The Scariest Hour

 Well, once again, it's been a while!  I think often about writing a post here, but it seems often thinking is as far as it gets.  But an experience a few months ago has been on my mind constantly, and I guess I'm ready to write about it.

In early October, COVID finally hit our family.  I was starting to wonder if we were one of the rare families with some kind of immunity, as Janey had been going to school unmasked and Freddy to work unmasked for a long time at that point, and both of them had been exposed without getting it several times.  But, it turns out, we aren't immune!  I'll say in advance we were lucky---aside from what I'm going to write about, we got off a lot easier than a lot of people, and we know how fortunate that is.  

Freddy, the younger of Janey's two older brothers, came home from work on a Friday very sick and finally we saw the two lines of a positive test.  Tony felt sick on Sunday, and again, two lines.  I woke up Monday morning with quite a sore throat and got my own positive result.

As Monday wore on (Columbus Day Monday, so Janey was home), I felt sicker and sicker and sicker.  My fever went up to over 103 and wouldn't come down, and I was shaking.  My oxygen started dipping.  I have several fairly serious pre-existing conditions, so I knew my risk level was high.  Around 3 in the afternoon, I decided I better call my doctor's office, and they told me I should go to the ER.  As I processed that, trying although my thinking was foggy to decide whether to call an ambulance or have Tony drive me, Tony started suddenly getting worse.  His fever spiked, he started to shake and the oxygen monitor was showing some truly alarming numbers.  He's an insulin dependent diabetic, so again, high risk.  

And there we were, at the moment we've always known could arrive.  Both of us were potentially very dangerously sick.  But there was Janey.  We could not, simply could not, both go to the ER.  If one of us went, how could the other, just as sick, take care of Janey?  Freddy was too sick to help, and William wasn't home.  Although I am blessed with wonderful friends, they are not able to care for someone with Janey's level of needs, and even if they could, the local friends who I can count on for almost everything else are all over 60,not in need of being exposed to COVID.  

We sat there, or lay down there, shaking and fearful.  We tried to discuss options, with minds that were not at their best.  We had no idea what to do.

Freddy had gotten some Tylenol earlier in the day for himself.  I don't like to take Tylenol at all due to my liver problems, but in my feverish state, knowing Motrin hadn't lowered my fever at all, I decided to take a dose.  Then we just waited.  Tony's oxygen slowly came back to less scary numbers.  I slowly started to feel less like I was going to die that moment.  My fever went down to 102.  We both stopped shaking.  And, without really consciously making a decision, we both decided to stay home, to risk waiting it out.

It worked out.  We had a rough night, but Tuesday was better.  We were both still weak, had sore throats, were coughing that COVID signature dry cough, but we were okay.  We tested Janey, who tested positive also (with a very faint second line) and we of course kept her home that week.  She never really got more than mild cold symptoms, and Freddy also got better quickly.  William never got sick (he's better than any of us with masking)  Now it's mostly just a scary memory.  I am still having a lot of tiredness and some brain fog, but I know we got very lucky.

But that hour...wow.  It's what it all comes down to, isn't it?  It's what all of us with children like Janey fear---that there will come a day we can't care for her.  Mostly when I think of that time, I assume it will be when we are old (hopefully) and we die.  But the horrible hour that Monday made me see that it could be before then.  

I don't know what the solution is here.  Even if we did have respite care, this wasn't something we could have planned ahead for.  We have two adult sons in our house---but in this particular case, they couldn't help.  I honestly, truly don't know what we would have done if we both got worse.  All I can really picture is taking Janey in the ambulance with us.  We would have figured out something---that's what we as parents do.  But it's where this particular parenting life is so scary.  There are so few people that are able physically and mentally to care for an adult with a toddler's level of function, and so few people that we as wary parents of a very vulnerable person can trust with our beloved child.  I know you fellow travelers on this path get that.  I guess we all have to just hope for health and long life, and try to push down the fears that have been keeping me up nights lately.

Impossible things happen every day

 As I write this, it's nearly 11 pm, and Janey is wide awake.  Not an uncommon thing, to be sure, and I'm pretty sure she's not going to sleep at all tonight.  We've learned to tell, over the years, if it's going to be a sleeping night or not.  

What I've been thinking about a lot over this past month is how Janey's kind of sleep issues just are not much addressed in any kind of sleep advice I've ever read.  And I think that's because sleep experts, or parenting experts, or autism experts, unless they have a child themselves with Janey's kind of sleep problems, just don't believe us as parents.  

And it's not just sleep, I've realized over the years.  I don't think the experts believe how much the wrong food can affect Janey.  I don't think they believe that she can know so many words but be able to express herself verbally in such a limited way.  I don't think they believe that it is impossible to fully toilet train her.  I don't think they believe she can show physical illness in the ways she can.  I don't think they believe the extremes.  

