Showing posts with label autistics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label autistics. Show all posts

01 November, 2012

Autistics Speaking Day

For the most part, most people, would say that my son is non-verbal. That is a clinical diagnosis. I use the term when I am explaining his needs to a caretaker or an education professional. I hate saying it though, not in the "we should use the term pre-verbal instead of non-verbal," but more in the way of, "I can't believe that people don't actively recognize that there are many, many ways to communicate."

Jake has a lot to 'say.' He has opinions, and finds things funny. He has preferences. He shows varying amounts of affection depending on who you are. He wants to go some places and not others, and can tell by where we are driving if we are getting close to camp, or home, or the Lake House, or Tahoe. He is clear about when he is done with a situation. And he has all of this without being "verbal."

The more we interact with Jake as if he does have something to say, to no one's surprise, he does have something to say! Treating him with that respect, is uncomfortable for some people. Without the feedback that he has heard you and with no verbal response to gauge when they should begin the next bit of story or query,  even well-intentioned people can feel like they are dangling there, unsure of how to move the conversation. Those people who do address him directly in conversation, however rare that is, even those conscientious people wait for an answer from him. They, we, the world, talks at him. And then they talk to me about him, in front of him.

Some of it is just going to happen because of logistics, or pressing need, or the fact that he is still a young boy. Some of it happens in the exact same way with my daughter who is filled with words that spill comfortably out of her mouth. Talking about your children in front of them happens, and giving an answer for your kid probably happens more than it should. Truly we are just an impatient society, always ready to jump to the next thing; get the answer, move on.

But we can "listen" for Jake's responses if we pay attention, and I should do a better job of explaining some of the ways he communicates, at the very least, so others can benefit from his humor.

We've never done this before, so I am still learning. Certainly my feelings have changed over the years from just wanting my son to talk, and thinking that saying words aloud was the end game.  Now I understand that the really important thing is that Jake be able to communicate his needs. It doesn't matter how he does it. Maybe there will be a device, like an iPad, that helps him string words together so we can easily read them. Maybe he will use more gestures. Regardless, I no longer think that there is only one way to "talk" and I realize that really listening requires a more open mind.

***

Last night was Halloween, and we had planned to trick-or-treat through the neighborhood with a group of friends with Jake walking a little, then using his wheelchair. We would be accompanied by his aide. Knowing that he gets tired earlier than a lot of kids, we already had a built-in escape plan for Jake, with an early departure via car should he want to go home with his aide.

We got the kids ready in their costumes, and as I was gathering the rest of the items we would need, flashlights, bottles of water, extra bag, lightweight jackets, Jake whooped once then ran down the stairs, in full costume, and got into his bed.

Face down in the pillows I went to talk to him. I explained that he would not be in trouble, and no one would be mad if he decided not to go out house to house. I waited, sitting there, then offered that if he did want to go, he needed to get up with me now because we had to meet people, and that the decision was his. Perched on the edge of his bed, I waited, watching his back rise and fall calmly as he breathed.

All at once he sat up in bed, so precious in his Star Wars get-up, and looked at my face for a moment. Then he flopped back down on the bed and buried his head under the pillow.

Okay. Got it. No trick-or-treating.

As his sister and I left the house his aide was helping him into more comfortable sleeping attire, and I heard a familiar, happy squeee and the sound of the headboard hitting the wall as his almost teenager body slammed back onto the mattress. Reports are that he was sound asleep within ten minutes.

In the past I would have a) gotten him out of bed and walked him to the car, 'encouraging' him to participate in this annual ritual that American children cherish, or b) allowed him to stay at home, but walked away feeling like I was somehow cheating him by not including him in the outing, and no matter what I would have c) felt guilty that I was forcing him to do something, or felt guilty for abandoning him (and ultimately making my night easier, because most of the world is really not ADA accessible, so wheelchairs and Halloween do not go together very well.) In the past, I would have decided what Jake would be doing based on what I felt was the best decision, calculating everything from my point of view.

