make it so. I learned to ask them to refrain from saying it was "time to work." I figured Max had a lifetime of therapy ahead of him, and I didn't want him to consider it work. But, yes, there were exercises that were just...exercises. And there were times when getting Max to play with toys was exhausting.
Max has come a long, long way. Therapy has most definitely helped, as has Max's determination and good old luck. There are still plenty of therapy to-dos (massaging his feet and arms, practicing walking downstairs and grasping pencils and articulating consonants), and that's the way life is. Max is more into playing games, which helps; one super-creative OT recently came up with"Word Twister. She taped words over the circles on the mat and when she says one, Max has to bend down to it and stay in that pose.
Max is also more open to experiences and places that flex his muscles and brain power. At the zoo, we name animals and mimic sounds they make, get a good sensory experience in the petting area, stretch his legs and core on a pony ride. On an errand at Target, Max can push around a shopping cart with both hands, place items in there, help figure out the right amount of money to give the cashier. Playing T-ball, going to a museum or the playground, holding an ice-cream cone, dance party at our house—check, check, check, check.
Max is also more open to experiences and places that flex his muscles and brain power. At the zoo, we name animals and mimic sounds they make, get a good sensory experience in the petting area, stretch his legs and core on a pony ride. On an errand at Target, Max can push around a shopping cart with both hands, place items in there, help figure out the right amount of money to give the cashier. Playing T-ball, going to a museum or the playground, holding an ice-cream cone, dance party at our house—check, check, check, check.
Just his concentration alone at the pinball arcade was an amazing feat, this despite the pling-pling-plings of the many machines and kids running around.
Bowling therapy was also excellent.
And Sabrina got to meet Elvis.
I still get flashes of I'm-not-doing-enough guilt; it comes with the job of being a special needs parent. There are still exercises that I dread, like getting Max to bite on a small rubber tube to loosen up his jaw before he eats so he can more easily chew. I do it as often as I can. Sometimes, I slack. Sometimes, Max refuses and I let it slide.
I do what I can.
But pinball therapy? Ah, there's a therapy we can all embrace.