Or if they do, they don't know what to do with the kind of extremes we as parents deal with.  It's easier to just discount what we are telling them and dealing with than to accept there might be areas they aren't up to helping with.

With the sleep---Janey can and has literally gone 3 nights with a total of 4 hours of sleep.  Not per night---TOTAL over the three days and three nights.  And she can still function---in fact, can still be jumping up and down and giddy on day three.  This happened over Christmas break, and it's happened before.  Before the break, we saw the other extreme---a two week period where Janey slept pretty much all day and night.  She came home from school and went to sleep, she woke up enough to sleepily go to school, she slept off and on there, she came home from school, ate a lot, and went to sleep again.  We tried near the end of these 2 weeks to talk to her pediatrician, to see her, but before that was possible (with the COVID surge, sleep issues are a low priority), the spell was over.  It was like she decided to catch up on all the lost sleep of many months, and once she did, she went back to little sleep.

With words and speech---I don't think any speech expert has ever really gotten what I've tried to explain about Janey.  She has the words, in her head.  But she can't access them easily.  One of the only ways I know she DOES have the words is the rare time I've caught her in exactly the right mood to do flash cards.  I ask her if she wants to, and if she does, she will name things that amaze me.  Recently, she identified a swan, broccoli, a lime, a skyscraper, a slug, a person crocheting---all within about a minute, all words I've never once heard her say before.  But the advice I've gotten or read to encourage speech never addresses how to help her retrieve the words she knows.

And toilet training---that's enough to set me off on a rant.  How is it that Janey has at several points been fully trained, only to lose the skill?  How is it that most of the time, she is trained at school but not at home?  Why does she often need what I'll call a severe change in the night, when she's been asleep?  You can write a hundred expert books of advice about motivation, about routine---those aren't the issues here.  Believe me, if expert advice worked for Janey in that area, we'd have been done with this particular problem many years ago.

The example of Janey not lining up with what is said to be possible that most haunts me---Janey motionless in bed in the hospital.  A doctor shaking the bed.  Janey doesn't move or make a sound, and the doctor says, almost with a chuckle, "well, she certainly doesn't have peritonitis!"  But she did, as a result of an appendix that at that point had been ruptured for two days, and would be ruptured another day before finally, she had life saving emergency surgery.  But someone with peritonitis CAN'T keep from screaming and moving when their bed is shaken.  They just CAN'T---unless they do, as Janey did.

My fellow autism parents are reading this with their own lists in mind of the "impossible" things their beloved kids do or don't do, I'm sure.  I'm preaching to the choir.  But why is it so very hard to get believed?  Is it because it's easier to give advice based on what you think is true, not what some crazed parents is telling you is true?

This is why I try very hard to not discount what others might think, in all areas of life, to be impossible, insane, foolish.  I know what it's like to be awake night after night caring for a child that can't possibly not be sleeping, to be astonished by the words my minimally verbal child is saying with ease, to have a critically ill child not being treated promptly because she is reacting in an impossible way.  Listen to parents, especially when they are speaking for children that are impossibly complex.  I love you, my incredible Janey.

Cabin fever for a year

 I woke up this morning and thought "Great---another day".  That's not a positive thought, and of course right away I told myself that I shouldn't feel that way, that just being alive and in a warm house and with food and health care and a family around me should be enough.  And it should, and I know that, but boy, is this endless pandemic making life with a teenager with autism tough.

Janey hasn't been happy.  School is complicated and off and on, but hopefully she'll be going more regularly soon.  However, this past week was vacation week.  Which did make us all laugh a bit, and brought up the inevitable line "vacation from what?"  In addition, it snowed off and on for days, never a blockbuster storm but enough so that to get out of the house required shoveling, and that any outdoor activities were not really possible.  Janey is bored.  She has had a life that's been incredibly limited for the past year.  We all have, but she has far less resources to keep herself happy and entertained.  She has no interest in toys, no hobbies, no ability to text friends or video chat or do crafts or cook or do just about anything that could keep a teenager happy when stuck inside the house for a year in a row.  We try, of course.  But even trying something as small as getting her to watch a different movie or TV show results in screaming, in arm biting, in anger. 

The list of what Janey likes to do at home is very, very limited.  She likes to eat, to watch a very small list of shows and movies on her iPad or on TV, she likes to have Tony take her for a car ride and she likes to snuggle on her bed.  Except for the endlessly repeated viewings of Toy Story 2 and 4, the activities require our help. 

