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Autism: The Good, The Bad And The Ugly

When my firstborn son was first diagnosed with autism five years ago, the force of it all was like a kick in the head. I honestly did not know how I was going to live the rest of my life as an autism parent, especially with the doom-and-gloom picture that was presented to us by the diagnosing doctor.

But life has an uncanny way of continuing, no matter what. We adapt and survive, and sometimes we even manage to see the positives in a situation that is, by most people’s standards, less than ideal.

The Good

* Every moment of accomplishment is a cause for celebration. I have a true appreciation for what most people think are “the little things”.

* My son can problem-solve rings around the rest of us. His thinking is at times very effective while also being wayyyyy out of the box. It offers a whole new perspective on life.

* My two boys have a healthy amount of sibling rivalry going on, but they also have a great deal of love for each other. My younger son’s empathy and kindness toward his brother that has to be seen to be believed. It makes me well up with tears every time.

* Let’s face it, many kids with autism are computer geeks. And it’s very handy having a built-in computer geek.

* I believe that having a child with autism makes me a better and more patient parent.

* Kids with autism can have funny, quirky senses of humour that take you where you least expect to go.

* Hugs from kids with autism can be the absolute best.

The Bad

* When my child is trying with all his might to express something and doesn’t know how to, the look of frustration and desperation in his eyes is heartbreaking.

* Sometimes my younger son tells me that he wishes his brother didn’t have autism. There are no words to describe how that feels.

* Autism is unbelievably, phenomenally exhausting, and that’s just for me. I cannot imagine what it must sometimes be like for my son.

* There is a lot of frustration involved in advocating for my child in the school system. The vast majority of teachers are genuinely good and caring people who mean well, but a lot of them just don’t get it.

* I worry about my son’s future every single day. Will he ever be able to brush his teeth and take a shower independently? Will he ever learn to look both ways before crossing the street? Will he be bullied in high school? Will he be given the same opportunities as other kids? Will he be OK when, someday, I am no longer here?

The Ugly

* There are holes in the drywall from all the headbanging incidents. They are not pretty.

* We are frequently the targets of people who stare and say rude things. They are not pretty either.

* As much as I think that autism has made me a better parent, I am only human, and sometimes I lose it. Big-time. I slam things and scream like a banshee.

* Sometimes, I have to battle my son’s autism and my depression at the same time, and it’s such a battle. I teeter on the edge of these big black pits of despair, and it is absolutely terrifying.

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

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What a Difference a Year Makes

My son doesn’t do lineups very well, and therefore we tend to avoid them wherever possible. Some would argue – completely within the realms of reason – that lining up is an essential life skill that we should expose him to more than we do. But like most parents of special needs kids, my husband and I already have enough on our plate without seeking out something to add to it.

Every year, though, we get the perfect opportunity to help him practice the skill of lining up, at the annual children’s Christmas party put on by my employers. It takes place at an indoor amusement park, and the day includes unlimited rides, gifts for the kids, and a picture with Santa. Bearing in mind that I work for a company that has 5000 employees at Head Office alone, the children’s Christmas party gets a little crowded.

Which means lineups everywhere, especially at Santa’s hangout spot.

In our first year at the Christmas party, we almost skipped the Santa picture because the line was so long, and as much as we want George to practice the skill, we have to be reasonable about it. But James would have been so disappointed to miss Santa. We didn’t want George to have a meltdown that could give him permanent negative associations with this place, but we also didn’t want James to miss out on a typical childhood experience.

In the end, we didn’t have to choose. The volunteers were more than happy to let us skip the lineup and go straight to Santa, and they have done this for us ever since. This small but very significant act of kindness is something that makes this day truly special for us.

We still have to line up for the rides, and in years gone by this has created a bit of a problem for George, but the lineups have moved just fast enough to avoid any potential explosions.

Yesterday we had the best children’s Christmas party ever. As always, we were allowed to skip the Santa line and for the first time, everyone was looking directly at the camera for the picture. Our first stop after Santa was the train ride, and from there we went around the whole place and the kids went on every single ride. There were lineups at all of them, and in some cases the wait was quite lengthy.

But George showed a kind of maturity we have not seen before, and he coped remarkably well with the crowds and the waiting. The only time he showed any kind of anxiety was during the wait for the bumper cars, which made even me feel claustrophobic.

We all had a fantastic time, made even better by the new signs of growth in George.

Sometimes time really does make a difference.

