My husband has often made jokes about buying our son a human sized "hamster wheel". He is so full of energy and so strong that he "acts as if driven by a motor". (This question was on one of the parent questionnaires we had to fill out. Does your son act as if driven by a motor? Um, yeah.)
These jokes go along with the other ones he makes about the Wall of Velcro (see a previous post) and Valium patches for kids (seriously, that IS a joke. They don't make such a thing. If they did, we would know about it!)
So, today I went to a local outlet store. I like this store, even though it smells strange (not bad, just strange). They have clothes and shoes in there, and little knick knacks, and toys. Imagine my amazement when I looked at the toys and found a giant, hollow inflatable ball. It's constructed so that a child over the age of five can get inside it and roll around. I didn't care how much it was. I bought it. (It wasn't THAT much). So, when my husband gets home, Operation Insert Logan into Hollow Inflatable Thingy (OILHIT) will commence! Of course, I will write about this very unique experience and let you all know how it goes.
The other endearing thing that has happened recently is that Logan has started singing. He likes music. His former Sunday school teacher at church, who we love and adore and works at a local theater, would sit right next to the piano with Logan and told us that occasionally, Logan would be right on pitch. As time went on he would try to sing different things, his favorite song being "November Rain" by Guns N Roses. (Imagine a seven year old belting out: Don't ya think that ya need somebody? Don't ya think that ya need someone?)
So, yesterday evening, I'm sitting in the other room and Logan starts singing, "Here comes a tickle spider walking the road! Gonna get your tummy! Hi-ho the derry-O! Tickle spider walking! Tummy! Walking the road!" He was yelling this at the top of his lungs. The "tickle spider" song is something I made up when the kids were little and he has remembered it all this time. Which brings me to this other point, about Logan, and a lot of other children like him: Their memories are phenomenal. Logan remembers everything. A childhood playmate he had when he was two or three. Where he stashed a shirt two weeks ago. The name of a teacher he hasn't seen for a year. I also have a dear friend whose nephew is autistic. This child has a photographic memory. He sees something, his brain takes a picture. I sometimes think that if autistic individuals could talk, we would all learn so much...things we never dreamed. In the meantime, I look forward to operation OILHIT...I do hope it's a success.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Sunday, May 29, 2011
This Is Autism
Have you ever done the following:
Sat on your bed and tried to paint your toenails while your seven year old rolls around and giggles and proclaims: I want to go to sleep! (It can be done. You learn something new every day.)
Carried a child out of a church building while they are passing the sacrament (bread and water) while the child yells, "Hoo hoo hoo, monkey, monkey, monkey!!!"
Been whipped on your bare arm with a rubber snake because your child "earned" it as a prize at school.
Tried to speak to office staff at your child's school only to have your child blow a raspberry at them and state, "I want to go home."
Have your child pull on you and hit the sides of the buggy and throw a fit because you are at Wal Mart and they want you to buy...drumroll please...plastic PVC pipe from the plumbing section.
Put a ladder up against your backyard shed...not so you can get to the top of it, but so your kid can climb down off of it. More than once.
Ran out of spices in your kitchen because your son decided to "cook".
Put a lock on every single window and door in your house. Not to keep people out. To keep your son in.
Gone to bed completely and utterly exhausted and thought, I can't do this anymore.
Woken up in the morning and thought, This will be a piece of cake.
Looked up at heaven and said, Why me?
Looked up at heaven and said, Thank you for giving him to me to take care of.
Rejoiced because your son said the word, Yes and the word No.
Experienced joy because your son kissed you on the cheek and said, I wuv you...voluntarily, for the first time in years.
Gone up to a school and raised Cain because your son was not being treated right.
Written a letter to the school because you were so impressed with how your son was treated.
Owned at least ten vacuum cleaners.
Given your child six baths in one day.
Thought, to heck with it, and didn't clean your house for a month.
Thought, I can do better than this and cleaned it every day.
Watched the same documentary, every night for two months because it's the only thing your son will watch and it makes him go to sleep.
Gone into a health food store and asked for a valium supplement for your son because you are desperate and you know they sell such a thing. Had the store clerk look at you with pity while you struggle with your child and say, "I think you need it."
Thought you would, literally, go insane.