Snuggling is a ritual---we have to stop whatever we are doing, go to her bed with her, watch as she puts a blanket over herself (getting her to do that on her own took months of work) and then lie down next to her.  We are supposed to stay there for about 30 seconds, then she has us get up.  About 5 minutes later, she gets up herself and it all gets repeated.  If we refuse to snuggle, she gets hysterical, screams, bites her arm, pulls our arms, cries...and it lasts however long we refuse.  If we refuse all day, it lasts all day.  Needless to say, we give in after a while.  It seems like a small thing, but it makes it impossible to do anything without constantly getting up and completing her ritual.  

Car rides---her favorite thing on earth.  Every morning, from the second she wakes up, she asks for a car ride.  She mixes thing up a little by asking sometimes for "clothes on" (whether her clothes are on or not) or "shoes on" or "jacket on".  We explain, as patiently as possible, why a car ride can't happen that very second.  Perhaps it's because it's 2 in the morning, or because the car is covered with a foot of snow, or because we just got back from a two hour car rides and we are exhausted.  No reason works, of course.  If she wants a car ride, she wants a car ride.  The car rides are rides to nowhere, rides around routes Tony has figured out over the years.  They listen to music, which depending on Janey's mood has to either be the same songs over and over or each song quickly advanced to the next song when she says "Music, please!"  In a pattern that you might notice, if we refuse, there is screaming, arm biting, hysteria---not always safe in the car.

Eating---Janey loves to eat.  Luckily, Tony loves to cook, and he's wonderful with her eating.  She eats a great variety of foods, mostly healthy. But her greatest love is salami.  She eats salami completely without a stop button.  We usually get her some good salami every day---we are trying to get only ones without a lot of additives or MSG or dyes or so on, and they are pricey.  But one salami pack never makes her happy, and much of the day is spent hearing her ask for salami, us telling her we are out of salami, her going to the fridge to rummage and see if we are lying about that (we aren't), her being angry there is no more salami...you get the picture.

And TV watching.  Janey used to watch more of a variety of shows, but this past year, she watches mostly Toy Story 2 or Toy Story 4.  We know them both by heart.  We are so tired of them we can barely take it.  Occasionally we can kind of force another show---sometimes Courage the Cowardly Dog, Penguins of Madagascar, Angelina Ballerina, Kipper, Coco---but those are being seen less and less.  If anyone monitors our Disney Plus viewing, they must be truly confused as to why anyone would need to watch Toy Story pretty much around the clock.

A pretty good movie, but boy, are we sick of it

We try hard to make Janey's life more interesting.  We try to dance with her, read to her, play toys with her, have her help us with things like snow shoveling or laundry or sweeping the floor.  We can, with much trial, get her to do these things for maybe two or three minutes.  Then she is done, and nothing on earth can make her do them longer.  

In normal times, we are able to mix things up.  There is school, there are car rides that actually go someplace, there is outdoors, even if she holds a device for watching her shows, there are stores we take her into, there are trips and there are visits and there is just regular life, or regular life pre-pandemic.  But the year of not being able to do these regular things has resulted in Janey doubling down on the things that feel safe and familiar and comforting to her.  I truly worry that it will take a very, very long time to get her back to where she was a year ago, if we ever, ever do.

The toll on Tony and me---the noble, long-suffering, perfect autism parent model I sometimes feel we are all expected to follow tells me that shouldn't matter.  But the truth is---we are not doing well.  We are really not doing well.  We are a mixture of bored and frustrated and tired and concerned and overwhelmed.  This feels endless, and at times, impossible.

Schools reopening, slowly, will be a help. The vaccine distribution, glacially slow and poorly done here in Massachusetts, will be a help if it ever gets going.  People doing whatever needs to be done to get this mess under control will be a help.  But I feel for the long term consequences.  I fear for all the Janeys in the world.  I fear that it will take many years to recover from this horrible year.  I am fighting my impulse to be hopeful and positive, to say I think some good will come of all this, to soften what I am really feeling, but I won't.  I will just say I hope you are all holding on, and healthy, and that you know you aren't alone.

Communicating Pain

If I could make a wish and be able to have Janey freely and easily talk about one subject only, that subject would be pain.  I wish so much she could tell us when she is in pain, and where the pain is, and how bad it is.  Not being able to do so almost cost her her life, when her appendix burst, but pain far less critical to know about than that still is something I would very much like to be able to have her tell me about.

Yesterday, Janey said "Do you want a band-aid?  Do your legs hurt?"  That was about as clear as her pain talk gets---in her trademark Jeopardy style form of a question talking.  She has her period, something that has only happened a few times without medication bringing it on, and I was able to figure out that was most likely cramps she was feeling.  I'm glad she could tell me that much, but there was so much more I wished to talk to her about---to ask her how bad the cramps were, to see if the Motrin we gave her helped, to ask if anything else hurt.  Today she was just cranky all day, and we were pretty sure she was feeling cramps again, and gave her Motrin again, but we could have been way off.  Maybe she was just bored, or upset about something else.