 

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Santa and Autism: A Special Brand of Magic

This morning I was faced with a minor dilemma, brought on by the fact that it was Pajamas and Stuffed Toy day at my son’s school. If it had been my younger son – the one who doesn’t have autism – it wouldn’t have been a problem. But since this is my older son we’re talking about, I had to make a choice. Do I encourage him to take part even though the idea of wearing pajamas instead of clothes to school could make him feel seriously disoriented and possibly distressed? Or do I let him just wear clothes even though that would mean yet another thing that sets him apart from the typical kids in his school?

See? Dilemma.

As an autism parent, I constantly have to make tradeoffs of this nature on behalf of my child. On the one hand, I want him to have as many “typical kid” experiences as possible, but on the other hand, I don’t want to cause him to be upset.

It always come down to the idea of choosing my battles, and by now I know that I should only pick the battles that really matter. And let’s face it – wearing pajamas to school does not exactly count as an essential life skill, especially when he’s part of a class of special ed kids who probably wouldn’t be into the whole pajama thing either.

And so I decided to let him exercise his preference in the only way he knows how. I would dress him in a clean pair of pajamas and then see what happened. And what happened was that he promptly crawled back into bed. It was only when he realized that he was actually going to school that he started to resist the pajamas idea. Within seconds the pajamas were coming off and George was rummaging around for clothes to wear.

Surprisingly, though, he did want to take a stuffed toy. I say “surprisingly” because George has never really been into stuffed toys. This is a kid who sleeps with about a dozen Mr. Potato Heads and a pineapple. But not only did he want a stuffed toy today, he wanted two. In an intriguing fusion of holidays, he selected an Easter bunny and a stuffed Santa.

I was sure he’d lose interest in the whole thing by the time the school bus showed up, but he went off to school with Santa and the bunny, and by all accounts he had a great day.

Friday is always Show & Tell day in George’s classroom, and from time to time we send him in with something and his teacher gets him to “participate”. In a dramatic break with tradition today, he independently – independently! –  joined the Show & Tell circle and proudly showed off his Santa.

This moment of progress proves to me that although Santa is not real, he is capable of producing magic.

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

 

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Vaccines and Autism: Where Do I Stand?

In yesterday’s blog post, I made a remark about the fact that I do not believe there is a link between vaccines and autism. One of my readers took me to task (very nicely and respectfully, it has to be said) for making blanket statements that could potentially alienate part of the autism community that I try so hard to reach.

I did clarify what I meant with the person concerned, and it all ended on a good note, but the incident made me think that this is a topic I should cover here on my blog.

The subject of vaccines is a very touchy one for autism parents on both sides of the debate, and it’s one that can create a lot of division. Each camp accuses people in the other camp of being disrespectful toward them and their views, and of trying to shove their opinions down everyone else’s throat. It’s really kind of sad, because at the end of day all of us are autism parents who are doing the best we can for our kids. Instead of being a united community working together, we sometimes find ourselves divided into these factions that argue with each other.

This debate is like any other. There are those who are almost fanatical about their opinions and won’t even consider any other possibilities. And there are those – like the person who contacted me yesterday – who want their opinions to be respected but can peacefully coexist and have meaningful dialogue with those who think otherwise.

Until now, I have avoided being too vocal about my own stance on this whole issue. I am an introvert by nature, and I dislike rocking the boat. I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings or make people mad at me. So when it comes to controversial topics, my usual approach is to be as quiet as possible.

As an advocate for my child, though, I sometimes have to go well beyond my comfort zone. So I will step out of my zone for a moment to make the following statement: I do not believe that vaccines are responsible for the autism epidemic.

I am not trying to say that it is not possible for vaccines to cause damage to a child. I’m not suggesting it would never happen, and I would never presume to tell another parent what did and did not cause their child’s autism. I’m also not saying that vaccines don’t come with their risks.

I am simply saying that I don’t think the dramatic rise in autism over the last 20 years can be blamed on vaccines.

Proponents of both arguments could produce pages and pages of research in support of their views. To me, the salient information can be summed up as follows:

* The research that sparked this whole debate, done by one Andrew Wakefield of the United Kingdom, has been widely discredited for a number of reasons – two of which are that the research was inherently flawed and that there were issues relating to conflict of interest.

* After Wakefield’s paper was published, areas in several countries reported a dramatic drop in the use of the MMR vaccine. All of these places saw a sharp rise in measles and mumps, but there was no change to the rate at which kids were being diagnosed with autism.

