As honest as I can be, to those new at this autism parenting life.

For some reason, tonight as I tried to get to sleep, I kept picturing a parent out there somewhere, a parent who has just been given the official word they have joined our club, that they have a child with autism.  And I pictured what I would want to say to them, if I allowed myself to be completely honest.  Here goes...

First I want to say to you---nobody in this world knows how your child's life is going to look 5, 10, 20 years from now.  That's true for anyone, but from what I've seen, it's especially true for kids with autism.  Maybe your child will start talking if they don't talk now.  Maybe they will never say a world verbally.  Maybe they will learn to read, to write.  Maybe they will go to college.  Maybe they will never progress academically in any way.  Maybe they will have some talent that is incredible.  Maybe they won't.  The starting point, the point they are at right now, seems to somehow have very little impact on the eventual course of things.

And I honestly don't think that what you do, the therapies you get or the interventions you try or the diets you take on or the model of education you choose will make much of a difference.  Certainly many people will say I'm wrong there.  But it seems to me that our kids do what they are meant to do when they are meant to do it.  How we react to them, what kind of people we surround them with, that matters, but just how we try to teach or train or guide them, the methods we use, the resources we can or can't afford, the diets we chose or don't chose to follow, the methods we embrace, the toys we buy...don't worry too much about them.  Worry about surrounding your child with people who love her, who enjoy her, who want the best for her.

Pick your battles. Don't mortgage your future to move to the school district people say you should live in for the "best services".  Don't spend every waking moment pursuing a therapy that others have told you must be done in the crucial, special, essential time frame of "no matter how early you started, it wasn't early enough". But DO fight with the medical doctors when you know something is wrong physically with your child.  Fight to get them to take that temperature or give that shot or examine that stomach.  That is a battle you must fight, one of the few essential ones.

Don't let anyone make you feel guilty for being overwhelmed, for being tired, for being in despair at times.  Every single parent in the world has those feelings sometimes, but the big difference is that we simply don't get the breaks other parents do.  That is the huge difference.  Other kids go to friend's house.  Other kids can play sports or join activities or even just get to be 12 or 13 and be able to stay at home alone.  Other kids don't need to be watched every second of every day.  I don't think, often, it's that our kids are even tougher to parent than "regular" kids  It's that the parenting time we put in, over the years, is far more than with regular kids.  And when you never, ever get a break, it adds up.  You are going to have some very tough days.

Find some friends who get it.  Find them online, probably, because although it's much easier to find support groups for parents than any respite ever, you aren't going to necessarily or even probably meet the parents at these groups with kids like your own.  Autism takes so many forms.  Find someone with a child a lot like yours, and when you do, talk to them all you can.  Call each other often.  Email.  Visit, even if they live far away, if you can.  Use my Facebook group if you need a place to ask for a friend.  I honestly, truthfully don't know if I would have made it without my compatriot friends.

Give up on trying to reduce screen time, if you have a child who loves to watch the screen.  Believe me, I was the parent whose kids were going to play only with wooden blocks, who would live for books and shun TV.  But Janey loves videos.  I can't picture her life without the movies she loves.  They bring her great joy, and frankly, that brings me great joy.

Enjoy the heck out of the many, many parts of being an autism parent that frankly are just plain better than being a regular parent.  I enjoy having a daughter who will never, ever be catty or exclusionary to other girls, a daughter who jumps with joy because we are going to take her for a car ride, a daughter who loves vegetables with abandon, who has never once argued with me about clothes or told me I was ruining her life or in fact ever done anything deliberately to hurt anyone, ever.  Your reasons will vary, but believe me, there are great parts to being the parent of our kids.

Find ways to enjoy life even on the worst days.  Even on the days when Janey literally screamed all day, on the mornings after she didn't sleep all night, even in between changing bedding over and over, or dodging being bit---even on the days I can barely even think about---there was coffee.  There were stolen word game moments.  There were 15 minute naps after begging my sons to watch their sister when I literally couldn't keep my eyes open.  There were ways to live moment to moment to get through days that I didn't think would ever end.

More than anything else, I want to say that although it might seem right now like you've been given the worst news you can imagine---it isn't.  There will come a day when you realize that you can't possibly imagine your child being anyone other than who they are.  Just like everyone on this earth, they aren't perfect, but they are perfectly themselves.

This and That

Sometimes I wait to write a blog entry until I have one subject I deem big enough to write about, but this time, I've got just a little of this and a little of that.

Last Friday, Janey had an ultrasound as part of the tests she's having to try to figure out why she, after just getting it once really, has stopped getting her period for the past two years.  After asking around, it seems like this has nothing to do with autism or her other challenges---it's something else.  We aren't that alarmed or worried, but it's something we need to eventually figure out.  Blood tests shows she makes almost no estrogen, which is quite unusual.  Otherwise, there isn't a lot up.  They even made sure she has two X chromosomes, which she does.  I was dreading the ultrasound badly.  There is no real way to prepare Janey for any medical procedure, although I tried, telling her they were going to put lotion on her stomach and then "mush" her tummy a bit.  Of course, she screamed when they started.  But I liked how the technician handled it all.  She talked in a comforting way but just kept going, while Tony and I held Janey in place.  The noise attracted a passing doctor, who also looked at the ultrasound and said on first glance everything looked good.  Now we are waiting to hear from the adolescent specialist as to what we do next.

Janey has been up and down lately.  There were a few days that featured the return of the screaming---the screaming that has no cause she can tell us or we can figure out, the screaming that is so loud it can be heard from very far away, so loud I can't imagine how she stands it without going deaf, or how I do.  There were a few afternoons where it went on for an hour, something that used to happen a lot but doesn't as much now, thankfully.  It brought back all the old familiar feelings of hopelessness and despair, and left us all on edge.  I hope it's over for now.  But there have also been a lot of days lately where Janey has been a delight---happy from morning till night, funny and upbeat.

This weekend, Janey surprised us with a few things she said.  At one point, out of the blue, she yelled over to us "I need a foot massage!"  We were both startled.  She doesn't usually use the first person like that, or use complete sentences, or be quite so direct about what she needs.  She was holding a foot up in the air, so we even knew what foot needed massaging!  That was great.  Later that day, in the car, she said "What does the green light mean?"  I think it's a question she's been asked, but she paused after asking it---she said it exactly how a question is said.

The "talker", the iPad with AAC apps on it, gets a fair amount of use.  Janey seems to enjoy it, but mostly at bedtime.  I also give it to her when she seems to be upset or confused, in hopes she'll find a way to tell us what she wants.  I have two programs on there, TouchChat and Proloquo.  (actually 3, but the third one is pretty useless)  TouchChat is what she uses at school and the one her great teacher helped us personalize, but at times, she seeks out Proloquo.  To me, Proloquo seems more daunting, but it has more content, too.  The other night I saw why she chose it, as she easily got through a few screens to find the word she wanted, "hate".  She'd been in quite a mood, and she hit "hate" over and over and over, while occasionally giving me a meaningful look I had no problem deciphering!  I actually loved that.  She was able to tell me what she was thinking, and it's pretty typical that a 13 year old girl who has spent the day with their mother might be feeling some feelings the opposite of "love".  She isn't usually using the programs for full sentences, more for finding single words, but I am letting her take the lead, and it's fantastic she seems to like having the programs to use when she wants.

All of us in the family have been struggling a little lately with our own issues.  It's been a tough spring in a lot of ways.  But Janey continues to surprise us, to keep showing us new sides.  She is becoming her own person, more and more. We've been pleased lately that she has a trait NONE of the rest of us have---neatness.  She's very organized.  What she uses goes back in the place it's supposed to be.  A little more all the time, she is truly a help around the house, doing small chores we ask her to do and picking up after herself and often after us.  I don't know where she got that neatness gene---maybe from my sister.  But one of the greatest parts of being Janey's mother as she starts her teen years is seeing who she is, seeing her very cool personality unfold more every day.

The Family Motto

When the boys were young, before Janey was born, I read a parenting book that talked about the importance of having a family motto, a family mission statement.  I wasn't really sold, especially because most of the examples given in the book were of families developing a motto that spoke to how important high academic achievement, or charitable giving, or constantly striving for excellence were, and unless most kids the ages of mine were far more forward looking than my boys, I didn't buy it.  But out of curiosity, I asked Tony what he would pick for a family motto, and he said "Enjoy Life!"

I've thought often that really is pretty much our family motto.  Of course, there needs to be a background of The Golden Rule type thinking, because if enjoying yourself involves hitting each other or petty crime, that isn't what we are going for.  And I hope we taught the kids basic respect---for us as parents, for teachers and friends and themselves.  But when it comes down to it, life is pretty short, and if you aren't enjoying yourself at least a good deal of the time, something probably needs to change.