I try to imagine how it would be to not be able to describe pain, or understand why I was feeling it.  I think especially about headaches.  I get those a lot, and I wonder if Janey does too.  I wonder if a lot of the days she's just off, just upset, her head is hurting, and she doesn't know how to tell us that.  If I ask her, she generally just repeats when I've said---I say "Does your head hurt?" and she says back "Does your head hurt!"  I wonder how often she's had a stubbed toe or a stomachache or a sore throat and we had no clue.  I think she thinks we know what she is thinking, and I so hope she doesn't think we just ignore the pain she's feeling.

Of course we have tried AAC apps to communicate about pain.  And like most everything else with them, we've had very little success.  Either she pushes them away, or she chooses the middle button of each screen every time.  Or she picks a word she likes the sound of and picks it over and over, mainly "Grampa".  She knows how to get to that word on every app we've tried, and that shows us she can manipulate the screens when she wants to, but she doesn't want to, or at least she isn't able to do it consistently.  

I work hard on giving Janey the words she needs to describe pain, but I worry about putting words in her mouth.  Yesterday I kept saying "You have cramps", but of course, I don't know for sure she did.  I'm working too on taking her temperature by mouth, to have another way to judge illness. We had a forehead thermometer, but I never trusted it to be accurate. She will now hold the thermometer under her mouth for a minute or so.  I also check her oxygen with a little home meter now and then, just to get her used to medical checks.

I read the other day about a teen with autism who had COVID, whose parents weren't allowed to stay in the hospital with him.  That is the nightmare to me---that sometime Janey will be not with Tony or me, will be sick, and will be unable to explain what is wrong or understand what is happening.  That's the kind of thing that keeps me up nights.  I've seen the mixed bag that is medical care for those like Janey. There are those that are great at helping her and listening to us, like her current pediatrician or the surgical team at Mass General.  And there are those who were not, like her old pediatrician or the ER at Mass General.  In this pandemic time, I hope you are all well, but most especially your loved ones with autism.  The world, even the medical world, doesn't always understand that not everyone can speak up and say what hurts.

Frustration with the schools (not the teachers!)

 Over the years, I've been a big cheerleader for the Boston Public Schools.  I am a fan of public schools in general, and I've always tried to let people know it's very possible to get a very good education in Boston without feeling like you have to send your child to private school or you have to move out of the city.  For those of you not in Boston or near it, the Boston schools don't have the greatest reputation.  I've felt for many years that poor reputation is not justified.  My three children, all very different from each other, have been for the most part well served in Boston.  

My feelings haven't changed when it comes to the teachers, or the therapists, or the paraprofessionals, or the principals.  I can truly say in all my years, which add up to 23 years now, of having my children educated in Boston, I've only encountered two or three teachers, out of literally hundreds, that I would not happily have teach my child again.  Indeed, I've had far more than my fair share of absolutely amazing teachers, of therapists that care deeply, of paraprofessionals that I would trust with my children's lives without a second thought, of principals that took a personal interest in my kids.  

But the school system in general?  The upper management, the central office, the bureaucracy?  Well, I'm not too happy with them.

Nobody can be blamed for COVID-19 existing.  It's a virus.  You can't be angry at a virus.  But I am angry at how the whole crisis has been handled in Boston, quite angry really.

I've talked through Facebook and by phone to many, many other parents in other parts of the US and world, and overall, it seems like most school districts are finding a way to educate kids like Janey.  At the very least, most districts seem to have used the summer to make plans, to find a way to  bring the kids that just don't learn well at home into the schools as safely as possible.  Some parents have chosen to keep their kids home anyway, and that is certainly understandable.

Technically, we were given a choice with Janey---remote learning or a hybrid method, 2 days a week at school.  But after talking to her teacher and hearing what those two days a week would be like...wow.  They would be in one room, with masks on, never leaving the room, teachers not allowed to touch the kids at all, much of the teaching taking place by Zoom meeting even in the room, as teachers would not be circulating. That isn't a classroom model that would work in any way for Janey, or for most kids with autism.  So we chose home education.  Janey's amazing teacher understood that Zoom meetings don't work for her, and she is going to provide us with weekly materials (which she had to do a funding drive to get money for---no thanks to Boston there) to teach Janey with.  

Janey's room at school has no opening windows, none at all.  She rides a bus for an hour each way to school and back.  She will wear a mask for short times, but I'm quite sure she wouldn't leave one on all day.  She lives for walking around the school, for field trips and swimming and dance.  It would be both unsafe and deeply unsatisfying for Janey to go to school as it has been set up.