* When the rate of vaccinations in these areas started to increase again, there was no change to the rate at which kids were being diagnosed with autism.

* The leaps made in the sequencing of the human genome have opened all kinds of doors to genetics research, and there an increasing body of evidence linking autism to genetics.

Having said all of this, I want to state the following:

* I believe (and bear with me here – I am not a scientist) that in some children, vaccines can interact with genetics or with other environmental factors to result in an outcome of autism.

* Whether or not you believe in the vaccine-autism link, vaccines are a form of medical treatment, and it’s up to everyone to do their homework, just as they would for anything else, and then decide whether vaccines are the right choice for their kids.

I am not trying to change anyone’s mind with this post. I am simply stating my views that are naturally tinted with my own experience (namely, that my child came out of the womb with autism), and I fully respect that other people have had different experiences that lead to them having different opinions.

(Photo credit: Steven de Polo. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.)

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Autism: A Question of Toothpaste

Any autism parent will tell you that autism can be really time-consuming. Apart from the time spent at assessments and IEP meetings, we have to devote precious minutes to stuff like clearing up autism-related messes, dealing with meltdowns, and having arguments with people who think we’re terrible mothers because we believe the vaccine-autism theory is a load of guff and choose to keep our kids’ vaccinations up to date.

One of the biggest uses of our time is that used for teaching our kids how to do stuff that comes naturally to typically developing kids. I have told the story of how I worked with George for up to an hour a day for eleven months, just to teach him how to point. Make no mistake – the day he pointed independently for the first time made all of those hours totally worthwhile and I still well up like a leaky tap just thinking about it, but there’s no getting away from the fact that it took an enormous amount of time.

At the Geneva Centre for Autism symposium that I recently attended, presenter Peter Gerhard said something that made me stop and think. We’re so focused on teaching stuff to our kids that we don’t always stop to think about whether it’s really a necessary skill. Therefore we may, in some instances, be inadvertently wasting time that could be better spent elsewhere.

Gerhard suggests that when we’re deciding on what to teach our kids, we ask ourselves the following question:

If my child does not learn this skill, will someone else have to do it for him?

For example, I am trying to teach George to brush his teeth independently, and it is proving to be extremely difficult. Where my six-year-old just runs to the bathroom and brushes his teeth when he’s told to, George still needs hand-on-hand assistance and a great deal of coaxing.

But if I don’t help George with his tooth-brushing, his teeth will just never get brushed. Anyone would agree that this is an essential skill for George to learn. If he doesn’t brush his teeth, someone else will have to do it for him.

However, there is a step within the tooth-brushing task that I am rethinking, and that is the kind of toothpaste I use. It’s a brand of kids’ toothpaste that comes in a small squeeze-bottle rather than a tube. The thing is, you have to squeeze the bottle fairly hard to get anything out of it. The toothpaste was recommended to me by an O.T. ages ago, because squeezing the bottle would help strengthen George’s hands and thus contribute to his fine motor skills.

On the face of it, that seems like a pretty sound recommendation. The only trouble is that George hates the toothpaste itself. This in itself is not a problem. In fact, George’s dislike for toothpaste is a key element that I count on, because it motivates him to spit it out at the appropriate time instead of swallowing it. George learned how to spit because of the dreaded toothpaste.

The need to spend time squeezing the bottle creates a sense of frustration and dread for George, because he has to work so hard just to get a toothbrush full of yucky goo shoved into his mouth.

That’s not the greatest motivation, is it? And it’s probably one reason that George resists tooth-brushing time every single night.

If George doesn’t learn how to squeeze toothpaste out of a ridiculously hard-to-squeeze bottle, will someone have to do it for him?

I’m thinking probably not. George can just choose from the multitude of normal toothpastes in the grocery store and get his fine motor practice elsewhere, perhaps by doing a task he actually likes.

I will always spend a lot of time working with George, because he’s my child and I want what’s best for him, and because the moments of accomplishment make it so worthwhile.

But I will also try and really evaluate whether I am working with him on the stuff that he actually needs.

(Photo credit: digicla. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.)