Figured if you haven't gone insane by now, then it isn't going to happen anytime soon.
Looked at your child and thought, if he makes that noise, or does that thing, or pulls on me, or climbs on me one more time, I don't know what I'm going to do.
Looked at your child while he's asleep and thought, I have never seen anything so perfect.
Thanked God every day for the things your son teaches you, and prayed that you will have something to teach him.
This is autism.
Sat on your bed and tried to paint your toenails while your seven year old rolls around and giggles and proclaims: I want to go to sleep! (It can be done. You learn something new every day.)
Carried a child out of a church building while they are passing the sacrament (bread and water) while the child yells, "Hoo hoo hoo, monkey, monkey, monkey!!!"
Been whipped on your bare arm with a rubber snake because your child "earned" it as a prize at school.
Tried to speak to office staff at your child's school only to have your child blow a raspberry at them and state, "I want to go home."
Have your child pull on you and hit the sides of the buggy and throw a fit because you are at Wal Mart and they want you to buy...drumroll please...plastic PVC pipe from the plumbing section.
Put a ladder up against your backyard shed...not so you can get to the top of it, but so your kid can climb down off of it. More than once.
Ran out of spices in your kitchen because your son decided to "cook".
Put a lock on every single window and door in your house. Not to keep people out. To keep your son in.
Gone to bed completely and utterly exhausted and thought, I can't do this anymore.
Woken up in the morning and thought, This will be a piece of cake.
Looked up at heaven and said, Why me?
Looked up at heaven and said, Thank you for giving him to me to take care of.
Rejoiced because your son said the word, Yes and the word No.
Experienced joy because your son kissed you on the cheek and said, I wuv you...voluntarily, for the first time in years.
Gone up to a school and raised Cain because your son was not being treated right.
Written a letter to the school because you were so impressed with how your son was treated.
Owned at least ten vacuum cleaners.
Given your child six baths in one day.
Thought, to heck with it, and didn't clean your house for a month.
Thought, I can do better than this and cleaned it every day.
Watched the same documentary, every night for two months because it's the only thing your son will watch and it makes him go to sleep.
Gone into a health food store and asked for a valium supplement for your son because you are desperate and you know they sell such a thing. Had the store clerk look at you with pity while you struggle with your child and say, "I think you need it."
Thought you would, literally, go insane.
Figured if you haven't gone insane by now, then it isn't going to happen anytime soon.
Looked at your child and thought, if he makes that noise, or does that thing, or pulls on me, or climbs on me one more time, I don't know what I'm going to do.
Looked at your child while he's asleep and thought, I have never seen anything so perfect.
Thanked God every day for the things your son teaches you, and prayed that you will have something to teach him.
This is autism.
By The Ankles
Yesterday I had to run an errand and go up to our church for something. I took ALL the kids with me (plus one extra) hoping to give my husband a much-needed break.
We got to the church building and it soon became apparent that Logan was not going to be able to stay there. A meeting was about to take place that I had no prior knowledge of. My plans to occupy the children in the cultural hall while our extra child did what she needed to do fell apart. Mostly because the extra meeting was a baptism, and in order to do a baptism, you have to take at least an hour ahead of time to fill up the baptismal font. It's like a giant bathtub. And Logan loves it and is fascinated with it. When his older sister got baptized, he talked for weeks afterward about "going swimming at church". So I knew we had to leave. I had visions of him doing a belly flop into that water and that would just take the cake, would it not?
So I told him it was time to go and he didn't want to. He immediately crouched down on the floor. He wouldn't budge. He almost yanked my arm out of its socket. Then he laid down on the floor and stared at the ceiling. I shrugged my shoulders, grabbed his ankles, and gently pulled him out the door. He said, "I'm scared." I said, "Yeah, sugar, you should be!" But we got him home and all was fine.
We often have this difficulty with him at church. The music is too loud, or there are too many people, or he wants to hole up in the custodial closet and study all the vacuum cleaners. When we left church today he suddenly said, "I want go back to church." I was surprised. So I said, "Okay, but you have to be good."
The first place he went when we got in there was that closet. I said, "We didn't come back here for you to come in this closet. If we're going to be here, you have to go to class."
"Class is dead." (When Logan doesn't want to do something, he says it's "dead".)