I attended a big Zoom meeting for Boston parents of special needs kids.  I won't go into it in detail, but it was awful.  A politician was allowed to grandstand for a long time, an ABA specialist took up a long period of time during a meeting meant for PARENTS to ask questions (she had good ideas, but at least 50 parents had questions that there was no time to answer during the too short meeting), and most disturbing to me, a school official outright lied.  He was asked (several times) if teachers were going to be given adequate PPE (personal protective equipment, like masks, shields, etc.)   He said emphatically "Yes!  Absolutely!"  Well, as of last week, I have been told that such equipment is not only not being given to teachers, it hasn't even been ordered.

Even if we had chosen to send Janey to school, school isn't starting in person until October 1st, or at all, even remotely, for another two weeks.  I don't see any other district anyway that isn't even having any school this September, basically.  The schools had all summer to prepare.  This didn't all come out of no-where.  But from what I can see, infighting and attempting to please every politically powerful faction took up the time that should have been spent on one big goal---finding a way to safely educate the kids of Boston.

I know that the powers that be would argue they just can't find a way to safely educate Janey and her peers.  But I wonder---why, elsewhere around the country and around the world, are so many other kids like her back in classrooms already, safely, with teachers that have the equipment they need to be safe, with classrooms that are ventilated, with few enough kids in a room for it to be safe, without a mask requirement for children whose special needs just make it impossible for them to understand why they need to keep a mask on?  

Boston school buildings are underutilized.  Janey's high school has a population far, far smaller than the school was built to hold.  All the time, attempts are made to close some of Boston's 125 school buildings.  Surely, somewhere in the city, there are enough classrooms for kids like Janey, the highest need students, to safely attend school, and surely, there are enough teachers that, if given the proper tools, would feel safe teaching the classes.  I don't want any teacher that doesn't feel safe or supported to teach.  Many teachers have small children, or medical conditions, or the like.  But if only teachers who felt safe teaching were to teach the high needs kids, as is happening what seems like virtually everywhere else, and if Boston could be flexible and open classrooms in buildings that have good air circulation and opening windows, even if that required Janey and others to temporarily go to a different school---well, you would really think a city like Boston could do that.  And you think they would be shamed by seeing that everyplace else pretty much in the world is finding a way to do what they can't seem to do.

We're fine, ourselves personally.  Janey is 16.  Although it's not what we want, truthfully she could stop going to school now and it wouldn't be a tragedy.  I was prepared to have her drop out if the schools had been rigid about Zoom meetings for her schooling.  But there are so many young kids with autism in Boston who desperately need schools.  And although we are managing, Janey is regressing in a lot of ways.  Her toilet training has been, well, set far, far back.  She is talking less much of the time, and lately, especially after seeing her teachers outside in a socially distanced meeting---which was great---she seems to be upset she's not in school.  She can't express that directly, but it's fall.  She knows fall, and she knows that is when you go to school. 

One of the things that was said at that infuriating Zoom meeting for parents, when a parent poured out her heart about how hard this all has been, and how she didn't feel equipped to teach her young child with autism, was that there are many social service agencies in Boston designed to help the special needs community, and "we are going to work with them to get services and help for kids who need it" (not the exact words, but along those lines)  I think of all of this, that makes me almost the angriest.  You are GOING to?  Why hasn't that been happening right along?  Why are there untold numbers of agencies that I know have a mission and funding to help kids like Janey, and that are I am sure are well-meaning, but that don't work with the schools, or each other, that don't ask parents what we really need, that hold endless workshops and support groups and make up nice fliers but don't provide ANY respite, ANY after school programs, ANY direct help, except maybe to a small number of people that know exactly the right way to ask for it and have the means and personality and connections to access the help?  Why can't help be OFFERED to those who truly need it?

I'm angry.  I'm angry that the overpaid, overstaffed, underworked bureaucracy of the Boston Public Schools is failing the children of Boston, and the teachers of Boston, and the everyday citizens of Boston.  I don't get angry easily, Boston.  It took me 23 years to get this angry.  But I'm angry.

How would we have done it?

One phrase that I think most families with special needs children don't like is "How do you do it?", sometimes phrased as its twin "I don't know how you do it!"  We know the phrase is usually meant in the kindest of ways, and that it's an acknowledgement of some of the struggles our families can face.  But it can feel hurtful in a couple ways.  One is that it makes it seem like our child has created a situation so difficult that others can't even imagine what it would be like to live our life.  Another is by saying, in a way, that we ARE doing it, by making us somehow separate, set apart, somehow as a family unit handling it all ourselves, and not in need of help, due to our superhero status.  Both views of our families are untrue and unhelpful.

