Hannah's Weighted Vest...and the Resulting Memories

The last three paragraphs of this post explain the purpose of a weighted vest, for those who only want that information.

One of the more unusual therapy recommendations Hannah has received is a weighted vest, which is just what it sounds like: a vest with inside pockets that hold under one pound (for Hannah's size) of clay weights. One doesn't find a weighted vest at Wal-Mart. So, after searching the Internet and finding them priced near $100, I purchased a pattern sold online (still near $40) and asked Wonderworker Extraordinaire sew one. This decision supplied the added bonuses of providing a custom fit and allowing Hannah to choose her fabric.

Ah, fabric. Fabric equals fabric stores equals vivid childhood flashbacks. When I and my brother, who is 363 days younger than I, were pre-kindergarten my mother taught herself to sew. Yes, I have been blessed in adulthood by her self-teaching, but I paid for it dearly during childhood. Once Mom learned to sew, she made nearly all of our clothes, which required many one-hour car rides to Wichita to the much-dreaded fabric store. I would have preferred receiving thirty minutes of straight-pin torture to those trips. At least I would have known when the pin torture was scheduled to end.

After enduring the hour-long containment in a car with my then-nemesis brother Brad, we were expected to behave ourselves while my Mom spent what seemed like hours pouring over pattern books and browsing through endless bolts of fabric. At first Brad and I were satisfied to page through the books with Mom. After tiring of the books, we tried the are you almost done? whine. No luck. Finally we progressed to hide-and-seek amongst the circles of fabric positioned like forts throughout the store. I remember hiding under the velvet, hoping to find a bolt that dangled low enough to supply a curtain sufficient for concealment as well as a sample for rubbing against my face.

On one trip as I absentmindedly stroked the soft material, my brother snuck up on me. Startled, I forgot to let loose of the velvet before running to the circle of plaid we had deemed base. Crash! I brought the bolt to the ground, bringing Mom and at least one store attendant running. Why did my mom come running? I'm sure she knew that the source of any commotion had to somehow stem from her own children. Let's just say Brad and I were in trouble--big trouble.

These trips nearly always ended in trouble for me. I became like Pavlov's dogs; even the mere mention of fabric stores made me curl my nose and feel that rolling dread in my stomach...and does to this day. So, when Mom suggested recently that we all drive to the fabric store to allow Hannah to choose her own weighted vest material, I experienced the initial Pavlovian drool, even though the fabric store was only six blocks from my mother's house, the pattern was already purchased and I personally wanted the vest.

I overcame the autonomous response, loaded grandma and the girls into the Tahoe and drove to the fabric store. Hannah chose a bright blue Little Einsteins fabric covered with red Rockets, we picked matching thread and buttons, and even spent a little time browsing (yes, I actually browsed in a fabric store) through Christmas clearance items. All in under thirty minutes.

Mom finished the vest this past weekend while the girls and I visited her (that's another story). All I have left to do is form the clay weights and distribute the completed product to Hannah's school.

Why a weighted vest? I have searched my resources for a detailed explanation to put here, but haven't found one. It has been explained to me verbally by both Hannah's psychiatric therapist and occupational therapist. I didn't write the explanations at the time, so I'll give you my best recollection.

Hannah is easily distracted by sounds (called "auditory sensitivity" by sensory processing disorder - SPD - proponents). Her classroom contains three separate tables, each at which one teacher and five students sit during seat work. It is theorized that children who suffer from SPD (or sensory integration dysfunction--whatever it's called) do not discriminate between sounds. Whereas a "normal" child learns to distinguish between the importance of the teacher's voice at her table over the unimportance of a student's voice across the room, a child with SPD hears and values all sounds almost equally. Not only does this make it difficult for Hannah to know which voice to listen to, it causes a sensory overload to which she often responds by zoning out, barely coloring the page in front of her or even by resting her head on her desk.

Theoretically, the weighted vest will help Hannah feel grounded-- or fixed--in her seat by physically pulling her down into it. This physical weight will then help her to mentally be more grounded--or fixed--in place as well. I'm cautiously hopeful. Maybe a little skeptical, too. However, I certainly prefer a weighted vest to medication, so we'll give it our all with that in mind. The only thing going against Hannah: she doesn't like clothing in general. She'd sit at her school table in the buff if they'd let her.