What's making me think of this motto lately is a few essays or posts I read by autism parents lately.  (and here I should include a thank you to the amazing mother of Sophie, who has a Facebook page I greatly recommend, "On the Train With Sophie", as I don't do a lot of reading about autism online, and I wouldn't have read the posts unless she had referred to them on her page).  One was a video post by a mother talking about the sadness she felt over realizing her son, basically, wasn't ever going to be typical.  The other was about going to see Elmo on stage, how a mother had to force her son to go and endure the stares of those around her.

I won't put down the mothers involved, or judge them.  It's a long journey with all mothers of autistic children, and we all aren't going to agree or feel the same as each other at every point. 

However, I realized that the motto we made up in a laughing moment years ago has actually helped a good deal with how we view Janey and how we make decisions about and for her.

I've despaired often as I've gone through life with Janey (and life in general, of course) but I don't think I've ever felt despair specifically that she was not ever going to be typical.  Most of the despair I've felt is that she wasn't happy, and that I wasn't happy, all of us weren't happy, because we couldn't find a way to help her be happy.  The fact that she will never go to college, or have a job, or live on her own---I wish she could do those things, because they can be sources of happiness, but they certainly aren't the only route in life to happiness.  More than I'd have guessed, the academic and vocational limitations that Janey has don't really upset me at all.  And that ties back to the family motto.  You can certainly enjoy life without college, or a job, or your own home.  Sometimes those very things bring a lot of UNhappiness.

There isn't any one right way to be happy.  The mother knowing that if somehow she could get her child to go see Elmo, he would like it---well, maybe, but the pain to get there?  There are a lot of things in life Janey might enjoy if we worked hard at getting her there, but is it necessary?  There's a lot she enjoys hugely that she can do right now.  Happiness doesn't need to be mainstream.  Janey loves to ride aimlessly in the car listening to music.  She loves to watch certain episodes of TV shows time and again.  She loves to have her father cook for her.  She loves to "steal" our coffee on weekends.  She loves to take showers.  She loves to eat chips in the driveway while the stray cats try to get some.  She loves to dance with her brothers. So---maybe she'd love Disneyworld, for example.  But first we'd have to get her on a plane, we'd have to get her used to long lines, we'd have to keep her contented somehow while we waited for the special moments she might really enjoy.  Is it worth it?

Of course, there is more to life than enjoyment.  But as a goal, as a motto, I think it works well, perhaps especially for Janey.  There is so much of life that is hard for her, just by being someone living a bit less typical a life than most.  So why not aim for as much of her life to be happy as we can?  Why despair over what she isn't going to do, when we can instead try to make what she CAN do enjoyable for her?

None of the above

I used to be a big fan of women's magazine quizzes.  You know the type.  They give a scenario like "Your doctor has told you that you need to lose weight.  You..."  A.  Don't even bother to try, because losing weight is impossible  B.  Go on a starvation diet until you have lost the amount he wants  C.  Start eating a healthy diet full of fruits, vegetables and whole grains.   You all know what the right answer is supposed to be, and picking it can give you a good feeling, a feeling of superiority to those people who might pick A or B.

In real life, it isn't always quite as clear.  I kept thinking about that yesterday.  Let me pose the question to you all...

It's the third snow day in a row.  Your twelve year old daughter with low functioning autism is very unhappy.  She has spent much of the day screaming.  She didn't sleep well the night before, and you finally get her to lie down with you on her bed for a possible nap.  As soon as you are lying down, however, she said "Do you want cheese?", which means she wants you to get up and get her cheese from the refrigerator.  You are bone tired, and she is perfectly capable of getting the cheese herself, and you say to her "If you want cheese, you go get it and bring it to me"  She reacts by screaming loudly and kicking you.  You...

A.  Start screaming back at her, telling her you are just about at the end of your rope, and that she needs to stop acting that way, and you are so tired of it all, and....so on.

B.  Overcome your aches and tiredness and get up and go get the cheese, knowing that might be the quickest way to get past this whole bit.

C.  Tell her calmly she can't kick you, and that you are going to walk away to let her cool down, and that when she does, you'll talk about the cheese.

You probably know what the answer is supposed to be.  However, A and B are pretty darn tempting, in the moment, and I may or may not have picked one of those choices yesterday when confronted with this very scenario.  However, I eventually accessed my inner magazine quiz self, and picked C, the "right" answer.  Janey's response?  As soon as I'd gone into the next room to let her cool off, she found a bag of chips, opened it and threw chips all over her bed, crushing the chips as she did so, so the bed was covered with chip crumbs.  I stood my ground and stayed away, figuring that chips can be cleaned up.  So she upped her game.  She ran to the TV and started pounding it with her fists, something she knew I couldn't ignore.

So...what next?  What't the right answer there?  Before you decide, keep in mind that Janey is as tall as I am now, and as strong.  It's not easy for me to physically stop her from doing things like the TV pounding.

The answer is that there isn't a right answer.  It's a "none of the above" type situation.  As happens fairly often in this life we are leading with Janey, we pick the least harmful wrong answer.  What I did was tell her to stop hitting the TV and I'd get the cheese, which I did, and which she ate a bite or two of before resuming her screaming.

I woke during the night last night, my mind racing.  I kept thinking "I'm not equal to this task.  I don't know how to keep going.  This is just impossible"  I finally woke Tony and we talked, and I calmed down, and woke up this morning ready to keep on trying.  I know in my heart I'm doing the best I can, that there really isn't any correct answers for some of the challenges we face as a family.  But boy, could we use some respite, some help, some something. Until then, we'll keep going, because that is always the default answer---just keep going, because there is really no other choice.

Sometimes, you do have to cry

I've been working at starting seedlings inside a lot this spring.  It's been a mixed bag of successes and not.  I started everything too early, and the spring has been very cold, but everything was getting too big for the starter pots and too leggy to live, so I had to put a lot of things outside before they were ready, and they are not doing well....and I could go on and on.  All this is said as background information for yesterday and my big cry.

Janey came home from school in her typical after school no talking mode.  We have worked out what she likes to do, and it doesn't need a lot of words---a little cuddle, then a lot of cheese and onions, then some videos, then usually a shower.  We did that routine, and I put a dress on her to be ready for the next part of her evening routine---a car ride with Tony when he gets home.

Not my actual seedlings, but very similar ones!

Then I made my big mistake---a quick check of my email.  Janey was happy, in the next room, watching a video.  I got an exciting email from William, the older of Janey's two brothers, saying he had been nominated for a history honor society, kind of like Phi Beta Kappa for history majors and historians.  I was very proud of him, and wrote a quick email back to say so, and then started to forward his letter to his grandparents.  Janey came over at that moment, and I noticed her dress, previously clean, was covered with dirt.  I ran over and saw she had somehow, in the literally three to four minutes I hadn't been actively watching her, played around with some pepper seedlings I had been planning on planting outside that afternoon later.  They were all over the floor, dirt was everywhere and a spring's worth of growing them was going to be for naught.  It was actually pretty impressive how much she did in so little time.

I stayed calm.  I didn't even feel like being angry---I don't get angry that often.  And at first, I didn't even feel that upset.  But as I started to clean up the table, floor and Janey, I started to cry.  I couldn't stop, once I started.  I had been feeling low for a few days, and it all hit me hard right then---that still, after all these years, it was still impossible to have a few minutes to myself, how it felt unfair to William and to Freddy how rarely I could concentrate just on them, how I couldn't see any end in sight to the tough parts of life with Janey.

As I tried to clean, she decided she wanted a video.  I told her I had to clean up first.  She didn't take that well, and started screaming and arm biting.  I kept cleaning, and kept crying.  When she saw I was crying, she gave me a curious look, but then went back to screaming "I WANT KIPPER!"  In that moment, I felt totally defeated.  I felt like I can do all I can to keep Janey happy, and still, the minute I can't do what she wants that second, she's furious.  She doesn't think "Gee, she's been doing what I wanted all afternoon, and in fact for years, really.  I made a huge mess and she's cleaning it.  I could lay off her for a minute"  Of course she doesn't think that.  It's not in her to think it, and when I am not in a state, I can accept that.  But as the vacuum jammed and the floor became more covered with wet dirt and dead seedlings, I wasn't thinking well.

Life with Janey isn't easy.  I know here I'm supposed to say life with any child isn't always easy, that the special rewards of being her mother make up for the tough times, that it's not a child's role to make the life of their parents easy---I know all that, and I believe all that.  But there's a difference here. Although she makes some progress in some ways, although as I wrote about recently, her stages like the mischief stage do eventually get better, Janey isn't ever going to really grow up.  There isn't going to be a day when she truly understands that I'm doing the best I can, that maybe she could wait five minutes for a video while I clean up, that she shouldn't toss dirt on the ground, that I have feelings too.