"Well, it's not dead, and we are going to go home." I walked down the hall. By this time I was carrying him.
Desperately he grabbed my face and squeezed my lips together. I really hate it when he does this. I look like a fish.
"I want to go to Primary." Okay. Primary is our children's Sunday school program. We walked down the hall to the Primary room. But he suddenly he said, "I want a drink."
Oddly enough, the Primary room lies in the direction of the custodial closet, and the water fountain is actually beyond that, right next to said closet. He was leading me closer and closer to the vacuums without asking to go into that closet, since I had already said no.
We're sorry, Mrs. Stogner, but your son is mentally deficient.
Yeah.
We got to the church building and it soon became apparent that Logan was not going to be able to stay there. A meeting was about to take place that I had no prior knowledge of. My plans to occupy the children in the cultural hall while our extra child did what she needed to do fell apart. Mostly because the extra meeting was a baptism, and in order to do a baptism, you have to take at least an hour ahead of time to fill up the baptismal font. It's like a giant bathtub. And Logan loves it and is fascinated with it. When his older sister got baptized, he talked for weeks afterward about "going swimming at church". So I knew we had to leave. I had visions of him doing a belly flop into that water and that would just take the cake, would it not?
So I told him it was time to go and he didn't want to. He immediately crouched down on the floor. He wouldn't budge. He almost yanked my arm out of its socket. Then he laid down on the floor and stared at the ceiling. I shrugged my shoulders, grabbed his ankles, and gently pulled him out the door. He said, "I'm scared." I said, "Yeah, sugar, you should be!" But we got him home and all was fine.
We often have this difficulty with him at church. The music is too loud, or there are too many people, or he wants to hole up in the custodial closet and study all the vacuum cleaners. When we left church today he suddenly said, "I want go back to church." I was surprised. So I said, "Okay, but you have to be good."
The first place he went when we got in there was that closet. I said, "We didn't come back here for you to come in this closet. If we're going to be here, you have to go to class."
"Class is dead." (When Logan doesn't want to do something, he says it's "dead".)
"Well, it's not dead, and we are going to go home." I walked down the hall. By this time I was carrying him.
Desperately he grabbed my face and squeezed my lips together. I really hate it when he does this. I look like a fish.
"I want to go to Primary." Okay. Primary is our children's Sunday school program. We walked down the hall to the Primary room. But he suddenly he said, "I want a drink."
Oddly enough, the Primary room lies in the direction of the custodial closet, and the water fountain is actually beyond that, right next to said closet. He was leading me closer and closer to the vacuums without asking to go into that closet, since I had already said no.
We're sorry, Mrs. Stogner, but your son is mentally deficient.
Yeah.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Rattling Cages
Okay, I really have no idea what to write about tonight, dear folks of the blog community. So I will just tell you what he, the autistic wonder boy of the Stogner family, did, and you can read it and say, I'm glad I'm not the only one, or Better you than me, or Why doesn't that woman get off the computer and do something?
Logan likes to push buttons. Our buttons, to be more precise. He doesn't do well with changes. For instance, if someone has been gone all day and then they come home, it sparks a flurry of bad behavior from him. We call this "no-no mode" in our house..I.E.: "Logan is in no-no mode".
No-no mode involves lovely activities such as the follow: banging things against the floor, walls, furniture and windows. Wetting globs of toilet paper in the sink and throwing them up in the air so they stick to the ceiling. Climbing on places he's not supposed to climb. Climbing on mommy's back and saying, "I want to ride showldurrs" and me saying, "God help me". Grabbing mommy around the waist and laughing maniacally. Tackling his brother onto the couch. Chasing his sister into her bedroom. Being put in time out repeatedly and screeching at the top of his lungs like a bird because he doesn't want to be there. Five minutes have now gone by.
My mother used to shake her head and say, "I don't know how you do it." or "What are you going to do?"
Why, go criminally insane, mother. It's all part of the plan.
Seriously, how do we deal with such behavior? I will tell you how we try NOT to deal with it: We try not to lose our cool. There is a reason why he does this stuff. He's hungry. He's tired. His stomach is upset. He needs attention. Whatever. And the only way he knows to get what he needs is to act this way. It's like someone turning cartwheels and saying, "Look at ME! Look AT ME!!!!" That's what he's doing. He's rattling our cages and if we roar and take a swipe at him, so what, he got something from it. Who cares if it was good or bad, is his philosophy.