That being said, lately I've been thinking a version of the "How do you do it?" myself.  It's in the form of "How WOULD we have done it?"  How would we have handled this pandemic, this lack of school, this isolation, during what I always think of as the Tough Years---approximately from when Janey was 5 until 10?  Those years...wow.  Those were the years in which an inclusion school which aimed to include all special needs students realized they were not up to including Janey, and then, while in the autism program she moved to, she was so unhappy and angry that the day came that I got the call that she wasn't even safe to go home, that we needed to come to the school to go with her by ambulance to the emergency room, the start of an ordeal which include six horrible days at Children's Hospital and 3 weeks of Janey being in a psychiatric hospital.  Those years featured many, many days where Janey screamed all day, literally, days when she bit herself hard, days when she cried heartbreaking tears for hours, nights of her fury and sadness that seemed like they would never end.  But during those years, there was school.  We had about six hours a day when we could sleep (or often, just I could---Tony was working, most of that time at a job an hour from home, and how he ever lived through those years I'll never know), recover, breathe, know that she was cared for.

But what if the pandemic had been during those years, and there was no school?  I think about that all the time, and I truly wonder how we could have done it.

Of course, the thing is, lots of other people with children with severe autism are living through those tough years right now.  And I think about them, all the time.  I think about how it must feel to have a child so desperately unhappy, and to be trying so very hard to help them, and having absolutely no respite---no school, no activities, no nothing.  I think of them trying to think of ways to fill the days, and to get some rest.  I think of the siblings, trying to learn at home in a household that might be often filled with screaming or hitting or crying.

If COVID-19 had happened during the Tough Years, I have to say honestly that I would have sent Janey back to school the second school was open, even if I wasn't sure it was safe, even if I had huge fears about the virus.  I would have sent her because I would have known that we simply had to---in order to stay sane---not just us as parents, but her too.  I would have taken the risk, the possibility of sickness weighed against the absolute knowledge of what more time at home would be like.

This knowledge is why I am not sure how I feel about schools staying closed. If we lived in an ideal world, I would feel sure they should stay closed, but we don't live in that world, and I know there are families out there right now just barely hanging on.  I think about the teachers, with families of their own often, and I know they will be put at risk going back to in-person school, as well as the aides and lunch workers and bus drivers and therapists.  I worry about all of them.  But I can picture most, of course, the situation we have lived through, the child who needs help so badly and the family so extremely stressed by that child's needs, and I worry so much about how they are managing to go on. I know some of you reading this might be living that life right now, and feeling like you are very alone. I wish I could help more. I wish I could come to your house and take care of your child for a day or two, so you could sleep and recover. I wish I had magic.I wish I could fast-forward your life to calmer years.  But right now all I can do is tell you I am thinking of you.

We are so lucky.  Janey, at almost 16, is happy most of the time.  Aside from a period of adjustment at first, and from the days she got upset by Zoom meeting school, which we will no longer do, she has been a champ during this time at home.  We are enjoying her.  Most of that is just her maturing.  Some of it is changes we made, changes in our expectations of her and also changes in our lives.  Tony retired early, which has been a financial challenge but without a question absolutely a right decision.  The boys are older.  We are okay.  We hope that Janey can safely go back to school at some point, because she loved high school, but for now, we are okay.

I hope all those in the places of decision making do give a thought to those who are in the Tough Years of severe autism.  I hope we can find a way to help those families get through this.  I won't say to them that I don't know how they do it.  I know how they do it.  They do it day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute.  They do it because they love their kids, their amazing kids.  But they need help, and we as a society need to figure out how to help them, especially in these extraordinary times.

Tough realizations about school

I spent a few months living in a hopeful dream world.  I hoped that school could start in person in the fall, and Janey could go back to the high school experience she loved so much.  She could get on the bus early in the morning, have a nice long ride, spend the day with peers, go to music and dance and swimming, take field trips, be with adults who cared for her and enjoyed her, and then taken another nice long ride and came home again, contented after a full day.  

It's hard to believe the changes the last six months have wrought on the whole world.  

There has been no official words on the status of school in the fall for Boston, except that it won't be full time in person.  But after thinking it out and emailing with Janey's teacher, I finally had to face facts.  Janey won't be going back to school, not at all.  

If she went to school, it would be a school experience stripped of everything she likes about school, and everything that is important to us about her schooling.  Being in a classroom of teens with severe special needs, teens with little or no understanding of social distancing or the importance of masks, she would be behind plexi-glass shields.  She would not leave the classroom all day.  Teachers would not be able to touch her.  She couldn't move around.  

Even under those conditions, if someone got sick at her school, it would be closed, and the little hint, the pale shadow of her old schooling experience would shut down again for weeks.  Her school is very close to the area of Massachusetts the very hardest hit by COVID-19.  It wouldn't stay open much.

The bus would likely be impossible.  It was the weakest link last year, often not showing up, changing drivers almost weekly.  I can't imagine it would work, with older drivers, with kids that would certainly take off their masks often, with social distancing.  If Janey went to whatever version of school was available, we would have to drive her.  In Boston traffic, it's an hour's drive each way to her school.  We'd spend 4 hours of our day in school transport.

