All the tough decisions---autism life in a COVID world

As the months go by and we are still living in this endless COVID bad dream, I suspect all of us living lives affected by autism are starting to feel the strain increase.  It's not at all easy for anyone, but for kids like Janey, and families like ours and so many of yours, it's a special kind of tough.

Starting with the new year, it seemed, Janey got more challenging.  We all did.  It's been a long, long haul, and it's winter, and the cases were increasing, and we all had been stuck together as a family for far longer than is mentally healthy.  The biggest issue was sleep.  Janey's sleep started a pattern of one night okay, one night with either a very late going to sleep time or a very early waking up time, and then one night of absolutely no sleep.  And although we did our bests to catnap while she was awake, or to sleep well on the nights she did, that kind of sleep cycle...wow.  We were snapping at each other, constantly tense, really not doing well.  

Janey, in trying to cope, I think, was developing some quite repetitive routines.  One was watching Toy Story 4, and sometimes Toy Story 2, over and over and over.  The other shows and movies she used to like weren't being watched at all.  And not even all of the two Toy Stories were, just certain scenes, repeated time after time.  And while watching them, Janey would laugh, that laugh I think you all know, an insane sounding loud almost humorless laugh, a fake kind of high decibel laugh.  The nights she stayed awake all night would feature that laugh off and on for hours up on hours.

We kept trying, as we have been, to do school at home.  We do the morning meeting, at 8, for which Janey showed varying levels of engagement, and then video lessons such as books with a theme for the week or lessons like a great one her teachers have developed about body awareness and pain.  When we can catch her in the right mood, she'll listen with interest and answer questions, but other times, she simply screams at the top of her lungs at the very mention of the classes.  We resorted to making the lessons a requirement before car rides or other fun times.  That's not how I want school to be for her, some kind of chore.  And that's never how it has been.  None of this is the fault of her teachers, who are doing a hero's job of it all in the midst of impossible challenges.  It's that remote learning is not how Janey learns, and I don't think it ever will be.

With all this, we decided after huge family debate to request that Janey go back to school, which supposedly was available for kids of her level of disability.  We had turned down what was called the hybrid model of learning before, where she would have been able to go to school 4 days a week.  I thought this was a reversible decision, and that by requesting she switch out of remote, she'd be quickly able to return to school.  Well, I should have known better, as in one of the hugely contrasts that exist, the difference between the fantastic teachers in Boston and the (I won't use some of the words I'd like to use here) middle and upper level central administration of Boston, the admin people showed their colors again, and it seemed somehow either impossible or incredibly complicated to switch her model.  Meanwhile, somehow there was supposed to be a switch for most special needs kids to in person on February 1st, but in one of the many conflicting and complicated emails I got, we were told since Janey was in the highest needs level and we had before requested remote learning for her, now that those with less severe needs were going to be able to go back, our previous decision to be remote had to stand, unless we did some complicated other form and (presumably) prayed it worked.  If you are confused, so am I.

However, Janey's teacher and I had the idea that perhaps Janey could go to school for one day, or one day a week, for state testing she had to have.  Even just one day was such a thrill for all of us to think of.  So a week ago Thursday, Janey went to school for a day.  She had a wonderful day.  We had a wonderful day at home.  The effects of that one day, even, last for days and days---better sleep, better toilet use, better moods, and Tony and I, after 10 full months of absolutely zero respite, had about 4 hours to ourselves between driving her in and picking her up.

Part of the day at school was a COVID test.  Janey wasn't excited about the prospect, and resisted at first, but her teacher told her that after the nurse "tickled her nose", she could have a lot of salami.  Brilliant!  She gave Janey a minute, asked her if she was ready, Janey said yes, and the test was taken successfully.

That first week's test was negative. We took Janey to school again last Thursday, so happily.  I especially needed a break.  Midweek I had developed diverticulitis for the third time in three years, with a fever and lots of pain, and a remote appointment and antibiotics and warnings of what signs to go to the ER immediately if I got.  Janey was tested again that day.

Saturday morning Janey's teacher called us to say that the pooled test, where Janey and one other child's COVID tests were combined together and tested, were positive.  Either Janey had COVID, or the other child did, or both of them did.  The school nurse called me a few minutes later (her teacher called me first to tell me in person, which I so much appreciated)  She went over the next steps, which was to get Janey her own COVID test.  