I've regrouped today.  I'm ready to get back out there, to do my level best to help Janey have a good life, to try to be the mother I want to be.  But I am pretty sure each of you knows the feeling behind the tears yesterday.  If we don't admit it's tough sometimes, it's a very lonely kind of sadness.  We have to be able to admit this isn't an easy gig, being a parent of a child like Janey.  I am going to resist for now the urge to modify that statement, and just let it stand, for now, for once.  It's not easy.

Later and Longer, but the stages do pass

Sometimes, it takes the observation of a stranger to realize things.  A month or so ago, I was with Janey at our favorite store, the Savers thrift shop.  She was looking with me at toys when I noticed another little girl, about Janey's age, who I strongly guessed was also a member of Autism Nation.  She ran over to where we were and grabbed a stuffed animal.  Her mother was right behind her and apologized, and I said it was fine, and then said "I think our girls are kind of similar"  She looked at Janey and smiled, realizing what I had realized, and then said "But my daughter is wild!"

I realized at that moment that Janey is no longer wild much.  She doesn't run away from me.  We can go for a walk and not hold hands, and she pretty much stays with me.  Sometimes she goes a bit ahead, because I am a slow walker, but I can call her to come back or to wait for me, and she does.  I don't worry about losing her if I take her to a store (which I don't do much, as she still doesn't like them at all) or an outdoor place.  She of course still is in motion most all the time, but it's mostly hand flapping and jumping, not running away.

It's always a bit of a surprise to me to realize that a behavior that Janey used to have is gone.  I think that's because stages with Janey show up much later in life than with most kids, and last much longer.  That can make them seem like they are just part of her, but they aren't, always.

Another example was Janey's mischief stage.  That was a tough one.  She'd do things like empty bottles or jars or glasses of water onto the floor, or whole bottles of shampoo into the tub.  Even when watching her every second, she'd manage to slip a little ahead of us and do something messy and destructive.  That stage lasted about a year, and it was a long year.  I think now it was a stage that is a typical toddler stage, exploring the world.  The difference was that Janey was taller and more mobile than a toddler, and less able to understand limits, so it was not as easy (or as cute) as it would be with a toddler.  Now, unless Janey is truly trying to make something she's seen us make, she doesn't do the mischief stuff much.  She might decide to make Kool-Aid using half a jar of powder and a drop or two of water, in the process making a huge mess, but that is a by-product of trying to help herself, not just a mess for fun.

The toughest stage of all is one I will euphemistically refer to as the "diaper incident" stage.  If you have a child with autism, you probably know what I mean.  It's horrible, horrible, horrible.  It results in malodorous messes that take hours and hours to clean, and a feeling of total despair.  That stage lasted a couple years---not with incidents every day, but more than enough.  One is more than enough.  Now, while knocking on wood and pleading for no jinxes, I will say that Janey is pretty much 100% trained in that part of toileting.  Thank goodness.  The other type of toilet training is maybe 70% right now (although close to 100% at school) and I will write about that soon, but the incident part?  Hopefully gone for good.

The bottom line is that the stages Janey has gone through, and a lot of kids with autism go through, are not completely unheard of stages for typical kids.  But they start far, far later in life, when there is more potential for mayhem and less tolerance by the general public, and they last much longer.  At least some of them, though, do pass.  They pass quietly.  There isn't a sudden moment when they end.  It's more a gradual realization that, wow, she hasn't run away from me for a long time now.  She doesn't empty shampoo any more.  She hasn't done the horrifying "painting" in years.  Wow.

Some parts of autism are, at least for Janey, probably going to be forever.  But other parts aren't, and I am proud of the progress my sweet girl has made, just as much as a mother of a two year old is proud when some stages end.  I'd say I'm even prouder of the end of those later and longer stages.  And more relieved.

Screaming

The scream.  It's incredibly loud, and incredibly sad.  It's a scream of despair, of extreme pain, of furious anger.  It will literally hurt your ears, wake you from a dead sleep, startle you into jumping.

Sometimes, it's in response to a request that can't be instantly filled.  Last night..."I want salami!"  I told Janey we were out of salami, and there it was, the scream.  Sometimes, it's during a video Janey has been watching happily for years.  Little Bear has the mildest of mild arguments with Cat?  Scream.  Sometimes, it's out of absolutely no-where we can see.

If the scream made Janey feel better, if the scream seemed to be an effective means of communication, if the scream was a sensory thing that let out steam---I would not try to find ways to stop it.  It would still restrict us from going places, it would still make it sound like Janey was being tortured, but I would accept it.  But the scream doesn't seem to help anyone, especially Janey.  It's almost always accompanied by arm biting---deep biting of Janey's right arm.  The arm has permanent bite marks.  Sometimes, after the biting, Janey says "My arm is hurty!" with tears in her eyes.  The biting, like the screaming, does not seem like a choice.  I am quite sure Janey doesn't want to scream, or to bite her arm.

What do I do about the screaming?  I don't know.  I have tried literally everything I can think of.  Nothing has worked.  We have tried ignoring, we have tried responding to what we can guess is the cause, we have tried a certain place in the house to go to scream, we have tried just hugging her when she screams, we have tried explaining calmly to her that we don't know why she is screaming and we would like her to tell us in words what is wrong.  Nothing seems to help.  When Janey is in a good mood, she doesn't scream.  When she's in a mildly upset mood, she screams at times.  When she is in one of her very, very bad moods, she screams most of the day.

I would do almost anything to help Janey feel better, to make her not need to scream and bite herself.  I would give her my voice, like The Little Mermaid movie she loves.  I would subtract twenty years from my life, as is said in "At This Moment", one of Janey's favorite songs.  I would give up everything I enjoy.  I would pretty much give my life.  That is how much I wish Janey was happier, how much I wish she didn't feel the despair that leads her to scream and to hurt herself.

When it comes to the scream, all the autism philosophies, all the methods of teaching, all the labels and interventions and behavior plans and ideas, all my sanity, they all go out the window.  All I can feel is sadness, sadness that my daughter I love more than anything is feeling the kind of pain that causes a scream like that, a self-injurious bite like that.  This is not something that can be sanitized, can be made part of anyone's agenda.  This is the horror of the child you love needing help you just can't give.  I'm sorry, Janey.

The Very Bad Night

Trying to keep Janey happy 

Janey's great mood came to an end this weekend, a crashing, discouraging end.  When she got off the bus on Friday, I could tell she wasn't doing well, and within a few minutes, she was biting her arm and crying.  By Friday night, she was in a full-blown bad mood.  All day Saturday and Sunday, she cried, screamed, bit herself, asked frantically for one thing or another and then quickly changed her mind and asked for something else, just plain was severely unhappy.  We kept up our weekend routines, the ones she usually loves.  The big thing we do is take her for lots of car rides with music, and we did that.  We've taken to choosing one town to take a big drive to each weekend for the long ride of the weekend, and we went to Duxbury, a coastal town, on Sunday.  It was lovely, but Janey was very unhappy.  On the way back, she kept falling asleep---a very unusual thing for her to do, but she didn't seem sick.

Sunday night into Monday morning will go down in our personal family history as The Very Bad Night.  Janey woke about 1 am, after going to sleep about 8 pm.  She woke in a hideously bad mood. She was screaming and crying endlessly, and keeping up a long line of requests that immediately were cancelled out by new requests----"I want Angelina Ballerina!  I want Kipper!  I want Cat in the Hat Knows a Lot About That!  I want cheese!  I want salsa!  I want soup!"  Now, when we are awake and rational, we know that none of these requests are real, that she is just showing in the way she can that she wants something to make her feel better, and she doesn't know what that is.  But in the middle of the night, we are in a different state.  That is the part I think it's hardest for those who don't have full time care of a child with autism to understand.  Even those who work with kids like Janey, who are wonderful at understanding them and caring about them, don't quite get what it's like when you have slept almost not at all and you are trying to deal with your child and keep her happy and get some sleep.  You aren't thinking straight.  We kept trying to do what Janey wanted, hoping against hope she'd relax and sleep, and of course she didn't.

By about four in the morning, we had entered a state that is hard to even describe.  Tony had been off and on a little sick all week, and he was tired beyond belief.  I kept encouraging him to go into another room and sleep, but he could see I wasn't up to the sole parenting task, and he was probably right.  We both were just tired beyond words.  And Janey kept screaming.  We sat there together, Tony and I, and just were in despair.  We had that feeling that only comes during the night, the feeling that we just couldn't see how it would be possible to keep living this life, but knowing we had no choice.  You don't think, at times like that, that it's ever going to get better.  You don't even fully think the morning is ever going to arrive.

The morning did arrive, and by that time, by the time Janey got on the bus, she had somehow cheered up. Tony stayed home and caught up on sleep, and finally hopefully kicked off his illness. Janey got off the bus in quite a good mood.  The mood lasted all afternoon and evening, and she woke up this morning as chipper as could be.