It works the best to stay calm, and be patient. Do we always do this? No. We are not computers running a program. We get tired, we get impatient, and we get really, really tired of having the furniture pounded on and being climbed on. Is it better than it used to be? Yes. Do I think it will continue to improve? Yes. And what if it doesn't? I can always take my friend Caroline's route and say, "Give me a *&(*(*g Xanax!"
Or we could do the Wall of Velcro. This is my husband's idea. We will get some military grade Velcro and put it on the wall. We will then put some on our children's clothing. When they get annoying, we will stick them on the Wall of Velcro until they can behave. It's worth considering.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Myth Number 3: They Are Just Really Hyper.
On Sunday, someone spoke in our church about not judging others. He went on to say that all of us have to form "intermediate judgements", but that final judgements should be left up to God.
I think what he was trying to say was that in our everyday lives, when we come into contact with people, we have to form opinions about them. Is this a person with whom I want to have contact on a regular basis? Is this a friend my child should have? Etc, etc. But he also said something else interesting: Judge the circumstances, not the person.
This is so hard to do, sometimes. We see something, and it appears to be inexcusable. We draw conclusions from it. It's human nature. But what if. What if what you are seeing is not how it really is. What if there is a reason for that person's behavior, or lack of communication, or rudeness. Can we excuse the behavior then? Well, people shouldn't be rude, and people should curb their anger...but could understanding the reason behind what they do perhaps help us all to be more compassionate and forgiving?
Why am I even writing about this? Before I had Logan, I was what I consider a "normal mom". I had two kids, seventeen months apart. I ran errands, cleaned my house, had a lot of friends (still do), and life was just...life. If I went into a store and I saw another child misbehaving or wreaking havoc, I would think this (and I am embarrassed to admit this, but I also know I am not the only one who has done it): What is wrong with that kid? Why won't that mom step in and do something? Why is she letting her son/daughter be so whiny and misbehave so much?
I don't think that way anymore. I mentioned that having a special-needs child gives you a certain perspective.
I was in a Wal-Mart a few months back, and I think I had my older son with me. Suddenly there was a piercing scream, and a little boy started bellowing, "Mommy, Mommy, stop, ow, you broke my arm! You broke my arm!" His screams and yells were so loud, and so berserk, that several people in the store stopped what they were doing and stared. The mother took the little boy in her arms and quickly made her way to the restroom.
Of course, I followed her. (sheepish grin)
She took him into the handicapped stall where he proceeded to indulge in a world-class meltdown. I don't think she knew I was in there at first. She never raised her voice. She calmly asked him to stop crying. She kept speaking to him in soothing tones. I recognized it for what it was: a temper tantrum. An out-of-control, over-sensitive child who could not get a handle on himself. I quietly asked her if she needed some help and she thanked me and said she was fine. I left.
It looked horrible. A mother who had possibly abused her son right there in Wal-Mart. But it wasn't what it looked like. His arm wasn't broken. I don't know what sparked his outrage, but it wasn't an enraged mother who had taken her anger out on him.
There have been many times when I took Logan out to the store or to a restaurant and my timing was off. He was too tired or he hadn't had enough to eat, or he was just overstimulated already. And he is an expert, just like that other little boy, at bellowing at the top of his lungs over and over, of reaching out and grabbing things he shouldn't, and just being a pill in general when he doesn't want to do something. I once took him to a grocery store and he didn't want to be there. But I really had to pick something up, and I thought, We'll be in and out, no problem. Heh. Well, in the checkout line, he jumped. He jumped up high enough that he could grab the large, dangling cardboard sign that was advertising a store promotion. And it fell. Off the ceiling. People stared (it's rude to stare!) and the checkout girl smiled at me and said in a sweet voice, "Is he just really hyper?" I looked at her and responded in the same tone, "Why, yes." (No, he really likes that sign, hanging from the ceiling, and he wants to take it home with him. Here is your sign. Thank you, Jeff Foxworthy.)