We are getting Janey's test today.  And I'll just note here, when mayors and governors and so on urge testing, well, could they make it a little damn easier to get a test, even in a situation like this where there is more than just an exposure, where there is a 50% chance Janey has the virus?  Can they make it so you don't have to call around for hours and EXPLAIN to the nurse you finally talk to what pooled testing even is, and hear her say "I've never heard of that! That's stupid!  I don't understand why they would do that!" and then act like saying Janey could get a test is some kind of huge favor, and then asking me "Will she even cooperate with the test?"  

Janey has a few mild symptoms which might or might not be significant.  A few nights ago she was coughing a bit, and she had some diarrhea, which is rare for her.  But yesterday and today she seems perfectly healthy and happy.  And thankfully, the rest of us don't show any signs so far.  But still, of course, we have to quarantine, and in fact, the whole high school is going to have to go fully remote (although only about 20 kids weren't remote)  So, for now, our plans of having Janey go to school in person again are at the very least on hold for a while.

I don't have a strong conclusion here.  Were we wrong to send Janey in for those two days?  My older son strongly, strongly feels we were, and maybe he's right.  But as I told him, he hadn't been up night after night with Janey.  He wasn't the one responsible for keeping her together day after week after month, or for trying to get her to access an education in a way she didn't want to and couldn't seem to, she wasn't the one without one second of respite from a very high needs child for literally almost a year.  We want Janey to learn, to be with friends, to have fun, to get the benefits of the wonderful teachers and aides and therapists that are there for her.  But of course we also want to be well.  And you can't really be mad at a virus.  It's doing what all of us are doing---trying to stay alive and go on.  

I'll try to keep this blog updated on Janey's test results.  I hope you all are hanging in there.  Please know you aren't alone during these long months.  There's a lot of us out there living this life.  Whatever decisions you make about schooling, know that you are doing the best you can in your situation.  And join me in hoping that a year from now, this will be part of history.  Please.

Daddy's thank you to Janey during trying times

Janey, I want to thank you for being such a very good girl during this Corona Virus time! I also want to thank you for making me so happy after you got better from being very sick from your appendix that burst about five years ago.

Too many times daddy feels angry or sad about things. But you help me forget my angry and sad feelings. You are always jumping up and down, smiling, laughing, singing and playing YouTube kids on your iPad. You helped me learn some of your favorite nursery rhyme songs because I watch a lot of CocoMelon, Chu Chu TV, Mother Goose Club, and Dave and Eva with you on the Internet. I even learned to play the harmonica for some of your favorite nursery rhyme songs! Your whole face smiles when you hear me play songs like Ten in the Bed, Looby Loo, Skip to My Lou, Five Green and Speckled Frogs, and a few more songs.

Thank you Janey for asking me everyday to give you car rides with music because you still want me to play British Invasion 1960s music on YouTube. You helped me find some super amazing songs and videos like "See See Rider" by the Animals, "Tobacco Road" by the Nashville Teens, "I Feel Free" by Cream, "Baby Please Don't Go" by Them, "Someday We're Gonna Love Again" by the Searchers, Fleetwood Mac's "Oh Well," "Have I the Right" by the HoneyCombs, "I Can See for Miles" by the Who, "Shapes of Things" by the Yardbirds, "Sunny Afternoon" by the Kinks and "Long Tall Woman in a Black Dress" by the Hollies!

And Janey, you have me watch a lot of your favorite movies on Disney +! I have a lot of fun watching these movies as you ask me to play "Miguel the Guitar Boy," which is really called Coco, "Bad Llama," which is The Emperor's New Groove, and all your "Buzz Lightyear" movies, which you sometimes call by their real names, like Toy Story 3.

Janey, you make mamma and me laugh so loud when you sing to yourself or repeat some lines from your favorites movies. I often hear you sing "a cold cup of coffee and a piece of cake" which comes from a song named "Matthew and Son." Sometimes you say "put me down you idiot," and I laugh because that was when Big Baby from Toy Story 3 picked up evil Lotso and threw him into the trash!