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New Autism Diagnosis? 5 Tips for Parents

It’s a scene that many parents are all too familiar with. You’re sitting in a doctor’s office and you’ve just received news that your child has autism. You did know, of course, that something was wrong – after all, that’s why you had your child assessed – but you’ve been in a weird twilight zone of denial, in which you have managed to convince yourself that this thing that’s wrong with your child is just temporary, that it’s nothing a bit of speech therapy or O.T. won’t cure. And now, here’s this doctor telling you that your child will be living with autism for the rest of his or her life.

You can barely listen as the doctor goes on about how your child’s trajectory through life will be atypical, delayed, and fraught with challenges. You are too stunned to pay attention to anything but the hopes and dreams you had for your family crashing all around you.

How do you cope? How do parents find out that their child has a lifelong developmental disability – one that will in all likelihood necessitate some level of permanent care – and then go on to live some kind of a normal life?

Tip #1 – Remember that the doctor does not have a crystal ball

The doctor can’t just say to you, “Your kid has autism. See ya!” He has to talk to you about therapies, strategies, next steps – and that inevitably involves talk about how he sees your child’s future. But the thing is, many doctors tend to be a bit pessimistic, and they will give you the worst case scenario.

When we were getting my own child’s diagnosis five years ago, the doctor could not have painted a bleaker picture of the future if he had tried. We heard all about the stuff my son would never achieve, experiences he would never have, things he would never be able to do, the intensive level of care he would need for the rest of his life.

The doctor was not trying to be mean. He wasn’t trying to be negative. He was just presenting what he saw to be the reality. He had no way of knowing that in the first year of IBI therapy, this kid would make 23 months worth of gains. He did not know about the mathematical aptitude or unique problem-solving skills, and he could not predict that given the right educational environment, my child would be able to soar.

Anything the doctor tells you about your child’s future is just a guess – an educated guess, but a guess nonetheless. Don’t let bleak predictions make you give up hope.  Your child needs for you to believe in his or her potential, and to be frank, if you have a bit of faith, it will do your own spirit the world of good.

Tip #2 – Watch out for information overload

Human beings are curious by nature, especially when it comes to the wellbeing of their offspring. I would venture to say that most parents, on receiving their child’s autism diagnosis, go home and make a beeline for the computer so they can Google “autism”. I know I did.

The Internet can be pure crap, though. A Google search for “autism” yields over 76 million results. If we very generously assume that 10% of the information on the Internet is completely solid and scientifically proven and not the subject of any debate or controversy, that leaves you with seven million pages of “good” information.

It is a daunting task, trying to filter out the seven million pieces of “good” information from all the junk. It can make the most hardy of souls feel like they’re drowning.

Information is all well and good, but it has to be consumed in manageable doses, especially in the beginning. The diagnosing doctor will give you fact sheets and other information. That is all you need in those initial days while you are trying to adjust to this new reality.

Tip #3 – Get your name onto waiting lists and find out about funding

Your doctor will probably give you the names and phone numbers of local services, like speech therapy, O.T. , and autism intervention services. If he doesn’t, call him back and ask. Then call and enroll for the services. Some areas will have one central place that organizes all of the services; in other places it is more fragmented. No matter which way it works, it is better to start services as early as you can, and unless you live in some kind of Utopia, the places you call are bound to have waiting lists.

At the same time, find out about funding. If you live in a country with socialized health care, as I do, then many of the services for your child could be covered by the government. You may be entitled to disability tax credits and funding for respite care or specialized equipment. Your local autism foundation should have information about the available funding, and they may even have experts who will help you fill in the forms.

Tip #4 – Don’t let autism define your child

This may seem self-evident, but in the wake of receiving the blow of an autism diagnosis, it is hard to think of anything else. Parents of newly diagnosed kids often go through a kind of grieving process as they come to terms with the loss of what they thought their “reality” was. You may find your heart breaking every time you look at your child.

But remember that the diagnosis itself has not changed anything. Your child is still the same person he or she was yesterday, or last week, or last month. Your kid may have autism, but he or she is first and foremost a little kid, with those little quirks and personality traits that guarantee uniqueness.

Autism will always be a part of who your child is, but it is far from being the full picture.

Tip #5 – Take care of yourself and your relationships

When I saw my family doctor shortly after my son’s diagnosis, he gave me a startling statistic: about 80% of couples who are parents of kids with special needs or chronic illnesses split up within two years of diagnosis. It is easy to be on the outside looking in, and say that parents should draw strength from one another, but the truth is that something like this puts a huge strain on many relationships.

