It'll Get Easier?

When the boys were first diagnosed, people kept telling me, “It'll get easier as they get older.” Obviously, those people had never raised autistic boys.

I am a single parent. I have twins, one high functioning and one low functioning. My low functioning son has run me through the gamit – last year we discovered he is an eloper, after jumping the fence and being found on the 91 freeway. He also jumped his grandparent's fence and was found on the Los Alamitos Army reserve Base. Now 13, he is in the middle of adolescence and has discovered masturbation. Yes, this is one topic where there is no help out there, on the internet or from doctors. People don't want to talk about it, but if you have a low functioning child who is not developed enough to ejaculate, he will pee, and pee everywhere. Behavioral therapists tell us to do social stories, which he memorizes but doesn't generalize. You can't take his reinforcer away – it's built in. We try to tell him that shower time is the time he can do that – the kid takes 20 – 30 minute showers now. Lucky kid - I'm lucky if I get 5 minutes. In fact, this morning, while I was taking that 5 minute shower, he did it again and peed all over the floor. The doctor is raising his prozac dosage, but doesn't have hopes that it will calm his behavior – it might make a 50 year old man less interested, but it's doubtful it will have that effect on a 13 year old boy. But we will try, because at this point, we will try anything. He mainly does this at night, when everyone is asleep, so there's no chance at redirecting his behavior. He will play with himself, then pee over the side of the bed, down the wall, and onto the floor. I discovered this when his room began to smell, but I couldn't find anything obvious – his bed is a loft bed against the wall, and there are baskets of toys and things under it. Only when I got down on the floor did I discover that there was a veritable flood of pee, the carpet was soaked beyond ruin, and the hardwood floors underneath were beginning to get moldy.

As they boys get older, I find myself wishing that just for a day, I had typical kids, and if that wasn't possible, wishing that everyone else had low functioning autistic kids, just so they'd really know what I go through.

written by a mom who wishes to remain anonymous, based on subject matter

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The Road Less Travelled 1 - The Tale of a Boy & his Journey into Autismness

Part 1:

When our first child was born, we were the same as most new parents: filled with love, hope, joy and dreams for our son. Little did we know that God had planned a very different journey for us. Far from the smooth highway we veered onto the rugged back roads and broken dusty trails. The first of the section is fact. The second part, in blue italics, contains the less rational emotional journey.

The Early Years Birth to Three Years of Age:

• High Blood Pressure last trimester - medically controlled by Labetalol. My mother-in-law suffers a cerebral haemorrhage when I am thirty weeks pregnant. We travel interstate to see her and land smack bang into family politics, making life nasty and hellish. On our return, my previously perfect blood pressure has skyrocketed through the roof. Rushed off to BP specialist and medicated. Weekly visits. Informed it is MY BP, not pre-eclampsia.
• Admitted seven days overdue, blood pressure dangerously high again. Controlled, induced ten days over. Twenty-four hour labour, attempted forceps, foetal distress, meconium passed not inhaled, emergency caesarean section. Blue baby. Apgar four at birth, nine at five minutes. I cope, after all that is what women do. I have run the gauntlet and survived, and so I cope. And thank God for a brilliant obstetrician without whom we both would not have survived.
• Slightly jaundiced baby. All well within 24 hours. He is cute, but I am waiting for this overwhelming rush of maternal love. It finally kicks in around Day 3, about the same time as my milk. And the tears. Then I get mastitis. Twice. Gotta love this gig.
• Early childhood nurse picks up torticollus and craniosynostosis (or cranial stenosis as it was back then). Turns out he was wedged like a cork in my pelvis the last trimester which resulted in weakened muscles on one side of his neck, tightened on the other. Craniosynostosis/Craniostenosis is when premature synostosis of cranial bone sutures occurs, normal head growth is inhibited. Various characteristic anomalies of the head develop as a result, and in extreme cases, the development of the brain and sensory organs is hindered. Google is not my friend. My baby may have to have the sutures in his skull cut open. His forehead is pushed forward on the left and his skull is flattened at the rear. His brain is being crowded. He screams in terror when they lock his head into position to take an x-ray. I cry.
• By twelve months old, (when I am two months pregnant) we are given the all clear. Physiotherapy, posturing, tummy time and sleeping position regulating has strengthened his neck muscles, allowed the pressure to be relieved on the flattened plate of his skull, and the bones to realign. It is pure luck that the plates have not fused. We rejoice that our gorgeous boy does not need surgery on his delicate skull. I did not know how I was going to handle it if they had said "surgery". All the tears when we made him lie on the side he was not comfortable in, all the battles when he tried to roll to the other flat side were worth it. He is going to be okay.
• He starts saying words quite young. The ECN does not believe he is saying "Mama" at four months, she says he is babbling "Mumumumumumu". Until he does it in front of her. Until he deliberately and clearly calls Mama when I leave the room. Looks for me. Waits. Then yells quite annoyed: "MAMA!" She also denies the night terrors in a child under 12 months old. So we video them. Again she admits her mistake. By twelve months, he has over thirteen words including a favourite: cheesestick. Sentences are being formed. He is a joy, and apparently quite forward in his speech according to the ECN. But he is lagging in the physical development side, but we are told not to worry.We can only stop the terrors by latching him onto the breast. I feed to thirteen months when I am nearly through my first trimester and sick as a dog.
• He is a very Mum focused child. Clingy, but a happy, laughing boy with it. Sleeps through except for night terrors sometimes. Captivates many with his engaging smile. Loves blowing raspberries to strange women over Dad's shoulder. He has the best laugh and an infectious giggle. Hubbie could have had lots of phone numbers with this one as his wingman. So engaging, he loves people. Had the whole plane playing peek-a -boo on one of our flights north. I think he is used to being with me, which is why he cries on the rare times he is not.
• Commando crawls from 5 months, crawls on knees 11 months, finally walks 17 months. Finally! Thought I would be carrying two babies around. ECN says the lateness is nothing to worry about.
• Loves being a big brother. Constantly monitoring adventurous Boy 2. He loves his baby. Sits and chats whilst I feed Boy 2. Never a hint of jealousy, none of the anger or tantrums we were told to expect. Is very protective of his little brother.
• Sensitive little man, is upset if people yell or argue. Does not like loud noises but is not exposed to them often.
• At almost three he begins to change. Coincidentally it occurs with his MMR injection. He becomes extremely attached to me screaming whilst I shower. His speech changes to an  indistinct, slurred, monotone. Obsessions come out and eye contact is avoided. Meltdowns run for up to two hours. My child vanishes and a new one is revealed. The doctor later says it is at this age that these signs emerge. I am lost in a fog of grief. After a long battle my Dad has lost his fight with cancer. I am not mothering my children, I am merely managing. The baby sitter mentions autism. I tell her to mind her own business, silly little know it all. My son is nothing like Rainman.  

This is the beginning of our journey, in my heart I knew something was wrong but could not face it. As my grief grew more manageable, I started look at the issues. My first concern was his speech problems, and the unexplained changes. It was to be my starting point.



  also blogs at Meaninless Meandering From a Madmother. This entry is the first in a series telling of our journey.