We know the good mood could go away again at any time, but it is surprising to see it replace the bad mood at all as quickly as it did. Janey's moods usually last at least a week.  We are trying not to get too hopeful, because it's too hard to then lose that hope.  That was part of what was happening on the Very Bad Night---we had come off a few weeks of a happy Janey, and it was so incredibly tough seeing her at her worst again.

It's during those awful nights I most think of the rest of you living this life.  We are very alone, at those times, but I know we aren't totally alone.  All over the world, there are other parents awake, dealing as best as they can with their kids like Janey.  There are other parents living the life we live, the life that is at times incredibly, heartbreakingly tough, tough for the kids and tough for the parents. Next time you out there have a Very Bad Night, next time we have a Very Bad Night, we can send a thought to each other, a wish to make it to the morning, a reminder that nights, no matter how awful, do come to an end, and the morning starts a new day.

One Afternoon

Janey gets off the bus with manic excitement, something I've learned over the years to be a little wary of.  She runs into the house, dropping her coat and hat and backpack as she goes, and dashes to the refrigerator, pulling out cheese and pesta and ketchup, and yells "Cheese, please, cheese!  Want to pour ketchup!  Pesto, please!"  I fix her multi-course snack, and she eats.  Then she asks for Angelina Ballerina.  I hold my breath as I put it on, and sure enough, after about two minutes, she starts screaming.  She stomps her feet and bites her arm.  As I walk over, she lunges toward me, teeth first, not exactly biting but hitting my chest with her teeth.  I pull away and say as calmly as I can "The TV is making you upset.  I am going to turn it off"  She flings herself onto her bed, screaming loudly.

I stop, take a breath, try to not fall into a useless despair.  I remind myself she hasn't had a mood this bad in a long time, probably a few months.  I tell myself to be patient, to stay calm.  I get on the bed with her and say "You seem very, very angry"  She screams more.  I pick up a few of her stuffed toys, which she never touches, and make them say "I am so angry at you, Mama, for turning off the TV!  I'm VERY ANGRY!"  Olivia Doll says it, Angelina Doll, Kitty Doll.  Janey watches for a bit and then repeats "I'm very angry!"  I rush to praise her.."Great talking!  You told me how you are feeling!"  She grabs my hand and bends my fingers backwards, while kicking me.

I get off the bed and say "I can't be on the bed with you if you are hurting me"  I walk away, keeping her within sight.  She screams and flails around.  Then she screams out "Want to watch Hercules!"  I say "I can't put on the TV until you are calmed down"  She screams louder.  I say "Would you like to take a shower?"  At this point, I'm counting the seconds until Tony gets home, and thinking how a shower would kill some time.  She screams back "WANT TO TAKE A SHOWER!" and so we do.  I don't get in with her, not feeling like being bitten or hit.  I sit in the bathroom and hope she wants a long shower.  She fiddles with the taps and makes the water too cold.  I fix it, and remind her not to touch the taps.  She does it again.  I tell her next time she'll have to get out.  She makes it hot and yells "FIX WATER!"  I get her out.  She is furious.

We go in the living room.  She says "want to watch SpongeBob?"  I ask her if she can calm down.  She responds by taking a deep breath.  I put on SpongeBob, unsure as so often if I'm doing the right thing.  She watches for a few minutes, and then punches the TV and screams.  I walk toward her and she lunges to bite me.  I block her.  I am out of ideas, out of patience.  She goes back on her bed, screaming.  She asks for the iPad.  I give it to her, and sit out of biting range.  There are ten minutes until Tony gets home.  She plays with the iPad for about 5, and then asks for cheese again.  I cut some for her.  Two minutes until Tony.  She asks for the TV.  I say no.  She screams and tries to put it on herself.  I hear Tony coming in.  I tell her Daddy is home.  He walks in the door and asks how things are.  I say "hellish"  I tell him I'm going to the store for a minute, and I leave, shaken and tired.

To the others out there living this life---how are we going to make it?  How are we going to get through the rest of our life that's like this? How can we help the kids we love so very much?  How can we keep them safe while keeping ourselves safe?  What are we going to do?

In an alternative timeline

I read a lot of books about time travel and alternative timelines and parallel universes and the like.  I don't really believe in any of them, but thinking about them fascinates me and often makes for some very good reading.  Usually, though, I don't put such thoughts to use on my own life, or Janey's life.  This weekend, I did.

I saw several pictures on Facebook on Saturday morning of kids preparing to take the Boston exam school test.  They were kids that started kindergarten with Janey, and it hit me that if Janey had stayed in their grade, if Janey had developed typically, she would have been taking the test on Saturday.  The test determines if you get into one of Boston's exam schools.  Janey's brother Freddy went to Boston Latin School, as did my husband Tony (William also got in, but chose not to go).  Freddy and Tony had a great experience with the school.  It's a special place---the oldest school in America (founded in 1635!)  And it's so far removed from any educational route Janey is taking that it might as well be on the moon.

I let myself spend a few minutes, after seeing those pictures (which were great to see, and I am truly happy and excited to think of kids I know Janey's age going to Latin), what it would be like if Janey were "normal".  More specifically, what would this past weekend have looked like?  Well, we would be nervous about the test.  We'd have taken her there early, to stand in line.  She would have had to go in herself, as the boys did, and we would have gone home and thought about her.  After the test, we would have talked about it, and maybe gone out to lunch.  Then, we would have done what we did in the regular timeline---picked up both Freddy and William at the train station, both of them visiting from college for a bit.  She would have listened to their college stories, and told them her own exam stories.

As I write this, I am crying.  Usually, I don't mourn the Janey that could have been.  It's a useless thing to do.  That Janey doesn't exist.  I love the Janey I do have.  But somehow, I got a vision of that Janey, what she would look like, talk like, be like.  And it made me heartbroken, for a few minutes, thinking about all she is missing.  She is missing so much of life.  She won't just not go to Latin.  She won't go to college.  She won't get married.  She won't have children.  Her life is not going to have the milestones, the joys, that so many people can take for granted.  And I usually would pipe in here, reminding myself and others that she also won't have some of the heartbreaks life brings, but I don't feel like it, right now.  Those heartbreaks are worth it, for the great joys that the things she will miss can bring.

And why?  That's another thing I don't usually dwell on.  But why is Janey autistic, and severely developmentally delayed?  What happened?  I have no shortage of possible reasons, but that doesn't really help.  Why doesn't she progress in the way that most kids with autism seem to progress?  Why, even in her autism program, does she seem so far behind?  What have I done wrong?  I know the answer is that it's not me, but of course, I ask that anyway, in private.  And I guess here, in public.

Most of the time, I can rejoice in the Janey I do have.  But sometimes, I feel life has been very unfair to her.  Not to me.  To her.  I wish I could say "But she doesn't know any differently!  She's happy as she is!"  But she isn't happy, much of the time.  She's not happy at all so often.  She suffers, emotionally and sometimes physically.  She might not know specifically what she is missing out on, but I think she does see that life is more frustrating to her than it is for many others.

And now I will bury these thoughts again for a while.  There are some things you can't think about very often.

Ready for the help that doesn't exist

Today wasn't much of a good day.

Janey has been having a hard time lately.  The new medication, if it's doing anything, isn't doing much.  Janey seems very unhappy, and her aggression has increased.  She's hitting me a lot, and over the weekend, she tried very hard to bite me over and over.  Tonight, she bit Freddy out of the blue, quite hard.  School reports aren't good either.  Her teacher reported that she was screaming a lot, and biting randomly, and reacting very strongly when anyone tried to get her to sit down and work.  I've seen that at home---a quick and angry reaction to any redirection or being told "no".  We are feeling overwhelmed.

Over and over, we've been asked if we have had in home ABA services.  I always said no, and that it wasn't help we wanted at this point.  I am becoming less and less of a fan of ABA as the years go by.  Janey doesn't seem to respond to it well.  And the help we need is RESPITE, not someone coming into the house in a situation where we can be at furthest from Janey in the next room.  I can picture Janey screaming non-stop, trying to bite the therapist, them looking to me for help I don't have.  I can picture cancelled appointments, as we found to be the case with Early Intervention, leaving us sitting around the house without plans waiting for someone who never shows up.  I can picture spending the rare moments of peace I have cleaning up in anticipation of therapists arriving.  I can picture....well, you get the picture.

However, the doctor at the Lurie Center and several other people have implied that I need to get this service as sort of a starting point to get any other help.  And lately, I'm ready for any, any, any help I can get, including someone to come in and work with Janey.  I'm ready for any suggestions, for even a ten second moment of respite in the next room.  I felt ready, finally.

