CHAPTER 74

2026-07-08

After Lun was granted a four-hour trial visit back to his group home on Monday morning, he adjusted well. By Tuesday afternoon, he was discharged from the hospital. On Wednesday, he saw the psychiatrist again, who further adjusted the type and dosage of his psychiatric medication.

Last June, Lun spent some time in hospital for the treatment of painful kidney stones and an infection in his left kidney caused by an indwelling ureteral stent. Unexpectedly, in late June this year, he once again found himself hospitalized—this time for thirteen nights.

This admission was to treat his emotional and behavioural difficulties. My own conclusion is that the underlying cause was his sudden realization that he had not seen his mother for a very long time.

The way memory works in people with autism is often different from that of the general population. In the autobiography of a high-functioning autistic woman, she described her close relationship with her biological father, yet there was a ten-year gap during which she had no memory of him at all and offered no explanation. Then, almost as if out of nowhere, her father reappeared in her life. I suspect Lun's experience may be somewhat similar.

For many years, my wife and I took Lun out for meals and outings on weekends. I visited him once a week, while his mother visited every two weeks. During the COVID-19 pandemic, visits were suspended for more than half a year. As contact gradually resumed, we avoided taking him out to restaurants or crowded places to reduce the risk of infection. Eventually, those outings quietly disappeared from his routine and were never resumed.

After his mother passed away, he apparently did not notice her absence. About a year later, he casually asked the group home staff about her. Another year passed, and on Mother's Day, after overhearing staff members talking with one another, he suddenly realized just how long it had been since he had seen his mother.

That night, he repeatedly called out for her. Of course, there was no answer.

More than a year ago, the organization operating his group home changed unexpectedly. Many familiar staff members were replaced by new faces, and different routines were introduced. For someone like Lun, whose life depends on consistency and predictability, these changes became another source of anxiety.

Looking back, Lun had shown episodes of anxiety since childhood. Every year there would be several periods when it became more severe. After he started school, he was especially restless toward the end of the summer holidays.

The main reason, I believe, was that the activities and routines at home simply could not match the structure and stimulation provided at school. By late summer, he would become bored and begin anticipating the start of the new school year, leaving him feeling unsettled.

Another possibility is that he is allergic to grass. During midsummer, when vegetation is at its peak, his body may struggle to cope.

Taken together, these factors created an almost inescapable trap for Lun. Because of his limited ability to understand, express, communicate, and regulate his emotions, he has endured years of silent suffering that few people could imagine.

This latest episode, which began after Mother's Day, was marked by weeks of continuous vocal protests and relentless pacing back and forth indoors and in the backyard. The constant walking caused extensive blisters on the soles of his feet, severe pain, bacterial infection, and difficulty walking. Even when he was sweating heavily and his face had turned pale, he simply could not stop pacing.

Fearing that he might suffer a complete emotional breakdown, the group home staff and I decided to call an ambulance and send him to the local hospital with psychiatric services. He remained there for thirteen nights. During the early part of his hospitalization, I formally told him that his mother had passed away and would never be able to visit him again. He quietly turned his head and listened.

Because neither the hospital nor the group home had sufficient staff to provide one-to-one support around the clock, I stayed with Lun in the hospital every night throughout those thirteen nights. I witnessed him gradually become calmer under the team's attentive care until he was finally well enough to be discharged.

From the onset of his distress until his hospitalization, Lun's state of mind underwent many shifts: longing for his mother, disappointment, confusion, pain from his injured feet, bacterial infection, increasing doses of psychiatric medication that initially brought even greater agitation, hospitalization, feeling trapped, anger, resistance, escape attempts, physical restraints, struggling, and finally settling into a proper hospital bed.

Once he was moved into a more suitable environment with better facilities, the medical team worked closely with me and the group home staff to understand the full course of events. They carried out various examinations and assessments, changed his medications, carefully adjusted the dosages, and continued to monitor his progress. Throughout this period, Lun continued voicing his protests. Although resentment remained, his anger gradually faded. His vocal outbursts became quieter, and both his appetite and sleep steadily improved.

Hospitalization turned out to be the ultimate distraction. Lun's mind shifted from longing for his mother to trying to escape the hospital. As the environment improved, he gradually accepted being there, almost like a prisoner coming to terms with his surroundings. By the time he was ready to leave, the hospital had, through familiarity, become something of a second home.

By then, he may already have forgotten about his mother's absence once again.

The hospital therefore arranged a four-hour trial visit back to his group home. He met their expectations, and the medical team decided he was ready for discharge.

And at last, this old dad was finally allowed to return to his own nest for the night—and hug his own pillow again.