I once nannied for a family's 15 year old severely autistic girl. Now that i look back, the exasperation was evident on their faces. They hired me to be her primary caretaker, because even though there were others home often during the workday, the girl couldn't get her own food, or be trusted to stay inside the home, or not kill anything.
When I took the job, I discovered that the mother who hired me(from Care.com) had been keeping secret from me her daughter's extremely violent tendencies.
She was 5'8", and easily 200lbs. I'm 5'4", about 130. She had zero speaking capability, only screeches and grunts, and arms flailing.
She'd normally stay in her bedroom, demanded lights off, and would simultaneously bounce on her yoga ball while watching kids church hymns videos, and stuff like Bob the Builder.
If she wanted food, she'd emerge from her cave and come down to me where I would do homework in the kitchen. She's grunt and grab my hand, and hurriedly pull me to the pantry or fridge and place my hand on the handles. I'd have to take the food out, lay it all on the counters, and wait for her to poke the packages she desired.
Her mother did warn me that I was just to cook her whatever she wanted, in case she threw a fit. Probably explained the girl's weight.
Then, a few weeks in to the Nannying job, she'd start doing this pterodactyl screeching from her bedroom. Odd, so I came down the hall and peeked in to make sure she wasn't hurt or anything. She was flopped on her bed, struggling with the blanket, like it wouldn't align across her properly. All the while, pterodactyl calling.
So I just say 'Sshh, shh Paige, it's okay.'
And gently tug a corner to put the blankets across her neatly.
She lets out this horrifying gut-wrenching battlecry, sits bolt upright, and clutches both sides of my head with her hands, digging and raking her nails into my neck and scalp. I'm sure I screamed a little too, and yank away, trying to escape her insane autistic strength.
She kept some good fistfuls of my hair, and I just bolt out of her bedroom, shutting the door behind me. I returned to the kitchen, a sobbing, bleeding mess. I would've left, but I felt a duty to stay because her mother would be home momentarily, and I was the only adult present in the home.
I definitely should've quit the job there, to say the least.
A couple weeks later, she trotted into the kitchen, screeching and in tears. She looked sad, so I wasn't so afraid to approach. I held out my hand, As that's our sign for 'guide me to the problem/show me what you need.'
She takes my hand in her big one, and looks down at me, but sniffles and stops crying, but looks at me curiously. I patiently wait for her to act, and well, she did. She grips my hand even tighter, and uses her other hand to take up and down my arm with her freakin' talons. Immediately bleeding, but I just yank away, and say 'NO, Paige,' despite my panic. She pauses, and launches herself at me, all claws and fists. I don't know what the hell was going on in her, but she beat the hell out of me that day. I took the defensive, not about to hit her even if I got an opening, and once I was backed up against the sliding glass back door, I zipped out of it, and held it shut form the opposite side. She stood there, aggressively pacing like a wild animal, but eventually retired to her room once more.
Thankfully I had my phone, and called her mother, sobbing. She had her son (18, but much bigger than me) come upstairs from his basement bedroom, and he checked on us both, but what more could he really do?
I had him stay up there while I drove home to get bandaged up. I quit that day.
You could see on her mother's face she she got home that she didn't know what to do anymore. She shared that I wasn't at ALL her first babysitter for Paige, but she was probably going to have to quit her job to stay home and make sure Paige doesn't maul another babysitter. Apparently they'd been keeping her medicated on Xanax nearly 24/7 to keep her chill enough to prevent that.
I suggested that instead of hiring little women to babysit a huge autistic girl, hire someone professional and maybe bigger, but nope. They care enough to make her someone else's problem, but not enough to go all-out and do it right.