SO----here's the kicker.  I'm ready.  I called the family service person for the Lurie Center.  And what I half suspected to be true is indeed true.  We CAN'T GET in home services.  We have the wrong kind of insurance.  Tony has federal Blue Cross, which for some bizarre reason is exempted from the FEDERAL laws mandating coverage.  The Mass Health supplemental plan we recently got for Janey ALSO doesn't cover ABA in the home.

Which means, of course, the only help anyone ever said there was didn't actually exist.  Not for us.  Not now.  Supposedly, starting this coming winter, Mass Health will cover ABA, but there will be waiting lists and huge backups and priorities for younger kids.  In reality, even then it's not going to be easy to actually get.  And for the past few years, when I've been thinking I was someone holding out on help that I didn't think would be that helpful---well, surprise.  I couldn't have gotten that help anyway.

So where does that leave us?  THERE IS NO HELP.  That is something I am putting in caps, because despite it being the truth, I think many people still believe it isn't.  I asked the family service person today, in any way I could think of, if there were ANY respite available, ANY program Janey could attend on weekends, ANY way to get more help.  And the answer was...no.  There isn't.

I have a child who requires around the clock supervision, who is aggressive to the point of hurting us, who cries for hours on end, who is not toilet trained, who bites herself badly all the time---and there is no help.

I guess this the reality I need to accept.  The feeling I got, the implication I felt I was hearing, at the clinic is that the only real help is now and then kids going into hospitals like Bradley, where Janey went in November.  I'm not willing to accept that.  Although our insurance was very good at covering it (but not Children's Hospital---they are supposed to pay some of that bill, but have yet to pay a cent), it cost the insurance a huge amount.  It makes no sense---they will pay for a psychiatric hospital but not the much cheaper help that could keep her out of one?

I will stop now, for fear of rambling.  But I wanted to get this down before I calmed down, for a change.  I try to not get angry.  I try to not get upset.  But tonight, I am.  Janey is my daughter.  I love her.  I will care for her as best I can for the rest of my life.  But somewhere, somehow, something is drastically wrong when there is no help at all for those like her that need it most.

Oh, Janey, how can I help you?

Janey, very unhappy

It's vacation week, and Janey is not happy.  As always, it's hard to say exactly why.  She doesn't care for the change of routine that vacation brings, ever, and this one, with neither brother around, seems to be hitting her extra hard.  Tony is working half days, to help me keep my sanity, but even that is tough.  She isn't sleeping well---she was up last night at 3 am.  Much of the day today featured hysterical crying, and when she wasn't crying, she was furious---lashing out at me, asking over and over to do things we couldn't do, just miserable.  And I am asking myself what I so often ask myself---Janey, how can I help you be happier?

An odd moment a few days ago got me thinking about what Janey wants and needs.  I showed her a video of Carly Fleischmann, a girl with autism who communicates by typing.  The video showed her at a coffee shop and illustrated the kind of frustration that builds up when you can't communicate verbally and there are all kinds of sounds and distractions.  Janey watched the video avidly.  Afterward, I told her that the girl in the video had autism, like she does, and that she couldn't talk with out loud words, and talked with typing.  I said maybe we could find some way to help Janey talk more easily, too.  Janey looked at me, with a look she only gets once in a long time, a look of clarity and directness, and said "I know how to talk".  I said "I know you do, but sometimes talking is hard for you.  That's why I'd like to find other ways to help you tell us things"  Janey again stared at me, and said, in a voice that was beyond firm, "I KNOW HOW TO TALK".

Janey has always resisted assisted communication type things---iPad programs, PECS type programs, typing, sign language---anything besides verbal talking.  I have always wondered how hard I should push her to use other ways to communicate, since her talking is often so limited.  But I feel like she has spoken, literally.  It was one of those weird moments---one that thinking back is almost hard to believe happened.  But it did.

And so, Janey, how CAN I help?  How can I better understand why you are so unhappy so much of the time?  Why did you cry and cry and cry today?  Why do you ask, a thousand times a day, to "go see Maryellen" or "Go see Auntie Carrie" when I've tried so hard to explain we can't at that moment?  Why do you want your bathing suit on all the time to go swimming, when we have no-place to swim?  Why do you ask me to snuggle you, and then lash out and hit me and scream when I do?  Why do you want to watch Little Bear, but cry every time we put it on?  Why do you resist toilet training so much?  Why do you bite your arm?  Why is it so hard, so very very very very hard, to keep you happy?

A little calmer, for a few minutes, walking with Daddy.

I would do anything to make Janey's life a happier one.  But I don't know what to do.  I have no idea what to do, most of the time.  And the days go by, and the weeks, and the years, and it's not getting any easier for any of us.

Another New Year's Eve, and a look back

I decided to look at my last post of each year since I started this blog, when Janey was 3.  It was an interesting exercise.  A couple things struck me.  One is that I kept, each year, desperately looking for progress, finding signs of it, listing them and then, the next year, without realizing, listing the same things again.  The progress ebbs and flows, but it doesn't seem to really be a forward line.  Another thing is that the end of the year has been a quite tough time a few of the years.

2008 Last Post of the Year Link

In 2007, I'd just started the blog, and didn't really write any year end post.  At that point, this blog was more of a diary. 2008 was a lot the same.  Strangely, what I wrote for the last post there sounds like it could have been written about the past few months---hitting the TV, biting, scratching.  Janey was only 4 then, and so the behavior was easier to handle, but it's a little startling to see it started then, with quite a few years in between that she has less acting out.

2009 Last Post of the Year Link

Janey's love of Christmas music hit that year, and it's fun to read about that.  I was starting to realize how severe Janey's intellectual disability was, and how her talking was very limited.

2010 Last Post of the Year Link

Janey was 6 that year.  It was a tough year, the year she had such a terrible time around June, and we started her on medication.  I reflected about the lack, once again, of a miracle breakthrough, and was starting to see it wasn't ever coming.

2011 Last Post of the Year Link

I was a little more upbeat that year, the year Janey was 7.  I remember that as one of the better years.  I went back to the theme of how limited the progress was, but I also wrote about cute things she was doing.  We were learning to enjoy our little girl as she was, not for what we were hoping she would become.

2012 Last Post of the Year Link

Another fairly good year, when Janey was 8.  I reflected on realizing that I was the one who knew her best, and I was encouraged by her increased understanding of our talking, and her communication, although talking wasn't how most of it was done.  I mentioned toilet training, surely thinking we were finally on our way (we aren't, and I now think we never will be)

2013 Last Post of the Year Link

A very downbeat post.  The end of last year was awful---the whole year was the start of the new reality, that Janey was getting older and things were getting tougher.  She was becoming increasingly unhappy, and I was feeling increasingly pessimistic.

And that brings us to now, 2014.  It's been quite a year, as most of you know.  The two big events were Janey changing schools and her hospitalization.  She switched this year from the inclusion classroom and school she'd been in since 3 to an autism only classroom in an autism wing of another school.  Much of that went fairly well, and in fact the time from about May-October was overall good, with Janey having a pretty nice summer and even going to the amazing Camp Fatima overnight.  However, we will most remember November this year, when Janey's self-injurious and lashing out behaviors increased to the point that she spent 24 days in two hospitals.

Where are we right now?  Right now, today, Janey is in a fairly good mood.  We are thinking her new medications might be doing something, although we've had kind of an off and on pattern of good days and not as good days.  Janey is Janey.  I think less, these days, of progress, and more of just learning how to best be a mother to the Janey I have.  She is an amazing person in so many ways.  We continue to enjoy her love of music.  Just today, we listened as she heard three new songs (we've been listening to a classic rock countdown) and sang them back, all perfectly, within minutes  She and Tony have a special morning routine any day he's not working---bacon and pan-fried vegetables all morning.  She uses the computer with ease to watch videos she likes.  She is getting tall and remaining beautiful.  Yet we are on alert all the time.  We knew at any minute, she might rage and bite us or scratch us.  We know that good days are to be treasured because there will be bad days, and they might be very bad days.  We love our Janey.  We despair over her, often, but we delight in her often too.

Here's a year end picture of my girl, and my year end wish to all of you.  Might you all have a 2015 where the happy moments outnumber the sad, and may you all have moments of true, pure joy in your special children, the moments that keep us all going.  My love to all of you.

A Whole New World Part Two

I am home for the night from the hospital---Tony is staying with Janey tonight, although I am of course on call if he needs me.  I plan to go back in about 6 am tomorrow.  Everyone has been telling me I should just sleep once I get home, and maybe that is good advice, but blogging here yesterday felt the first thing I've done in days that made sense.  So I am going to continue my story.  I don't think I'll catch up to the present this post, but we'll see.

After I went back to the room, after Janey's major all hell breaking loose meltdown, a few things happened.  One is that I found there was a woman in the room, someone called a "sitter".  The whole world of this kind of hospital scene being new to me, I'd never heard of a sitter.  But I have found out since it's standard protocol for psychiatric patients in non-psych wards.  They are women (so far all women) that sit in the room and keep an eye on how things are going.  Some do more, some don't.  They are there ALL THE TIME.  If they have to go to the bathroom, they have to get someone else to come in.  More on how that all feels later.  At this point, I was too dazed to think much.