The thing is, each parent is thinking about autism, and how they can help their child. This becomes the singular focus consuming both of them, so much so that neither of them has room for anything else. And so they neglect themselves, and they neglect each other. It’s not their fault – they are just putting their child’s needs ahead of their own.

Do we not deserve to be happy, though? Yes, parenting our kids is the most important job we’ll ever have, but we are also individuals in our own right, and if we neglect ourselves and the relationships with the people we care about, we will drown.

So make sure you take time to be with your partner, just because. Spend time with your other children. Nurture your friendships, and most of all, take time out for yourself.

And don’t feel guilty about taking care of yourself. You deserve it.

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

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George and the Big Wide World

Today’s prompt in the National Health Blog Post Month challenge is to write a post inspired by a picture or a video.

“Peep And The Big Wide World” by George

One of George’s favourite shows is a charming little cartoon called Peep And The Big Wide World. It’s about a chicken (Peep), a robin (Chirp) and a duck (Quack) who are best of friends and make all kinds of discoveries about the world. It is entertaining – even to an old fogie like me – but it is also educational.

In one of the episodes, Chirp and Quack find that they have been inadvertently joined together by a rope, so wherever one goes, the other has to go. This presents a conflict, because Chirp wants to sit in a tree, and Quack wants to float in his pond. They resolve the problem by taking turns to pick the activities of the day.

When George first started tying dressing gown cords around people’s ankles, I didn’t immediately make the connection. It was only when he tied one end of the cord to my ankle and the other end to his own ankle that I realized that he was role playing the scene in the show.

For a kid with autism, this is huge. I mean, HUGE. Pretend play is a fairly complex skill, and because it is socially based, it is one that autistics tend to have quite a lot of trouble with.

And so I encouraged this play and made attempts to expand on it. Before long, George was playing “turtle” by crawling around with his T-shirt pulled down over his knees, and he was being a dog, crawling around going “Arf!” It was a lot of fun witnessing this evolution in George’s play skills.

What really got me excited was the picture he drew. Up until this point, I didn’t think his fine motor skills were good enough for him to draw an actual picture. And here he was, coming up with a clear representation of the scene from Peep. This is the first real picture George drew.

This is all such a massive leap for George. It shows a new level of social awareness, it shows imagination, and it shows intent.

The best part is how proud George was of his picture. As well he should be.

(Photo of George’s artwork taken by Kirsten Doyle)

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My Life Is A Reality Show

Reality show material?

Today’s prompt in the National Health Blog Post Month invites writers to describe why their lives might resemble a reality show. To be honest, it’s not much of a stretch to imagine my life as a reality show, especially when you consider the kind of stuff they’re putting on TV these days. They have everything from teen pregnancy to Mafia ex-wives to pig hunting to people getting simple trivia questions horribly wrong as they attempt to not have their cars repossessed. Several months ago, there was a show – an entire hour-long time-slot – devoted to a discussion about cricket poo.

I’m not even kidding.

Something tells me that a show about my life would be infinitely more entertaining than a show about cricket poo, and if people were watching that, then my show would be an absolute hit.

Let’s take a look at the cast of characters:

The Autie

Like many kids with autism, George is a complex little fella, seemingly full of contradictions. At nine, he still needs hand-on-hand assistance to brush his teeth, and yet he would probably be able to assemble a computer in three seconds flat, reminiscent of that scene in Forrest Gump where Forrest put a rifle together in record time. George has meltdowns when you least expect it, and at times when you just know there’s going to trouble, he is the picture of serenity. Every good show needs a dose of intrigue, and with George there is plenty of that.

There is also a feel-good element in watching George. Every day the kid comes out with some action or some little phrase that demonstrates the trajectory of his learning. Anyone watching would surely celebrate every little accomplishment.

The Hyperactive Neurotypical Kid

What would a reality show be without a hefty dose of drama? With James, there is plenty of that. So much that we have to be on guard against Shakespearean troupes taking him away to be in theatrical productions. He has strong opinions, and a strong sense of what he perceives to be justice, and he’s not afraid to express that.  When I tell him to put on his pyjamas, he cries bitterly and says I’m ruining his life. He threatens to run away and says he’ll never hug me again.

Five minutes later he always hugs me. Because as much as he is a drama queen, James has a big heart and a generous spirit. Only the most hard-hearted soul would not feel utterly moved at the sight of James comforting his brother.

Besides, the kid has an imagination second to none. His mind takes him to all kinds of places, and sometimes, when he feels like telling a story, he takes the rest of us right along with him.