So, now, when I go to the store, or somewhere else, if I see a kid acting like that, even if they appear to be the worst kind of brat imaginable, I hold off on getting angry or making snap judgments about the parents. You don't know what that kid may have been through that day. You don't know what the parents may be going through, every day. And it's really better to take care of your own and make sure you are doing right by your own than to make it your business to label other people, weigh them, measure them, and find them wanting. Because we can all be found wanting, in some regard.
I think what he was trying to say was that in our everyday lives, when we come into contact with people, we have to form opinions about them. Is this a person with whom I want to have contact on a regular basis? Is this a friend my child should have? Etc, etc. But he also said something else interesting: Judge the circumstances, not the person.
This is so hard to do, sometimes. We see something, and it appears to be inexcusable. We draw conclusions from it. It's human nature. But what if. What if what you are seeing is not how it really is. What if there is a reason for that person's behavior, or lack of communication, or rudeness. Can we excuse the behavior then? Well, people shouldn't be rude, and people should curb their anger...but could understanding the reason behind what they do perhaps help us all to be more compassionate and forgiving?
Why am I even writing about this? Before I had Logan, I was what I consider a "normal mom". I had two kids, seventeen months apart. I ran errands, cleaned my house, had a lot of friends (still do), and life was just...life. If I went into a store and I saw another child misbehaving or wreaking havoc, I would think this (and I am embarrassed to admit this, but I also know I am not the only one who has done it): What is wrong with that kid? Why won't that mom step in and do something? Why is she letting her son/daughter be so whiny and misbehave so much?
I don't think that way anymore. I mentioned that having a special-needs child gives you a certain perspective.
I was in a Wal-Mart a few months back, and I think I had my older son with me. Suddenly there was a piercing scream, and a little boy started bellowing, "Mommy, Mommy, stop, ow, you broke my arm! You broke my arm!" His screams and yells were so loud, and so berserk, that several people in the store stopped what they were doing and stared. The mother took the little boy in her arms and quickly made her way to the restroom.
Of course, I followed her. (sheepish grin)
She took him into the handicapped stall where he proceeded to indulge in a world-class meltdown. I don't think she knew I was in there at first. She never raised her voice. She calmly asked him to stop crying. She kept speaking to him in soothing tones. I recognized it for what it was: a temper tantrum. An out-of-control, over-sensitive child who could not get a handle on himself. I quietly asked her if she needed some help and she thanked me and said she was fine. I left.
It looked horrible. A mother who had possibly abused her son right there in Wal-Mart. But it wasn't what it looked like. His arm wasn't broken. I don't know what sparked his outrage, but it wasn't an enraged mother who had taken her anger out on him.
There have been many times when I took Logan out to the store or to a restaurant and my timing was off. He was too tired or he hadn't had enough to eat, or he was just overstimulated already. And he is an expert, just like that other little boy, at bellowing at the top of his lungs over and over, of reaching out and grabbing things he shouldn't, and just being a pill in general when he doesn't want to do something. I once took him to a grocery store and he didn't want to be there. But I really had to pick something up, and I thought, We'll be in and out, no problem. Heh. Well, in the checkout line, he jumped. He jumped up high enough that he could grab the large, dangling cardboard sign that was advertising a store promotion. And it fell. Off the ceiling. People stared (it's rude to stare!) and the checkout girl smiled at me and said in a sweet voice, "Is he just really hyper?" I looked at her and responded in the same tone, "Why, yes." (No, he really likes that sign, hanging from the ceiling, and he wants to take it home with him. Here is your sign. Thank you, Jeff Foxworthy.)
So, now, when I go to the store, or somewhere else, if I see a kid acting like that, even if they appear to be the worst kind of brat imaginable, I hold off on getting angry or making snap judgments about the parents. You don't know what that kid may have been through that day. You don't know what the parents may be going through, every day. And it's really better to take care of your own and make sure you are doing right by your own than to make it your business to label other people, weigh them, measure them, and find them wanting. Because we can all be found wanting, in some regard.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
The Other Side of the Coin
Wow, I AM prolific tonight! I just re-read my post "What Would Einstein Do", and I have to add something to that.