A few minutes after going back to the room, I was told Janey was being moved once again, to a quieter area of the emergency room.  The new room was a little bigger than the second room, but as in the 2nd room, a part of the room was closed off by a door like a garage door.  This blocks off the area of the room with medical devices, the sink and everything really but beds and TV and floor.  Again, we were supposed to keep the door open at all times.

Janey was very unhappy.  She started to again lash out.  This time, the psychiatrist covering the ER didn't want to give her more medication.  He said instead we should just walk around with her to try to calm her.  A good idea in theory, but in practice, it didn't work well.  Janey kept trying to take off her clothes, and she didn't want to wear socks or shoes even when her clothes were on, which made leaving the room a battle.  She several times stopped in the middle of walking the loop of the ER and tried to take off her socks or clothes again.

At this point, I decided I'd had enough.  I called the nurse and said I felt being at the hospital was only making things much worse.  I said I wanted to be discharged---that I needed to take Janey home.  I kind of knew that wasn't going to happen, but I had to say my piece.  I was crying hysterically and (in my mind) yelling (the nurse later said I wasn't yelling at all, but I am so non-confrontational it felt like yelling).  The nurse said it wasn't safe to take Janey home, that although it was very hard, we needed to stay.  She said she did have good news---we were going to be admitted and moved to a private room on a medical ward.  We would be a term that is new to me, "boarders"  I guess there are many boarders around---kids that need a psych ward but for whom no psych ward is available.  I was learning new vocabulary fast that day.

The move came about an hour after that.  The room was a huge step up from being in the ER.  It was up on the top floor of the hospital, in what is actually a transplant ward.  That is where they had room.  It had a bathroom, a window ledge bed for parents and more room for Janey to move about.  That last detail was more important than I realized at first, as I was told once we got there that Janey could not leave the room.  She had to stay in the room at all times---it wasn't considered safe for her to leave.

Janey freaked out again badly a little bit after getting to the room.  She did the routine that was now and is now starting to seem familiar---tried to take off her clothes, screamed, arched her back, lashed at me and tried to pull my hair and bite me, tried to do the same to the sitter in the room---the same awful sequence.  A lot of nurses came in and had to restrain her.  They gave her an extra dose of Risperadol again.  After about 10 minutes, she calmed a bit.  She eventually went to sleep around 9 that night.  I told Tony he could go home, and I passed out cold asleep too.

Janey woke up at 3 am, freaking out once again.  Very similar---a rapidly escalating hysteria that led to her having to be restrained and having her get more medication.  When I say restrained, I don't mean with straps or anything---I mean her arms and legs held down by us.  She was up from 3 on.

The rest of that day, Sunday (the days are blending together) felt a little more bearable than the days before.  That is a very, very relative thing---before the two horrible days before, I would have felt like it was one of the worst days of my life.  But since Janey didn't have a lashing out incident during the daytime, it felt barely bearable.  I say barely, because she was absolutely constantly restless.  She would want to watch TV, would watch for a minute or two, then change the channel, then want to get on the antique laptop, then on her iPad, then she would ask to take a shower and I would give her a pretend shower in the bathroom, just to change scenery (I gave her a real shower that night, but if she had any many as she would have liked, she'd have had 10 showers), then she would say she wanted to snuggle, then she'd want me to get up, then would go to where I was and want me to move again...repeat all day long.  And endlessly, she would ask to take a walk.  And I would have to say no---we couldn't take a walk.  Which killed me.  It felt, quite frankly, like being in prison.  You have an agitated, frantic child who very much likes to stay active, and you can't leave the room?  For days?

Janey went to sleep about 7 that night.  I couldn't get to sleep right away.  I wrote the blog entry before this one, I played some Scrabble I just lay there thinking and trying to organize all that had happened in my mind.

Janey woke at midnight, with another outburst.  The nurse that came and helped me restrain her and calm her down said something that I guess I was ready to hear at that point.  She said "You have to keep yourself safe.  You have to step away when Janey is trying to hurt you.  You can be a better mother to her if you don't sacrifice yourself"  In my sleep-deprived state, my mind suddenly really understood that for the first time.  I have to keep myself going.  That is the only way I will be able to keep going for Janey.  She was talking literally about when Janey bites or kicks me, but I expanded the thought to mean more.  I have been reflecting on that thought a lot.

I want to write more, but I will listen to the last paragraph and get some sleep.  As a preview of the next day's events, I'll say that we don't yet have any placement in a psych ward, and there is no sign of one in sight.  We will have to remain at Children's Hospital until we get one.  I hear often two weeks as a common time frame.  I very much hope for something sooner.  Of course, even then, Janey will not be home, and we will not really be home, although we won't be staying with her.  But we will want to visit as much as possible, and the two possible hospitals are both at least an hour away.  This new world is not going back to being the old world any time soon.

A whole new world Part 1

As I write this from an old laptop at Children's Hospital in Boston, on Sunday night, it is hard to believe all that has happened in the last two days.  It will take me a long time to write all I want to, but this will be a start.

Last week was a tough one.  Janey was showing a lot of aggressive and self-injurious behaviors, and we were not sure what was up.  But I think we figured that she'd had bad spells before, and they got better.  We were not planning to do much with this current bad spell but wait it out.  Janey went to school on Friday, and I somehow felt very relaxed, like things were turning around.  That is how good my ESP is.  I got a call from the school around 1. Janey had been screaming, lashing out, hitting herself, biting herself and trying to bite others for several hours.  I said I would come get her, but the nurse said she didn't feel it would be safe for me to take her home.  They said they were calling an ambulance to take her to the emergency room.

I was stunned, overwhelmed, hysterical.  I simply hadn't thought of that potentially happening. I am not sure why.  I drove to the school crying.  I'm not sure how I made it without an accident. When I got there, about 5 teachers and therapists and nurses were gathered to talk to me.  They were all wonderful, but felt very strongly that Janey needed help, immediately.  And so I agreed to have her go in the ambulance.  Her great classroom teacher came with me,and another teacher followed to bring Janey's teacher back to the school afterward.  They truly went above and beyond, but I was still in a state of shock.

Janey enjoyed the ambulance ride immensely. So much so that I started to think we would get to the hospital and they would say "why in the world are you here?"  If only...We got a room in thr ER right away, and were seen by triage, mostly just to take vital signs.  Janey was agitated in the room, but not severely so at first.  A few hours after we arrived, we were seen by a psychiatrist, who observed Janey and heard about what had happened during the week.  She took the numbers of the teacher, the administrator and a social worker at the school,and I heard later she did call them all,which was good.  She told us that based on what she had seen and heard, she felt Janey should be admitted to a psych ward.  I had assumed if this was the case, she would be at the ward at Children's, where we were, but she explained that only a few hospitals were equipped to deal with low functioning, aggressive autistic children.  She knew of two---both probably an hour from Boston.  She said they would check for space at them, but it was highly unlikely they'd have a space right now, and that we would stay overnight in the ER.

After a bit, we were moved to another room.  The new room was MUCH smaller than the other ER room, and was right by a very busy nursing station.  We were told we needed to keep the door to the room open, so Janey could be observed at all times.  There was barely room in in the room for a bed and a chair for me. Janey finally fell asleep from exhaustion, about six pm, and I fell asleep shortly after.  I told Tony he could go home for the night.

Around 11, Janey woke up.  She immediately started trying to take off her clothes, which were wet.  I had no other clothes, and the ER brought me some pants and a top---the pants were about a men's size XL and the top a child's size XS.  Neither of course fit on Janey.  I also had no more pullups.  They brought me an adult diaper, about a size also men's XL, with the tapes gone.  Needless to say, this didn't work out.  Janey was getting more and more upset and taking off her clothes and screaming.  AT that point, I gave in and called Tony and asked him to come back, with clothes and pullups. He did, but Janey didn't go back to sleep.  She remained awake, agitated and wild.  I was beyond tired and beyond overwhelmed.

Janey seemed a little calmer around 8, and I told Tony he could go home and try to get a little more sleep,  Well, that might have been a mistake.  Shortly after he left, all hell broke loose.  I don't think I can even describe how badly hell broke loose.   Janey started lashing out, trying to bite me, pulling my hair and screaming.  When a nurse came in to help, she did her best to hit and bite the nurse.  She was ripping off her clothes repeatedly,and trying to run out in the hall.  She took a carton of chocolate milk and flung it at the wall.  She landed a bite on my hand.  A crowd had gathered, of nurses and security people and even policemen.  I felt like I'd gone into slow motion, like this was part of a movie or dream.  Someone told me to leave the room so I would not get hurt more.