So...I finally,reluctantly admitted to myself---Janey isn't going back to school.

And distance learning, Zoom meetings?  It's almost an afterthought in my mind to say "No thanks".  Like so many other kids with Janey's kinds of needs I've heard about, Zoom meeting school simply doesn't work, in fact,more than that, it makes things worse.  Imagine a bored, frustrated teen, and trying to keep them from melting down all day, and then add in an hour or two or more of also trying to force them to sit in front of a screen they don't want to watch, one that seems to them to be playing a video strangely featuring some people they recognize, but one where now and then they are asked to say something on command.  A video that tries vainly to meet the needs of a dozen or so kids with wildly different needs, but all with high needs.  Imagine spending the whole time this video plays trying to keep your teen sitting in one place, waiting for their turn to answer a question they wouldn't be inclined to answer under the best of circumstances.  No, that is not school.

And so, one way or another, we are going to homeschool.  I'm not scared of that. It's not my preference, and I'm quite sure not Janey's preference either,but it's what we are going to have to do.

I think it's human nature when faced with a situation we don't like to place blame.  It's almost comforting to be able to have an enemy, a foe to defeat.  There is one in this situation, but it's not human.  It's a virus.  No-one human has done anything to cause this (politics aside, and that is how I generally try to live my life, with politics aside).  Everyone would like Janey to be able to have school in the way she could last year, but safely, and practically, she can't.

I lie awake nights thinking about how I can best educate Janey.  Sometimes, I admit thinking I might not really try, not to formally educate her.  She will be 16 in less than two weeks, and in our state, I think that's old enough to drop out.  I could just call it a school career for now.  But I don't think that's the best plan.  We had planned on Janey being in school until she was 22.  I am still hopeful that after a year or so, she will be able to go back to school.  

I'll write more in another post about how I'm going to try to set up homeschooling.  For now, I'd love to find out how the rest of you out there will be handling school this fall.  I'm feeling isolated, scared, alone, more than I have in many years.  It's such a house of cards, this life we cobble together for our kids, and it takes just a touch for it all to fall apart.  We have gotten, as a world, something more like a hurricane aimed at our house of cards.  It's going to take a while to build it back.

The summer of the virus

I'm thinking of all of you this summer, especially those earlier on in the whole autism journey.  Every day, I picture how hard it would have been to have a summer like this one if Janey was still as unhappy as she was for many years, and if her behaviors in showing that unhappiness and pain were still as intense.  As it is, it's not totally easy, of course, as it isn't for anyone on Earth right now, but it's nothing like it could have been.

We chose not to "send" Janey to summer school.  I put send in quotations as summer school was going to be totally virtual, all Zoom meetings, for THREE hours a day.  It was a no-brainer to turn it down.  Zoom meetings quite simply don't work for Janey.  We tried our best during the school year, for the hour a day her class met.  At the best, she would sit still and watch the screen, and perhaps participate with a word or two during that hour.  At the worse, she would scream, cry, turn off the computer, close the screen, run away constantly and then be in a terrible mood for the rest of the day.  Either way, it wasn't in any way worth it.

I don't think Janey understood at all that her teachers and fellow students were at the other end of the meetings.  I think she saw it as a TV show or movie,one that for some reason we forced her to watch, one that sometimes strangely called out her name specifically and tried to get her to respond.  This wasn't the case with all the kids in her class.  Some of them participated eagerly, and almost all the other kids at least were more engaged than Janey.  That surprised me.  But as we all know, every kid with autism is different.  I did think there were more kids similar to Janey at her high school, but perhaps those kids just weren't participating at all.

One thing that struck me is that Janey has much less liking of repetition than the other kids like her seemed to.  Or at least she has less liking of repetition she hasn't herself chosen.  She will watch the same movie day after day after day (Toy Story 1-4 and Coco and The Emperor's New Groove, I'm talking to you!) but that's her choice, and she does move on with movies or music after a while.  She'll eventually get bored and cycle in something new.  But the Zoom meetings featured the same songs and videos day after day---greeting songs, days of the week or months of the year or seasons videos---and Janey was not interested. This got complicated by technical problems when the audio or video wouldn't work well.  I felt for her teachers very much.  They had not signed up to be virtual teachers or educational technologists.  They are hands on, great teachers, and they were being forced by circumstances to teach in a totally different way.  And it just didn't work for Janey.

A typical scene this summer, watching videos outdoors

So---the lack of school this summer feels like a huge relief, truly.  I have no idea what I'll do in the fall if schooling is still virtual.  I don't think Janey will be going to that kind of school if it is, one way or another.  We will have to explore our options.  I also just don't know what will play out if school requires masks all day, and 6 foot distancing.  I know that Janey would not be able to comply with that.  She will wear a mask for very short time frames, just to be able to go to the 7-11 and get ice cream or chips, but all day long---that will not work.  I worry especially about the bus---there is no way it would work there.  I worry about her getting COVID, about her teachers or bus drivers or paras or another else getting it from her or giving it to her. It is hard to picture how it's all going to play out.