Instead, I left the house confident that he made the decision. I asked him, I double checked, I waited for an answer. He told me clearly what he wanted to do...and then I honored his wishes without attaching any frustration, or blame, or guilt, or sadness.

His communication was very clear. He didn't need to spew a soliloquy for me to hear him, I just had to know that he had something to say.

19 April, 2012

Autism Acceptance: Growing Up

I heard a crunchy sound from a mouth that should have been empty. It is a horrible feeling when I think one of my children has eaten something dangerous. We've been pretty lucky around here, the most inedible items actually swallowed aren't really inedible, the cut-off tops to strawberries, nibbles of wine corks, a little raw onion, a small piece of crayon; nothing really harmful at all.

So when I heard the crunchy, chomping-on-china-plates sound, I begged Jack to spit out what was in his mouth. He laughed as I followed him around the kitchen, and tried desperately to put my finger in the side of his mouth. Just as I was wondering how much worse it was going to be when he bit off and swallowed my finger along with the glassy sounding bit, he pushed a small white object out between his lips at me, and it bounced between my fingers and clinked like porcelain onto the floor. He smiled and ran across to the living room.

It was a tooth. His tooth, of course. He's still a kid who is going to lose teeth. All at once he is both too young and too old for that, but he's 11 1/2, so he is actually right on time to lose those molars. And whether I am ready or not, many milestones occur without regard for ability or disability. He grows physically, and changes mentally by the minute these days.

He's just at that point between being a little boy and a young man. In some ways, he'll always be my baby, just like I am my Daddy's "Jennyalice, " and Momma's "BabyGirl," but I need to remember that he is growing up. It's challenging sometimes to gauge things because his known abilities are so uneven and his expressive communication requires a patience on my part that I strive for rather than come by naturally. But even if Jack is not at grade level in math, it doesn't mean that he might not have crushes on girls, or start to have other new interests. We've already recognized that he is attentive to Myth Busters, and done with Dora.

I'm trying to stop using the word "potty," and use instead, "bathroom" or "toilet." I hold myself back a little bit when he is in front of his classmates before I smother him with kisses. When the topic of moving from one classroom setting to another came up at his school, I asked him what he thought, and what classroom he thought he should be in.

As a society we often infantalize people with disabilities, especially those people who do not speak typically. People who use AAC devices aren't always given credit for all of the nuance of thinking they may have because their device 'speaks' in straightforward, quipped language. And those who do not use devices at all are often thought to have no thought at all. In the absence of a clear, articulated sentence, it is still important, or rather, imperative,  to consider Jack's opinion first in any situation that involves him, and to be respectful to ensure that, as much as possible, barring safety concerns, Jack be in charge of his body and his actions.

It would be easier to push and pull him where I want, maybe. It would be faster if I made the choices: vanilla or chocolate, green or red, apple or pear. It would be convenient to use only my desires to dictate where we go and what we do next. I'm guessing this is just part of the parenting process in some ways, when our children are young we control most of their environment, and some of that control naturally falls away with a typical child who asserts themselves with voice or physical action. With a kid like mine sometimes you have to look carefully for the cues that tell you to step aside. The longer I have this job, the more I realize that it is my goal as a parent to teach my children to make good choices on their own, and to support them so they are confident in the decisions they have made.

And as they grow older, I will encourage both of my children to give thought to what they want out of this life.  As individuals they need to consider what is the best thing for themselves, for their family, and for their community with any choice they make. It may always be harder for me to tease out what Jack thinks is important, and to discover his desires, and I recognize that he may need help executing many of his choices.. but he deserves to be heard.

When all of those little baby teeth are gone there will be a precious, possibly-pimply, fuzzy, young man standing in my kitchen, and we should all want to know what he thinks.


a version of this post was the editor's pick at OpenSalon


12 March, 2012

Tragedy, Sympathy and Empathy


My heart is racing, and it makes me unable to breathe. Tears swell up when I try to talk about it. It is a tragic story that has our entire community reeling.