I was taken to a small quiet room and a lovely nurse gave me some coffee and toast.  She said they would work on Janey and I should rest.  I had two minds---one said I should stay with my child who was so upset, and the other knew I couldn't, that I was at the end of some kind of limit that could not be pushed any further  I h/adn't slept, I was in the middle of the toughest day of my life, I was in a state of shock.  So I sat and drank the coffee and ate the toast and called Tony, who was understandably also stunned at the turn things had taken.

After a while, a nurse came in and asked how Janey usually responded to Ativan, an anti-anxiety drug. I said she had never had it before that day.  She said they had been considering giving Janey a dose of Haldol, which I knew was an anti-psychotic, by shot, because she had still not calmed down, but they decided to give her some Risperadol instead, as Janey already takes that, and they didn't want to mix the two.  They gave her an extra dose of the Riperadol.  They told me to rest and they would call me when Janey needed me/

Needless to say, I couldn't rest/  I tried, but I felt I had to see how Janey was doing. After about half an hour, I went back to her room.  She was looking close to sleep,  biting on a bite toy.  I hugged her and held her.  She stayed awake, although she was quite out of it.  I sat there, empty of all emotion, waiting to see what happened next.

I'll try to write part 2 soon.  I'm not trying to build suspense---my eyes are closing.  I need to sleep while Janey sleeps/  So I will close by saying the support all of you have given me since my sister posted on my Facebook page has helped to keep me going in this last few very dark days, and I am extremely, overwhelming grateful.  I haven't been great about answering notes or calling people the last few days, and I will try to be better as the situation allows, but please do know I treasure all of you.

The Terrible Day and the "What Next?" Feeling

Yesterday was a terrible day with Janey, terrible from start to finish.

Janey slept very badly night before last.  She was up at around 2 for good.  By bus time in the morning, we were exhausted.  The bus aide told Tony before Janey got on the bus that she has been crying a lot the day before.  Tony said he hoped today would be better.  We all hoped that.

I slept much of the day.  At around 1 pm, I got a phone call from the school, from one of the program heads and Janey's teacher.  They said Janey's behavior was at a level they had never seen before---frantic crying and screaming.  They took her to the nurse, but as is almost always the case with Janey, she was physically healthy.  They wondered if anything had been different at home.  It hadn't, except that we too had certainly noticed Janey had entered one of her darker periods, after a long stretch of happy behavior.  I felt like I had little to offer them in the way of ideas.

Getting Janey off the bus, I heard the driver say to her "Maybe NOW you'll stop crying!"  I asked the drive and aide if she had been crying a lot, but they didn't answer---I don't know if they didn't hear me or were just too burnt out to answer.  Janey came in and was happy for about 20 minutes.  Then all hell broke loose.

Janey asked me for a video.  I put it on.  She evidently didn't like it.  She lunged at me.  She grabbed my hands and started bending back the fingers as hard as she could---a behavior that has showed up in the last few days for whatever reason.  I pulled away my hand, and she grabbed my hair and pulled it as hard as she could.  I pulled away and she lunged again, and tried to bite me.  All the while, she was screaming a scream so loud and intense her back was arching.  I could feel that her heart was pounding very fast, and she was breathing extremely hard.

I got away from her, feeling for the first time true fear that she was going to badly hurt me.  I called Tony, and as we talked, she again lunged at me.  I was in tears.  Tony said he would get home as quickly as he could.

I gave Janey a dose of her evening medicine early, as her psychiatrist has said we could do in an emergency.  As always, she took it willingly.  She knows it calms her down, and I think she wanted to calm down.  After about 20 minutes of screaming, she was calm enough to eat, and Tony got home a bit after that.

The evening featured off and on incidents, but the worst was over for the time being.  Tony and I were drained.  Janey was not.  She stayed up until 10.  Thankfully, she slept until 4---the 6 hour stretch was the best we've had in a while.

The morning from 4 on was tough but somewhat bearable, with the two of us here.  When Tony put Janey on the bus, both the driver and aide talked to him.  Unfortunately, there is a big language barrier, and with the loud bus engine, Tony was unsure what they were saying, but it involved yesterday being another bad day on the morning bus for her.  However, they let her on, and we exhaled and went to try to start today.

The feeling I keep feeling is "What now?"   I feel like we have crossed some point---we are ready for more help.  But there isn't more help.  We did the steps we could.  I wrote to her school asking for a meeting next week, to talk about how we are all going to handle Janey, and we will have that meeting.  Tony is going to call Janey's psychiatrist today to see how soon we can see him.  But except for those two steps, we have no idea what else to do.  There is no number to call, no magical number you can call and say "Okay.  I'm ready.  I'm in need of help.  Help me."

There is support.  There is a lot of support, and without that, I would be sunk.  I thank each and every one of you who reads this blog, and your support and kindness and compassion keep me going.  I am grateful so very much to Janey's school---I know she is cared for and loved there, and I know they want the best for her.  I am thankful for my family and friends.

But help, help in caring for Janey, help that will give us some respite, help that will make a long-term change in Janey's life, help that I could have called yesterday when I felt physically scared, the kind of help that would be available so easily if what Janey had was a physical ailment---that does not exist.

I thought a lot yesterday about when Freddy had a terrible asthma attack.  We knew what to do.  We took him to the emergency room.  Within seconds, he was being helped, by a large team of professionals.  He got top of the line care, which very well might have saved his life.  He was admitted to the hospital.  He got wonderful followup care.

Yesterday, in the horribly dark moments when Janey was attacking me, I had no idea what to do.  If I had taken her to the emergency room, from everything I've ever heard and read, they would have had no idea what to do either.  There is no team of professionals rushing in to help with mental health issues.

This is a long entry, a raw one.  Maybe an angry one.  I am starting to feel anger in a way I usually don't.  What happens when you are ready for help?   Is there any help?

Janey will get over this very rough patch.  But it will come back again.  It will keep coming back.  And I guess we will keep doing what we are doing, getting by any way we can.  What else can we do?  I think the answer is----nothing else.

Autism Mothers Aren't Chosen

If you are the mother of a child with autism, the news lately is a little tough to hear.  I don't want to and won't comment on the recent horrible happenings involving mothers of autistic children, because I am not in a position to do so.  And that is my point here.  Mothers of children with autism are not a homogeneous group.  We are not a single type.  We are not chosen.  We share something very major in our lives---we are the mothers (and fathers, but society and the news seems to focus on mothers) of a child with autism.  But aside from that, we are all very different people.  We react differently to many things in our life, including the stresses of raising our children.

When I read about the mothers that break, I feel like I am supposed to have some inside insight into them.  I don't, really.  It is like when I read about any crime or horrible event.  I figure there are so many factors involved that I simply can't know or understand that I really don't know what happened.

Right around the time Janey was diagnosed, I was on the jury for a high profile murder trial, of a foster mother whose foster child was killed.  We eventually found her guilty of manslaughter.  I can tell you that after hearing all the evidence, and after much, much thoughtful deliberation, the amazing people on that jury felt for everyone involved---most of all the child, of course, but also the foster mother.  She was not a demon.  She made extremely poor decisions, and she paid for them.  But the experience left me realizing that we usually have no idea what life others live.

The only autism mother I can truly speak for is myself.  And I can only speak for myself at the moment in time I'm in.  I know there have been moments of despair, and my thoughts at those moments always went to escape---my own escape.  I thought of getting in the car and driving away and never coming back.  I thought of escaping into death, my own death.  Those thoughts were fairly rare, but they happened.  What helped me out of those moments in the abyss---knowing I had a family who loved me, knowing that there is always a hope for a better tomorrow, and often---Janey herself.  That is the biggest one---how even after the toughest times, my delight in her can make me happy like nothing else.

Autism mothers aren't chosen.  They are parents.  The idea that somehow they are special, different, miracle workers---those are dangerous ideas.  They are dangerous because of the expectations they create.  IT IS NOT OUR JOB TO FIX OUR CHILDREN.  That thought is what I think causes more despair among parents of children like Janey than any other.  We all have read about amazingly devoted parents who "cure" their kids.  Maybe this has happened, once or twice in history.  But most of the time, the children that get "cured" would have done so anyway.  I truly believe this, with all my heart.  I don't talk about it a lot, because it is not my story to tell, but my older son could be the subject of one of those "cured" fables.  I didn't cure him.  I am not going to cure Janey.  It IS my job to do what is the job of any parent---to give her a good life as much as I can, to love her and cherish her, to feed her and clothe her and see that she gets an education.

When the world understands that autism mothers are not a special, exalted breed, but just parents who have been dealt a more challenging hand than most, I think society will be more inclined to help us.  When the world understands that autism is not some mystical, mysterious state of being, but is more like diabetes or cystic fibrosis or other childhood conditions---not the fault of a parent or a child, not something a parent or a child can cure, not something that makes a parent or child better or worse, but a condition that requires help and services to deal with, I hope that help will be provided.  It will not prevent all tragedies, even then, and that is because every person, every child, every situation is different.  Please remember that when you hear the news.