How are we at home, aside from all this?  Not bad, overall.  Janey has been fairly happy and content.  She is spending her days like a lot of teenagers do---sleeping in, staying up a bit later than usual, watching a lot of YouTube and movies, eating a lot, things like that.  We actually started having a bedtime for her, not to sleep, as no-one can make you sleep, but to be on her bed at 9:30.  The good thing, in a way, about her not knowing how to tell time is that 9:30 can be a bit flexible.  If we can tell she's not tired, it can be more like 11, if she's exhausted, it can be more like 8.  But the amazing thing is she is actually mostly staying on her bed once we say to.  The result is Tony and I are actually having some evenings mostly to ourselves, to watch TV or talk or whatever.  It's nice.

It's been a little tough this past week, as for the first time since she was 11, Janey actually got her period.  The only other time she has was when we gave her medication under the supervision of a specialist.  This time, it just occurred. She mostly seems fine with it, not really much noticing it, but she has had what I think are cramps off and on.  It's awful to see her crying in pain, and knowing she doesn't really get why it's happening.  I've done my best to explain it to her, but I don't know how much she understands.  We have been lucky that for whatever reason, she usually doesn't get a period.

I hope all of you are well, and surviving this tough time.  I'd love to hear how you are coping.  Is there summer school where you are?  How do things look for the fall?  How is it going with masks, with the isolation, with the general tension a pandemic brings?  I hope very much you are all healthy and hanging in there, and I send our love.

"Frustrated, Angry, Bored"

Janey has had a tough week.  After almost two months handling the quarentine like a champ, I think she's had enough.  She's been screaming and acting out much of the day, every day, staying up most of the night and sleeping during the days, tossing things around---just not happy.  Last night she had been yelling for hours. Out of desperation, I turned to her iPad's talking programs.  Using the one program she seems to like, Proloquo2Go, I went to the feelings page and asked her to please tell me what she was feeling.  Without hesitation, she picked "hate".  And pushed it over and over and over.  Fair enough.  Then I went to the body parts page to ask her if anything hurt.  She picked "feet", which is something she often picks.  I asked her if she needed a foot rub and she said yes, so we did that, and then she went to the program and picked "legs" and "arms", so I gave her a leg and arm rub too.  Then she exited the program and told me to go away.  The rest of the night was far better---she slept well and didn't scream at all.

So...why don't we use the "talker", as we call it, more?  Because Janey won't.  We've tried and tried.  I've read whatever I could on using it.  I've tried modeling, tried having it open near her as much as we can, tried programming words she might want into it, tried all I can think of.  Most of the time, she strongly rejects it.  She's several times used her limited speech to say "I CAN TALK" when I try to get her to use it, when I've said how it can help her talk.  I don't know why she doesn't like it more.  But I have respected her wishes, partly because trying to force her to do anything is a losing game.  So for quite a while, we haven't even tried it much.

I realized last night that part of why I don't try it more is that I was a little obsessed with using it "right".  I wanted to have her learn to use it for sentences, to move between screens, to try new words with it.  But the times it worked best was when I first went to a screen with a theme, like I did last night, feelings or body parts, or foods or colors or things like that.  She readily chooses when I do that.  I think she can read the words some, and uses them more than the pictures, but I have no way to prove that.  But I am going to try to more often just open a screen for her and let her pick.

This morning, I pulled up the feelings screen again.  Instantly, Janey picked "Frustrated, Angry, Bored" in rapid succession.  Well, that about says it all about life being stuck at home.  I told her I felt the same way, and I wish there was more we could do to help.  The biggest problem right now is masks.  Janey will not wear a mask, and it's the law here in Massachusetts that masks must be worn in public.  There is an exception for people with special needs, and I know we could use that, but the other part of it is that we believe in the masks, and are very scared of getting sick.  Aside from the disaster that Janey getting COVID-19 would be, if she gave it to Tony or me, we could get very, very sick.  So, while the virus is still badly raging in this area, we are stuck.  We can go for car rides to nowhere or play in the driveway, but that's about it.  And who wouldn't be frustrated, angry and bored----especially if you were 15?

This whole virus life is hard on everyone, but especially hard on kids like Janey.  She doesn't have friends to text or FaceTime with.  She doesn't read books.  She can't take walks even right now...if she would wear a mask, there's still the problem of her touching everything in sight.  She is stuck in an endless dull day.  And we are trying, but it's hard to break up the boredom.  I'm surprised it took her as long as it did to get angry.