While I think the testing scenario that Logan went through was a little pointless, I don't wish at all to discourage people from putting their children through testing. The other side of this coin is that this way of diagnosing children for autism or other disorders is all that we have at this present time. Hence my previous remark about "the dark ages". There is so much about spectrum disorders that we simply do not know or are just beginning to understand. And what we DO have is a comparison approach. Can we get Logan to do this thing or answer this question? Scientifically speaking, if he can't or won't do these things, we must assume that he is mentally deficient. Yes, there may be information locked in his head and he may actually be working out complicated math formulas as we speak while watching Curious George at the same time (yes, it can be done), but we have to go with what we see, and what we see is that he cannot do A, B, and C.
The point I was trying to make earlier is that there simply must be a better way to go about it. Until the powers that be come up with that better way, I do applaud physicians everywhere who reach out to families like ours and use the knowledge they do have to improve the lives of our children.
Can you tell we have a lawyer in the family?
After diagnosis the next best thing you can do is some forms of therapy. However, dear readers, this mom has done the following today: taken four kids to school and picked up five. (I always end up with extra kids in the van. I don't know how it happens. And I don't care. We live in a great neighborhood and my kids have a lot of friends. They all understand Logan and "get" him.) I have visited a sick relative. Packed up an apartment (not finished yet). Returned phone calls. Cleaned up a filthy dog. Watched said dog gaze around the house in wonder with a "retarded" look on his face because I finally trimmed the hair out of his eyes and he can see. Broken up a fight between two siblings. Paid a trip to the mall. Paid another trip to a craft store. Cooked dinner. Ate too much ice cream. And now it's about to tornado or something outside, whatever, all hell is about to break loose, and it's all good. Maybe we'll get to talk about emergency preparedness in the hall bathroom at three am again if the sirens go off. Goody.
While I think the testing scenario that Logan went through was a little pointless, I don't wish at all to discourage people from putting their children through testing. The other side of this coin is that this way of diagnosing children for autism or other disorders is all that we have at this present time. Hence my previous remark about "the dark ages". There is so much about spectrum disorders that we simply do not know or are just beginning to understand. And what we DO have is a comparison approach. Can we get Logan to do this thing or answer this question? Scientifically speaking, if he can't or won't do these things, we must assume that he is mentally deficient. Yes, there may be information locked in his head and he may actually be working out complicated math formulas as we speak while watching Curious George at the same time (yes, it can be done), but we have to go with what we see, and what we see is that he cannot do A, B, and C.
The point I was trying to make earlier is that there simply must be a better way to go about it. Until the powers that be come up with that better way, I do applaud physicians everywhere who reach out to families like ours and use the knowledge they do have to improve the lives of our children.
Can you tell we have a lawyer in the family?
After diagnosis the next best thing you can do is some forms of therapy. However, dear readers, this mom has done the following today: taken four kids to school and picked up five. (I always end up with extra kids in the van. I don't know how it happens. And I don't care. We live in a great neighborhood and my kids have a lot of friends. They all understand Logan and "get" him.) I have visited a sick relative. Packed up an apartment (not finished yet). Returned phone calls. Cleaned up a filthy dog. Watched said dog gaze around the house in wonder with a "retarded" look on his face because I finally trimmed the hair out of his eyes and he can see. Broken up a fight between two siblings. Paid a trip to the mall. Paid another trip to a craft store. Cooked dinner. Ate too much ice cream. And now it's about to tornado or something outside, whatever, all hell is about to break loose, and it's all good. Maybe we'll get to talk about emergency preparedness in the hall bathroom at three am again if the sirens go off. Goody.
What Would Einstein Do
Today, I was going to write about something like some of the other disabilities that can come with autism, or explain what an ARD meeting is, or something like that, but to be perfectly honest, faithful readers, I am way. Too. Tired.
I can hear (one) of my father-in-law's voices in my head right now: You have to take care of yourself. If you don't take care of yourself you can't take care of your kiddos. If you were in a plane and it was going down and the oxygen masks deployed, who would you put it on first? You would put it on you first, so that you would be awake and alert enough to be there for your kids.
I can't count the number of times he said this to me. When you're a mom, and you get busy, you think, yeah, yeah...I don't have time to eat, or take a nap, or whatever...and sometimes you don't. You get wrapped up in so many things and you forget about some stuff you always meant to do, and you decide that the leftover mac and cheese looks absolutely divine when you're running short on time for dinner. Pretty soon you feel really crummy, tired, and then the crankiness sets in. Or worse.