Oh Janey, please never stop being yourself as you are just too funny! You smile and laugh for your brothers William and Freddy when they play with you! Mamma and daddy love it when you smile so much for your teacher when she uses her computer with Zoom to see you! We love it when you hug us over and over because you're so happy and enjoying life!

Thank you Janey for making me a better daddy and a happier person!

You are the best Janey!

"Talker Machine?"

Janey does things her own way.  We've learned our lesson through the years, and trying to force her to do thing our way doesn't go over well.  This is proving true with our foray into TouchChat.

Last week, Janey's wonderful teacher synched TouchChat at school with our version at home, and also added to both buttons for our family and friends (and cats).  It's fantastic having a way finally to talk to Janey about specific people at school, and to let her talk about people at home while she's at school.  I've been playing around with TC constantly on my own, figuring out all its features.  And we've had it available for Janey to use at all times.

So, how is she taking to it?  It's a mixed bag.  I'll have to say it can be frustrating.  The most common thing Janey does with the program is pick the exact middle button, over and over, though screen after screen.  Doing this creates the sentence "I don't want to listen to CD"  Maybe this is a message Janey wants to get to us, but the thing is, she has basically never seen a CD, never listens to them, and when I showed her some and tried to figure out if she knew what they were or did, she showed no interest.  So like with a lot of things, I think pressing the middle buttons has become a routine, not really a way to communicate.  And that's fine.  If that is a way Janey enjoys using her "talker", and it makes her feel comfortable with it, I am happy.  But I do wish she'd be a little more interested in exploring other possibilities.

I've been doing a lot of reading about getting started with AAC, and modeling the use of the device is a big part of it.  So I am often using it to either say things I want to say to Janey, or to model what she might want to say with it.  For example, if she is irritated we don't immediately take her for a car ride when she wants to, I make it say "I am frustrated" or " I want to go to the store" or "I want to wear shoes" (another way she asks for rides).  This doesn't seem to encourage her to use TC to talk to us, but it does seem to be helping her organize her verbal talking, which is wonderful.  We've heard her use more complete sentences lately than usual.  The other day, she said "I want you to clean my foot" to me, extremely clearly.  The usual way she'd ask something like this is to point to herself and say "you want to clean feet?"  I was startled and thrilled.

The tricky thing with getting Janey into TC is that she is at the height right now of a teenager phase of not wanting me around often.  The most common thing we hear lately is "Want to go away?"  She wants to be alone when she watches her videos, or plays with her regular iPad watching YouTube on her bed, or basically any time we are around harshing her mellow and getting in her face.  So having me cheerily constantly around modeling TC is not really how she wants to spend her time.  I'm finding the time she's most open to it is when she wants something from us.  If you've had teens ever, you know that is about as typical as it gets.  When she wants a ride, or wants us to cook her something, or wants a certain video, she is much more motivated to at least watch us use the TC than other times.

Most nights, as I lie down with Janey to snuggle as she falls asleep, something I do most every thing, I've been having the TC open and playing around with her, saying silly things to each other like "I'm so over that!" and "Whatever!"---one of the great features of the program is it lets teenagers say teenage things like that.  Last night, though, I didn't bring it with me for our snuggle, as Janey has been resistant to it throughout the day and I didn't want to irritate her.  But after we were snuggled down, Janey said "Talker machine? Want to get talker machine?"  That was a wonderful thing to hear.  Whether Janey is using AAC in a conventional way or not, we are having fun with it, and I'll continue to model and play around and do what I can to give Janey a way to augment her verbal talking.

The count of five is the best

The last few weeks have been busy.  We went to get Freddy at college, and then the next weekend was one of our biggest events ever as a family, William's graduation from Brandeis!  If I might boast just a bit---he graduated summa cum laude and gave the featured speech at his history major diploma ceremony.  It was a day for the lifelong mental scrapbook.

This past week, I've been thinking over and over how my favorite times are when the count in the household is five---when all three kids are around.  It's crowded, it's loud, it's food consuming and endless dishes and lots of arguments and loud music, and it's fantastic.  It's wonderful.  Being a mother to three very different and very cool kids (or two adults and a kid, now!) is my dream come true.