Yet Another Screaming Post

If you read this blog regularly, you might be thinking "She's writing about screaming AGAIN?"  Well, yes, because right now, it's the very toughest issue we are facing.  You might ask, "Why would screaming be tougher than all the other issues?  She's got plenty to choose from--severe intellectual disability, lack of toilet training, self-injury, sleep issues..."  Yeah, I do have a few.  But none of them affect our life quite like the screaming.

I'll use yesterday as an example of how the screaming affects and limits Janey's life and our own.  Janey was in rare form yesterday, with a huge amount of screaming.  It started early, very early, like 5 am.  We were awakened to screaming, not for the first time that night, of course, but this time we were up for good.  We tried to figure it out, as we generally uselessly always do.  She was wet, she was hungry, she hadn't had her medication yet.  We run through the list, and it helps, or it doesn't.  By around 8, we were totally burnt out.  Imagine someone repeatedly screaming absolutely as loud as they can, at random intervals, and there being no reason we can possibly figure as to why.  We resorted to ignoring.  That is very hard to do, but it works as well as anything, not better, not worse.

Later in the day, Tony took Janey to the grocery store.  That is something she usually enjoys, and for most of the trip, she did yesterday too.  But near the end of the shopping, she suddenly screamed as loud as she possibly could, over and over.  The store was pretty empty, but a man around 50 yards away started holding his ears---Tony felt not to be nasty, but just because it was truly hurting his ears.  Tony braced himself for what we always fear will happen---someone calling the cops, as it would reasonably sound like she was being tortured.  But no-one did.  She screamed until she was sick of screaming, and then fairly happily checked out and came home in a good mood.  Tony, however, was shaken and burnt out.  It's harder and harder and harder to take Janey anyplace.  The sudden screaming outbursts make it at the least not fun, at the worse, frightening.

After a while with Janey being happy, she decided to start the screaming up again.  We were at that point exhausted and completely done for.  I tried giving Janey a shower, which sometimes calms her, but she was having no part of it.  I lay down with her, trying to calm her.  Finally, in desperation, I started doing a silly game of clapping her feet together (which she loves) and singing "Clap, Clap, Janey feels like screaming (3 times for that line) But We Aren't Going to Scream!"  It worked, for then.  I have no illusion it will work ever again.  I have so many times felt I've had a breakthrough with an idea about controlling the screaming, only to have it completely not work the next time I try it.

I spent a good potion of the night trying to figure out what might make her scream.  I was too tired to think very effectively.  All I came up with is that screaming makes something happen.  It makes us upset.  Even when we ignore it, that's something happening---us being unresponsive.  If we are in public, it creates a scene.  It hurries us out.

But what good does knowing that do?  If ignoring doesn't work (and it's completely impossible to ignore her in public---WE might be able to, but those around us can't), if the events that cause the screaming seem random---what are we to do?  We have no idea.  None at all.  In my dramatic moments, I have been thinking that the screaming is ruining our lives, and Janey's life.  It's that bad.  And I have nothing positive to end with here.  Just a silent scream of my own.

Tornado Janey

In the past, Janey's bad moods often felt like hurricanes.  We could sense they were coming, and once they arrived, they lasted a bit of a while.  Then, when they left, they usually were followed by a good mood, like the nice weather that often comes after a hurricane.  But lately, her moods feel more like tornadoes.  They arrive suddenly and violently, doing intense damage, and then lift up to the sky and leave a shattered day behind, even if it's sunny and nice out.

Yesterday was a huge case in point.  We went for a family ride and got some Chipolte, everyone's favorite.  We were driving home, all very cheerful.  I was feeling almost on a high, with my whole family in the car, joking and laughing and having a truly good time.  I actually thought "This is great!  This is what it's all about"  And then, without warning, out of the blue, Janey attacked Freddy.  She screamed and lunged at him, and bit him.  She didn't break the skin, but it was scary.  She was in a fury, hysterical.  Freddy handled it well, but was in true pain.  He did what we usually do for biting, yelled very loudly "NO BITING!  STOP IT!"  It is all that has ever seemed to work, despite other advice I've often read about ignoring the biting.  That feels inorganic, impossible, and the yelling startles Janey.  She did pull away from him, but reminded completely hysterical.  We got home a minute or two later, all shaken.

Later that day, again, Janey lashed out, this time at William.  Again, with no prior warning.  Between these two times, she was fairly cheerful.  I did what I have been trying to do lately, talked to her assuming she understands everything.  I explained why we don't bite, told her that her brothers have feelings just like her, told her that it hurts them.  She listened.  She wasn't eager to say she was sorry to Freddy, but she did, finally.  And then just hours later---the William bite.

I hate to write about Janey biting.  I debated all day whether I would or not.  But in the end, I want to be honest here.  After a recent post, I had several people tell me it helped to know they weren't alone in dealing with these very tough behaviors.  We all want to present our children in the best light.  We all want to be positive, when we can.  But that sometimes results in a blog world where Janey's particular type of autism is not spoken of.  I can't do that, to myself or to others with children like Janey.

Tony and I feel hung over today.  We are feeling very heavy-hearted.  It will get better---it always does.  We bounce back and regain our hope.  But last night, after the bite, William told me he felt scared of Janey for the first time ever.  William is almost 20, a tall big guy.  But I didn't dismiss his fears.  When Janey's outbursts come out of no-where, it's hard not to feel scared.  We are feeling like we just don't know what to do next.  I hope Janey doesn't carry this behavior into school.  But we've been told, to get more help for her, sometimes that is what it takes.  I don't want that.  I don't think that should be the way to get help.  And by help, sometimes I am starting to admit to myself I mean a possible residential placement.  Those words make me cry, every single time.  They make me despair.  It's not what I want.  I can't stand the thought of it.  But maybe Janey needs more help than we can give her.

I hope what I am feeling today is how one feels after a tornado impacts them.  Of course you feel overwhelmed, worried, shaken.  But after a few days or weeks, you start to regroup.  That is what we have always done, and that is what I want to keep doing.  Anything else is so very hard to imagine.

Screaming

Janey started screaming tonight within seconds of getting off the school bus.  Before she was even in the house, the screams had reached a level of intensity that is near impossible to describe.  Imagine the loudest, most intense scream you've ever heard.  Imagine a horror movie scream overdone by about 200%.  Imagine the most intense noise you can imagine a person making.  Then double any of those.  That's Janey scream at its worse.

We got her in the house, and through her yells she asked for cheese, which we got for her.  Within a short time, she seemed calmed down.  Tony needed to go get William at work, and Janey wanted to go.  I went along, just in case.  We got her a Happy Meal.  All seemed okay until about half way home.  And then the screaming started again.

In a car, the scream is next to impossible to deal with.  Tony wanted to roll down the windows, but I said we shouldn't.  If someone in a neighborhood car heard her, they would be excused in thinking she was hurt in some horrible way.  But with the windows up, the sound echoes around and makes driving hellish.  However, you just want to get home as quickly as possible.  It's never easy to decide what to do.  We decided on ignoring the screams, as much as we could.  For a minute that seemed to work.  She calmed down enough to ask to hear "The Ant Go Marching" on the iPod.  We handed it to her playing that, and she listened for maybe half a minute, and then resumed the screaming.  I started my patter, partly to calm myself and Tony and William, telling her we soon would be home, we would lie down on the bed, I would sing to her if she wanted, she could rest, she could have a nice cold drink, everything would be okay....I talk in a sing-songy calm voice that often seems to quiet her.  It did a little, enough to get us home.

At home, walking in, the screaming started again.  I am thankful every day for having neighbors that understand Janey.  I can't imagine living in a neighborhood like some I've heard of, with neighbors without sympathy.  We got her inside, I lay down with her on the bed, I did my talking, and she calmed.  She is now eating like crazy---often something she does after a scream, even when she has already eaten a lot, as was the case today.

The screaming is near unbearable.  It drives us into a state that doesn't feel like living.  It feels like surviving, just barely.  Yesterday, Sunday, also featured a huge amount of screaming, and it drove me to email the special ed coordinator for Janey to see if I could change my mind and have her go to summer school, even though I previously had been quite convinced I wanted to try not having her go this summer.  But I know if every day was a screaming day during the summer, I would not make it.

I have no cheerful conclusion here.  I can say SOMETIMES it seems like the screaming spells are shorter, but they are more intense than ever.  They drain every inch of enthusiasm I have, every bit of hopefulness and energy.  I am sure they do the same for Janey.  And yet, we can't prevent them.  We can't predict them.  We can't consistently help them.  We can only live through them.  That's as positive as I'm going to get tonight.