The Dad

My husband is so weird, he could have a reality TV show all to himself. I mean, he once deliberately got into the shower with all his clothes on. He says things that sound offensive but are actually hilarious. Like the time he said my hair makes me look like Gene Simmons, or the time he said the lunch I had made him looked like gorilla puke. He has a whacky sense of humour that would have the viewers rolling on the floor with laughter.

He would also have the female viewers swooning with his sense of romance. This is a man who approached a complete stranger in a park and told her she had beautiful eyes, who many years later proposed to that same woman in a grand gesture at her citizenship ceremony. When I was in Winnipeg on business years ago, he sent me a singer. A guy with a guitar showed up at my hotel room, and sang me a song while my husband was on the other end of the phone line.

The Mom

If it’s suspense you want, I’m your girl. I’m the one who’s always rushing around in a tearing hurry, trying to complete about 37 tasks all at the same time. I juggle so much at any given time that it’s anyone guess which one I’ll drop and what the consequences will be. Viewers will watch in slight bafflement as I take multitasking to a whole new level, and they will not be able to help sniggering as my exhaustion makes me do stupid things, like put lipstick on my lashes and mascara on my lips.

Here’s the thing, though: I may have a  lot on my plate, like special needs parenting, distance running, a full-time job, commuting, the husband’s business – but I’m happy. Yes, I have my issues with depression and anxiety (which could also have a show all of their own), but I have this weird and wonderful family to keep me going.

The Set

The reality show would be filmed in my own home, and I wouldn’t be obsessively cleaning up and putting things away before the camera crew came. This is supposed to be reality, so it would have to include the ever-growing piles of paper on my desk, and the Lego all over the floor, and the discarded clothes lying around, that I swear reproduce when I’m not looking. Viewers would get a glimpse of my kitchen sink that’s always full of dishes no matter how much cleaning up I do, the holes in the drywall from where George has banged his head during meltdowns, and the unruly pile of shoes and coats by the front door.

So I have a cast and a set, and the plot is built-in to the fabric of our daily lives.

All that’s missing is a title.

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Autism and Oddities

We are a third of the way into the National Health Blog Post Month Challenge, and I have actually managed to post every day! Today’s prompt: LOL post – write about something funny.

Me and George

My son George – the one with autism – has a thing about my hair. He buries his nose deep into my hair and then gives an almighty sniff. His enjoyment of this activity is directly proportional to my absolute dislike for being on the receiving end. I can just about tolerate one or two sniffs, but when it happens on and on ad nauseum, I end up feeling so agitated that I want to rip my scalp off my head.

This morning it went on from 3:30 until 5:30. And even then it didn’t stop – indeed, the hair-sniffing was accompanied by both boys and my husband bouncing off the ceiling, telling jokes, wrestling with each other and singing funny little songs, all while I was trying to sleep. At about 7:00 I reached the point of being too wound up to sleep in spite of being utterly exhausted. I had to deposit a cheque, so I got dressed and left. I was so tired that I drove to the wrong bank’s ATM. Not only that – I actually inserted my card into the machine, and it only when I was presented with an unfamiliar-looking PIN entry screen that I realized something was not quite right.

Kids with autism are known for having quirky little habits, like George’s hair-sniffing thing. While the hair-sniffing has been going on for some time, it has recently been paired with him blowing in my face. Sniff-blow. Sniff-blow. Sniff-sniff-blow.

Dear Lord, give me strength.

My friend Lesa’s son is another kid who has both autism and a strange habit. He is into elbows. He will grab the skin of someone’s elbow and twist it, and if the recipient is clued-in enough to stop him on time, he satisfies himself with a “drive-by lick”. It drives his parents crazy but at the same time makes them chuckle, just as George’s hair-sniffing thing tickles me just a tiny bit. Because as annoying as these habits may be, they are kind of funny.

Amy, another fellow autism mom, describes how her son watches movies. Instead of watching a DVD from beginning to end like most of us, he gets stuck on specific scenes, like a cat falling out of a tree, and replays them over and over. His family goes up the wall, thinking, “Just play the damn movie, already!” but the sound of his laughter makes them incredibly happy.

I can identify with that. George has a habit of repeatedly saying, “Daddy loves Albert!”, and sometimes it gets a bit much, but it is such a small price to pay for the laughter that follows. Just for the record, I have no idea who Albert is.