It's hard for people to understand what a family can go through when you have a special needs child. Normal parenting requires a lot of time and patience. It requires a lot of sacrifice and you learn how to deal with frustration and anger and disappointment. There are also moments when you realize the person receiving that award, or spiking that ball, or acing that test...hey, they are here because of you, and that person running around with your DNA is going to grow up to be somebody someday. Having a special needs child-autistic or otherwise...requires a little more. You give up a lot. You lose expectations of how your life was going to be. You gain a different perspective.
I won't go into all the boring details of the two days of testing we endured with Logan. Basically he was in a room with a diagnostician. We were disappointed to learn an intern would be testing our son and not the actual doctor we had spoken with. The room had different things in it...toys, books, blocks, etc. And she would ask Logan to do different things. Perform certain tasks. She would observe him playing. And here is what was concluded:
Severe autism, speech disorder, and mental retardation.
And here is where I sincerely and honestly believe we are still in the dark ages when it comes to autism. We don't know what causes it or why it happens. There are all kinds of theories. But there is one solid fact about autistic children that is true across the board: they thrive in structured environments. They are most secure when they know what to expect and when. They need thousands of times more reassurance than a normal, well-adjusted child. So you are going to take this child, who is prone to anxiety, aggression, temper tantrums, defiance, who cannot tell you if he is mad or sad or uncomfortable...and you are going to put him in an unfamiliar environment with an unfamiliar person that he has never met before and have him stay there half the day, and ask him to perform a variety of tasks that he does not normally perform on a day to day basis.
Lots of people think Einstein had some form of autism and it doesn't take an Einstein to figure out that the above scenario is a flaming bunch of B.S. I contend that if you want to really know what makes a child like this tick, then you need to observe the child, at home, in their normal routine; get to know the child, and spend more than eight to ten hours trying to reason out responses from a kid who probably doesn't want to be there in the first place.
Am I touchy because someone said my son was mentally retarded? Perhaps. Yes. No one ever wants to hear THAT about their own kid. I really like the way our diagnostician at the school put it: That their test showed that he was academically deficient, but that they did not believe that was true. Their belief was that there was a lot locked in that head of his, but that they had to go by what he chose to present to them. The GOOD thing about going to that particular doctor was that finally, finally we had an answer to the question: is our son autistic? And the answer was: Yes. So we knew what we were dealing with and we could go to the school and definitively say, this is what the deal is. Help us. And they have. Except for one unfortunate year when he had a teacher that was very ill-suited to working with him, he has had an exceptional time in our ISD. And it has always been because the classroom was super-organized, the schedule was planned...sometimes down to the minute, literally, and his teachers were unfailingly patient. If they dreaded dealing with him one day, if they just didn't feel like handling my rambunctious boy one morning when they came into work, I never knew about it. They have and always have greeted him with a smile on their faces and a willingness to do whatever it took to make things happen for him.
So, do I think my son is "mentally retarded"? Well, I have to say, first of all, that I really don't like that phrase, applied to anyone. What do you picture when you say the word "retarded"? Something slow and stupid and dumb, something not worth your time, something that is silly and needs to be made fun of. Isn't it a common practice to say, "This is so retarded" or "You're retarded". It's become a mild, playful insult or a semi-polite jab at our friends. So, no, I don't think Logan is "retarded". Do I think that he has a lot of information locked in his brain that he can't get out due to his deficiency in communication? Yes. Do I think that he finds creative ways to cope with things that may seem strange to other people? Yes. Do I think he avoids work at school and home because he does not see the value or reason behind learning how to write letters and numbers? Yes. Logan has always done everything on his own terms. Do I believe that one day, he will walk into the room and sit down and say, "Hello mother, how are you this fine afternoon?" Hell, no. But if he did, I would be cool with that.
I can hear (one) of my father-in-law's voices in my head right now: You have to take care of yourself. If you don't take care of yourself you can't take care of your kiddos. If you were in a plane and it was going down and the oxygen masks deployed, who would you put it on first? You would put it on you first, so that you would be awake and alert enough to be there for your kids.