A student from my son's school was killed by his mother. Then she took her own life.

The articles keep indicating that she was overtired, had too much responsibility, and a lack of services keeps coming up. As one writer put it, she was "her child's nurse, his advocate, his playmate, his cook, his personal hygiene assistant, and his communicator. [She] was the mother of an autistic adult child. And she was her son's entire world, meeting his every need from the moment he was born. And she was desperately fearful for his future and exhausted beyond belief."

but she murdered her child, and that's the story. 

If we let this story focus on the hardships of this woman, we are lost. The young man was killed, and it undermines that significance when we read in another article that one could understand what "would drive a parent of an autistic child to commit such a senseless act." Anyone who says they "understand" is reinforcing the idea that my son, and other people like him, are less valuable. It may be unintentional, but that sympathy starts to sound a lot like taking his life is somehow "understandable," because things were hard and the young man required a lot of help. It reduces a person into a list of burdens.

Yes, we need better services, but we have always needed better services. Yes, we need support for parents who are life-long caretakers, and better adult programs for that magic age when children become adults overnight. We need infrastructure and life-skills support for adults with autism. There was a program available for this family, but there really are not a lot of options when kids "age-out" of the education system. But these are all separate issues. These are the things we are working for. That's what we advocate for. And as for worry, there is not a single parent I know in this community that is not concerned about their child's future. Exhaustion, frustration, fear...

It is not a list of reasons why taking your child's life is justified.

A pile of pity on this mother is not going to bring about more services. Are you outraged? Then vote people into office that believe the special needs community has a fundamental right to supports. That might get more services. Talk to your neighbors about shared responsibility and humanity and dispel the myth that we are leeches trying to live off the system. Those things might help get services for people like my son and the young man who was killed.

And I do not believe absolution will encourage people to support me, or my son, or adults with autism. In fact it further ostracizes us; it makes us "other." As a mother of a child with autism I walk under a cloud of suspicion now. Will I snap?  I'll have more people looking and feeling sorry for me as if I have an anchor around my neck--and how will that make my son feel? Most people would never stop to think that showing so much sympathy, not for the victim, but for the person who killed him, might make adults with autism, who may rely on a network of caregivers, feel threatened, and more vulnerable, like there is no one they can trust.

When it is even intimated that this killing was done out of mercy, it changes the value of my son's life. It says that his life is less worth living, but let me be clear there is no sliding scale on my son.

Maybe it's empathy that's needed. Empathy takes more time than sympathy, but if you are able to imagine life as my son then it would be impossible to disregard him. Looking at life through his eyes would give you a sense of what his needs are, and of course what services must be provided, but more importantly you would be able to see the relationships he has. You would see the snarky jokes he's in on and how much he loves his family. You would see that he has intent and tries constantly to communicate what he is thinking. You would see him as a person, instead of "person who needs to be taken care of." Maybe it would change things, but most of the time people just use the narrow scope of their own expectations and desires to determine the value of someone elses's life; most people are unable to separate their opinion from the other person's reality.

And yes, Jack's life is challenging a lot of the time. But no one gets to say that he is less valuable because his life is hard, or because his life is not what someone else expected. He needs help with almost every aspect of his life, and will continue to need a lot of help, but he doesn't need pity, or mercy and if you think he does, why don't you ask him? I'm sure he'd rather have you talk with him than about him.

There are no excuses.

and we have so much more work to do.

for more perspectives, please see these posts:
a version of this post was the editor's pick today at OpenSalon.com

The opinions on this blog are my own, and in no way represent the many groups, foundations and communities with whom my name may be associated. 

This may be reposted with proper attribution and links back to this original post. I reserve the right to rescind the reposting of my material. 
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The opinions on this blog are my own, and in no way represent the many groups, foundations and communities with whom my name may be associated.