I've also been reflecting, though, on how autism affects the family count, the family unity.  I'll say the right things and mean them---I think we are all better off than we would be without Janey.  I think she gives our life the salt, the spice, that makes it more than it would be otherwise.  I am pretty sure her brothers and Tony would agree.

However, it also makes it very hard to be a family of five anyplace but at home.  We were very lucky for the graduation weekend.  My parents came down and watched Janey during the morning graduation, so Tony and I could go with Freddy.  When we picked up William and drove him to the ceremony, we all noted how odd it felt to have the four of us in the car.  It's the combination that just about never happens.  Someone is always at home with Janey, or if she is with us, usually the boys aren't.  But we were able to attend, and that was great.  My friend Maryellen was even there as a backup, if something had gone wrong with the arrangements.  But I wish...I wish Janey could have been there too.  And of course she COULD have, but in many real ways, she couldn't have.  She would not have stood two minutes of ceremony.  No-one around us could have listened to the speeches.  One of us would have had to leave, to take her outside.  And the focus would not have been on who deserved it at that moment, William.

For a rare event like a graduation, I accept that we will rarely number five.  But I wish that we could do more as a whole family for the more minor events---a dinner out, a visit to friends, a movie or outdoor concert or trip to the beach.  A lot of why we don't has nothing to do with Janey, and much to do with the big age divide in our family.  The boys are no longer at home most of the time, and when they are, they are often working or with friends, and that is how it should be.  But even when they are around, the simple fact is that very few places are possible to go to with Janey.  Or they are possible if one of us is primarily a caregiver, and ready to leave at any moment.  It's nobody's fault.  It's just the way it is.

Tony, William, Tony's sister Rose and Freddy

And so I treasure the times at home when we are all together.  I treasure them more than I can even explain.  Yesterday morning, Freddy came down for breakfast (more like lunch, as he works late).  The rest of us were eating and talking.  Janey ran over to Freddy and said "It's Freddy G-mara!" (a jokey way we say our last name sometimes)  We all laughed and laughed.  Then I said "It's great to have you here with both your brothers, Janey" and she said "My brothers!  William and Janey and Freddy!"  I started tearing up.  I felt like at that moment, she was grasping something she never quite has before---that she is one of three kids, one of Tony and Suzanne's children, one of the Amaras.  That is what I want for her more than anything on earth---to be part of it all, to be an equal and included member of the group.

I'm going to hold onto the moments this summer we are all together.  William heads to Chicago to graduate school in the fall.  Some day, both boys will perhaps have their own families.  Maybe, if we are lucky, we will have grandchildren.  But the moments we all five at home---those are the moments that make me wish I could save time in a bottle.

Thinking about my sons

My boys are home from college.  I guess it would be more accurate to say my men are home from college, as they are both really adults now, but they will always be my boys.

They both aren't working this week, and Janey is in school still, so I'm getting a rare treat, time with them both, without schoolwork looming over them.  It's great.  But it's also making me think a lot about how Janey has affected them.

In some ways, because they are both so much older than Janey (7 and 10 years older), it hasn't been the typical situation for siblings for a child with autism.  I can't even quite wrap my mind around how it would have been if they all were close in age, although I know many of you have that setup.  Because they are older, I'd say it's been easier on us as parents, but maybe, perhaps, actually tougher on them as siblings.

From the time Janey's tough behaviors really started, when she was around 3, in many ways, the boys have been on their own.  Of course, not totally, but so often, we were simply not able to do things as parents for them that most parents would do.  We missed school events, we were unable to help much with homework, we couldn't go on family vacations or eat out or actually do very much as a whole family at all.  We used a lot of "divide and conquer".  One of us would care for Janey, the other would go to the play or do the drive to a friend's house or sneak out for a birthday meal.  The boys almost never got both of us at once.

Way too often, I read cheery, almost flip accounts of how having an autistic siblings helps kids.  They are supposedly more compassionate, more caring, somehow bettered.  That might very well be the case.  I am very, very proud of my boys.  They are fine young men.  But I don't think this is because of Janey's autism.  That doesn't seem like a fair burden to put on either Janey or the boys---that somehow she made them better.

I think the truth is that they missed out on a lot.  I think about the time of Freddy's graduation from high school, last year.  That was an exceptional time, due to Janey's long hospital stay, but only I was able to attend his graduation.  Neither of us saw him off to his senior prom.  We weren't there for just the general excitement that goes along with the end of senior year.  I can't sugarcoat that.  He missed out.