I can't count the number of times he said this to me. When you're a mom, and you get busy, you think, yeah, yeah...I don't have time to eat, or take a nap, or whatever...and sometimes you don't. You get wrapped up in so many things and you forget about some stuff you always meant to do, and you decide that the leftover mac and cheese looks absolutely divine when you're running short on time for dinner. Pretty soon you feel really crummy, tired, and then the crankiness sets in. Or worse.
It's hard for people to understand what a family can go through when you have a special needs child. Normal parenting requires a lot of time and patience. It requires a lot of sacrifice and you learn how to deal with frustration and anger and disappointment. There are also moments when you realize the person receiving that award, or spiking that ball, or acing that test...hey, they are here because of you, and that person running around with your DNA is going to grow up to be somebody someday. Having a special needs child-autistic or otherwise...requires a little more. You give up a lot. You lose expectations of how your life was going to be. You gain a different perspective.
I won't go into all the boring details of the two days of testing we endured with Logan. Basically he was in a room with a diagnostician. We were disappointed to learn an intern would be testing our son and not the actual doctor we had spoken with. The room had different things in it...toys, books, blocks, etc. And she would ask Logan to do different things. Perform certain tasks. She would observe him playing. And here is what was concluded:
Severe autism, speech disorder, and mental retardation.
And here is where I sincerely and honestly believe we are still in the dark ages when it comes to autism. We don't know what causes it or why it happens. There are all kinds of theories. But there is one solid fact about autistic children that is true across the board: they thrive in structured environments. They are most secure when they know what to expect and when. They need thousands of times more reassurance than a normal, well-adjusted child. So you are going to take this child, who is prone to anxiety, aggression, temper tantrums, defiance, who cannot tell you if he is mad or sad or uncomfortable...and you are going to put him in an unfamiliar environment with an unfamiliar person that he has never met before and have him stay there half the day, and ask him to perform a variety of tasks that he does not normally perform on a day to day basis.
Lots of people think Einstein had some form of autism and it doesn't take an Einstein to figure out that the above scenario is a flaming bunch of B.S. I contend that if you want to really know what makes a child like this tick, then you need to observe the child, at home, in their normal routine; get to know the child, and spend more than eight to ten hours trying to reason out responses from a kid who probably doesn't want to be there in the first place.
Am I touchy because someone said my son was mentally retarded? Perhaps. Yes. No one ever wants to hear THAT about their own kid. I really like the way our diagnostician at the school put it: That their test showed that he was academically deficient, but that they did not believe that was true. Their belief was that there was a lot locked in that head of his, but that they had to go by what he chose to present to them. The GOOD thing about going to that particular doctor was that finally, finally we had an answer to the question: is our son autistic? And the answer was: Yes. So we knew what we were dealing with and we could go to the school and definitively say, this is what the deal is. Help us. And they have. Except for one unfortunate year when he had a teacher that was very ill-suited to working with him, he has had an exceptional time in our ISD. And it has always been because the classroom was super-organized, the schedule was planned...sometimes down to the minute, literally, and his teachers were unfailingly patient. If they dreaded dealing with him one day, if they just didn't feel like handling my rambunctious boy one morning when they came into work, I never knew about it. They have and always have greeted him with a smile on their faces and a willingness to do whatever it took to make things happen for him.
So, do I think my son is "mentally retarded"? Well, I have to say, first of all, that I really don't like that phrase, applied to anyone. What do you picture when you say the word "retarded"? Something slow and stupid and dumb, something not worth your time, something that is silly and needs to be made fun of. Isn't it a common practice to say, "This is so retarded" or "You're retarded". It's become a mild, playful insult or a semi-polite jab at our friends. So, no, I don't think Logan is "retarded". Do I think that he has a lot of information locked in his brain that he can't get out due to his deficiency in communication? Yes. Do I think that he finds creative ways to cope with things that may seem strange to other people? Yes. Do I think he avoids work at school and home because he does not see the value or reason behind learning how to write letters and numbers? Yes. Logan has always done everything on his own terms. Do I believe that one day, he will walk into the room and sit down and say, "Hello mother, how are you this fine afternoon?" Hell, no. But if he did, I would be cool with that.
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