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Water Play As A Path To Independence

 

When my son George was a baby, washing his hair was no big deal, simply because there was hardly any hair to wash. In fact, he was born with so little hair that when my best friend asked what colour it was, I had to admit that I didn’t know. There wasn’t enough to be able to tell. Hairwashing was therefore a simple matter. There was none of the “lather, rinse, repeat” business – all I had to do was wipe my baby’s head with a washcloth and we were done.

It all changed overnight when George was about eleven months old. After spending almost all of the first year of his life as bald as a cue ball, he sprouted a full head of hair one night. It was really weird waking up to this almost-toddler who was suddenly blond-haired. It was even weirder having to figure out, after almost a year of parenting, how to properly wash a child’s hair.

George resisted the hair-washing from the start. Whenever I tried to tell people about his protesting, they brushed it off, saying, “Most boys hate having their hair washed.”

That may  have been true, but from my own observations, most boys did not go into a state of all-out panic. No matter how gentle and soothing I was, George went wide-eyed with fear and screamed the roof down.

When we got George’s autism diagnosis, it all made sense. Kids with autism can have some intense sensory issues. Knowing about the autism did not solve the problem – we still had to wash this child’s hair in spite of his aversion to it – but we could at least make accommodations. We looked up social stories and created visual schedules. We established hair-washing routines to enable George to know exactly what was going to happen in what sequence. We used rewards and reinforcements, and we tried to work within the framework of his sensory difficulties.

When George was in his IBI program, his therapy team introduced a hair desensitization program. Every day, he was encouraged to brush his own hair and spray in some leave-in conditioner. It took a while for him to actually do it, but with a bit of time and patience on the part of the therapists, it became a part of his routine. When he left the IBI program, the desensitization continued at school, and now, our respite worker is incorporating it at home during the summer break.

George is still resistant to having his hair washed, but the desensitization is getting him closer to a point of tolerance. The key, we are realizing, is control. He won’t voluntarily allow someone else to put shampoo or any other gunk in his hair, but under the right circumstances, he will do it himself.

This was highlighted to us recently when we took the kids to play in a water play park. George is not actually afraid of water, but he does tend to be hesitant around it when he’s in new surroundings. At the water play park, he spends the first ten minutes or so on the sidelines, watching the sprinklers intently. The sprinklers do different things, and they turn and off at different times. When George knows what the sequence is, he ventures into the play area and allows himself to get wet.

He’s always been very careful to avoid getting water onto his head.

Until now.

About a month ago, we noticed that George was running right through the sprinklers instead of around them. He was running too fast for his hair to get more than a few drops of water on it, but still. It was more than he had ever done.

Imagine our absolute astonishment when, ten minutes later, he walked straight up to a sprinkler and put his head directly into the stream of water, allowing his hair to get soaked.

This is an encouraging development indeed. It brings George one step closer to the independence we are trying, in small increments, to guide him towards. Maybe I will never be able to wash his hair without him protesting. But maybe he is moving closer to a point where he will do it himself. Maybe all he needs is the ability to predict what the water is going to do, and the best way for him to predict it is if he is in control of it.

This idea applies to just about every area of my child’s life. As parents, our instinct is to do everything for our kids because, you know, they’re our kids. This is especially true of our kids with special needs, who are are so much more vulnerable. But we can serve them far better by equipping them with the tools – be it encouragement, knowledge, or actual tools – to do things for themselves.

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

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Hat Boy

Me and my Hat Boy

George has a thing about hats. He wears them all the time, even when he goes to bed. We have succeeded in getting him to take it off at bathtime, and both the school and the therapy centre have him remove it for his periods of instruction. But when he is at home, the hat is always on his head.

It’s not just any old hat, either. George is very picky about his hats – he will only wear his hat, and if his hat is not available, things in my household get very noisy and fraught as we struggle to keep him from banging his head in frustration. From time to time we have to switch out the old hat for a new one, because – well, you know – George is seven, and seven-year-olds have this habit of growing really fast.

The “new hat days” are traumatic for the entire family, so we tend to hold on to the current hat until the seams start to pop.

However, with age comes wisdom, and we have learned that whenever it’s time for a new hat, we have to get two that are the same. That way, when one starts smelling a bit ripe, we can throw it into the washing machine and let George wear the other one.

We suspect that George wears the hat to gain that slight feeling of pressure around his head. Kids with autism are frequently big on physical pressure, and George definitely falls into that category. He climbs onto the back of the couch and jumps from there onto the floor, because he craves the deep pressure input to his feet and legs. It would make sense for him to want pressure around his head as well.

In addition, though, I think George wears the hat in order to protect his head from being touched. He really, really, REALLY does not like people touching his head. He allows me to remove his hat and stroke his head, or run my fingers through his hair, but after just a few seconds he gets antsy and squirms away.

This is a problem.

For a start, there’s the practical problem of hair-washing. I don’t wash George’s hair as often as I should, because it is just so stressful for him. Hair-washing is a joint effort between me and Gerard, and it has to be planned with military precision, right down to getting my mother-in-law to whisk James away for the duration. Basically, what happens is that I wait until George isn’t watching, and then I fill a plastic basin with water and lay a shower curtain on the kitchen floor. Then Gerard uses his arms and legs to immobilize a screaming George, and I wash his hair as quickly as humanly possible.

It sounds barbaric, and I always feel so bad that I end up in floods of tears, but it is the only way we can wash his hair.

When people hear of the difficulties, they say to me, “Just keep his hair short”. If only it were that simple. This kid won’t let us wash his hair normally – why would anyone assume that he will let us anywhere near him with a pair of scissors or any other haircutting device?

Cutting his hair is as traumatic as washing it. So what I have to do is creep around my own house in the dark like a burglar, gingerly remove George’ s hat from his head, and then tentatively cut whatever bits of it that I can reach while he is sleeping. Sometimes it takes up to two weeks to complete a haircut because George tends to lie down the same way every night.

We may be making progress, though, thanks to the wonderful folks at the therapy centre that George spends four mornings a week at.

The therapists had me complete a sensitivity questionaire, describing the issues with washing and cutting his hair, and two weeks ago they started a desensitization program. This morning George’s therapy supervisor called me to give me an update.

“We combed his hair,” she said.

“What, ALL of it?” I asked, incredulously. Usually my hair-combing attempts have to be aborted, so each day I start on a different side of his head, just to ensure full coverage every two days.

“All of it,” said the supervisor. She went on to tell me that she had put ear-muffs on George, and that this seemed to help with the sensitivity around his ears.

“He kept on ear-muffs?” I asked. Not sounding very intelligent at this point. Think Village Idiot.

“AND,” continued the supervisor, “We have sprayed his entire head with leave-in conditioner.”

Holy bat, Crapman! Who is this short person and what has he done with my son?

So, it would appear that the desensitization program is working like a charm. It will still be a long time before we can actually wash his hair normally, or cut it while he is awake, but with baby-steps, we will get there.

The staff at the therapy centre are absolutely incredible. Thanks to them, George will be ready for discharge into full-time school (with special ed support) by September.

He might be ready.

Me, not so much.