It is easy to believe that these little quirks are a result of autism, but is that really the case? Or do we all have our odd mannerisms? Granted, most people don’t go around sniffing hair or licking elbows, but perhaps we all have our “thing”. I mean, whenever I walk anywhere, the number of steps I take has to be a multiple of four. Whether I’m walking to the bathroom, down the street or around the block, I mentally count off my steps in fours. I have mastered the art of doing this while having a conversation. When I get to my destination, I will take one, two or three steps in place if necessary, just to get to my multiple of four.

Do you explain away your child’s odd habits with autism or some other condition? What quirks do you and members of your family have?

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

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Five Early Signs of Autism: My Family’s Experience

My boy at the Autism Centre family day

When I tell people that my son has autism, the first question many of them ask is, “How did you know there was something wrong? What made you get him assessed?” Many people asking this question are having concerns about their own children, weighing up the idea of taking them to a pediatrician.

It would be so easy to point worried parents to websites listing early childhood development checklists and signs of autism, but that would only help a small number of people. The trouble with autism is that it is so individualised. It manifests in so many different ways. You get the kids who can’t string two words together but can rebuild a computer in two minutes flat. And you get the kids who are fully verbal but never learn to look both ways before crossing the street.

Here, I share my experiences with my son. Some parents will read these and nod along knowingly, identifying with every point. Others will wear a perplexed expression and say, “My child doesn’t do that.”

So, how did I know something was wrong?

1. Lack of speech or any other meaningful communication. By the time he was two, George was not talking. He had about thirty words in his vocabulary, but he was using fewer than ten of them in the right context. They were used as single words only, always for the purposes of requesting. Juice. Milk. Chee’s (Cheerios). He also did not have any kind of repertoire of meaningful gestures. He couldn’t point, and if he wanted something he did not know the word for, he would take my hand and move it in direction of the object he wanted.

2. No desire to play with other kids. When other kids his age were starting to play collaboratively with each other, George was still in parallel play mode. He did not object to the presence of other kids as long as he had the space to sit on his own and do his own thing. He did not see other people as potential playmates, but as functional beings: if he needed help to manipulate an object or separate stubborn Lego blocks, he would seek out an adult and shove the object into their hands. That was the extent of his interaction.

3. Not using toys for their intended purpose. Unlike some parents who say that their kids “became” autistic at a certain age, or after a certain event, I had a feeling fairly early on that there was something not quite right with George. One day, when he was at the age when babies are just learning to sit unsupported, I put him in the middle of the floor and propped him up with a nursing pillow. I surrounded him with all kinds of toys, just to see if he would respond to anything. There were stuffed animals, Lego’s of various sizes, fabric books, and a variety of planes, trains and automobiles. There was all kinds of stuff. He didn’t care for any of it. His attention wasn’t caught by the brightly coloured balls, and he didn’t make any attempt to grab at or swat any of the dangly things I tried to entice him with. He pushed a big red button on a train, and then grabbed a piece of string that was caught on my shirt and spent the next half-hour staring at it from different angles.

4. Prone to sensory overload. As a toddler, George hated going to the store. He would tolerate the grocery store for short amounts of time, but by the time I was at the checkout, he was usually having a meltdown of epic proportions. In those days before the autism diagnosis entered my orbit, I couldn’t understand what he was making such a fuss about. The only way for me to stop those meltdowns was by taking him out of the store. Looking back, I now realize that he was simply overwhelmed by everything that goes on in a store: fluorescent lights, lots of people, lots of displays, lots of sounds. Wal-Mart in particular set him off. Something about the checkout area sent him into a state of absolute panic.

5. Instinct. Ahhhh, there’s nothing quite like a mother’s gut feel. I have no idea if there is any science behind it, but mothers have this uncanny ability to just know there is something wrong with their child even though all looks fine and dandy to the outside world. This is why I always tell mothers that if they have a feeling something might be amiss with their child’s developmental progress, they should park themselves in their doctor’s office and insist on a referral for an assessment. There are doctors who will tell you to wait, that the range of development is broad, that boys reach milestones later than girls. Don’t listen to that guff. Don’t take no for answer. If you have to tell your doctor that you will sit in his office gathering dust until he gives you a referral, so be it. Listen to your instinct and don’t let anyone talk you into acting against it. I made that mistake and to this day, I bitterly regret the year of early intervention that my son missed as a result.

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)