Both boys have learned to be independent.  They probably had more freedom and less parental involvement (or interference) than most kids their age.  We certainly weren't able to be helicopter parents.  Although that might be a positive, it wasn't a choice.  It wasn't a parenting style.  It was just reality---how it had to be.

I can't even begin to count how many times there were that the boys wanted to do something, like watch a TV show as a family, but Janey had a meltdown and we wound up not being able to.  I think too often, we just expected the boys to understand that her needs had to come first.  I feel guilty about this, although I don't honestly think there was a way we could have handled it differently.  If we tried, as we did a few times, to power through Janey's outbursts and screaming and keep to our plans, it wasn't enjoyable, and the boys usually were the ones to call it, to give up.  I can't sugarcoat that.  I do know that as kids get into their teens, hanging out with parents is not always the top fun on their lists, but I wish we'd had more chances to give it a try.

This is a pretty downbeat post, but it's an honest one. I can honestly say, though, that the boys love Janey and she loves them.  We're a family.  Having a sibling with autism is a fact of the boys' lives, and always will be.  She's not a character builder, or a barrier to overcome, or a inspirational story to tell.  She's their sister, and all three of my children are amazing people. I'm pretty lucky that way.

Through the years we all will be together...

Easter Sunday was quiet at our house.  We don't visit family or friends, we don't go out to dinner.  Janey can't be around younger kids much, due to her aggression at times, travel to far flung loved ones is tough, and eating out...well, it's not worth spending a good deal of money to rush a meal, waiting for the meltdown.  So we stay home.  And truthfully, it's okay.  We are loners a bit.  But this year, both Tony and I were feeling a little emotional about our Easter.  It took us until about halfway through the day to realize it was the first year with neither boy home.  Our family felt small.

Janey was in a good mood all day, though.  We had fun early in the day taking a long ride into the city.  We love early Sunday rides, with little traffic.  Boston is a great city, when you take away the traffic nightmares, and we enjoyed driving through some neighbors, like the Little Italy of Boston, the North End, that we don't often see.  We all had some chocolate (Janey's early in the day, to prevent non-sleep!) from huge chocolate eggs that Uncle Pino gave us, and Tony got some of our favorite Gimbel's jelly beans.  It was a fine day, but I was still feeling low.

We aren't very religious, but I certainly wouldn't mind going to church on Easter.  We haven't found a church, though, that we can go to with Janey.  We want church to be a family thing, like it was with our beloved Hyde Park Congregational Church that shut down when Janey was two.  But there is no way on this earth Janey could be at a service, and there is also no way she could attend Sunday School without someone one on one with her.  So, we don't go to church, and that feels a little funny on Easter too.

Looking at Facebook during the day, I of course saw many pictures of kids at Easter gatherings.  I didn't make up an Easter basket for Janey, because she has never had any interest at all in that (or stockings) and because we would end up eating all the candy she didn't want, or she would end up eating chocolate bunnies and not sleeping for a week.  But I decided I wanted to take pictures of Janey for Easter.  I love taking pictures, especially of Janey.  I got out my iPad and used the Hipstamatic app, which has all kinds of virtual lenses and film that it picks at random each time you take a picture.  I adore it.  I took about a hundred pictures of Janey, to see what got picked and how they came out.

While I was in the middle of taking pictures, suddenly and unexpectedly, Janey began to sing.  She often sings a few lines of songs, but it's rare she sings the whole song, although she knows many by heart.  This time, however, she did.  She sang "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas", the whole song, in her otherworldly high and perfect singing voice.

I try hard on this blog to portray autism honestly.  Autism isn't a series of miracles, a savant hidden in an unexpected place, a innocent showing us all the way.  But in every child's life, including Janey's, there are a few moments that take the breath of parents away.  Janey's singing yesterday was one of them.  As she sang "Through the years, we all will be together, if the fates allow...", I cried.  And held her close.  She had sung the song, that, if not seasonal, most perfectly captured the mood I had been feeling all day.  For that moment, our troubles were indeed far, far away.

Christmas, not so much presents!

I recently asked if people on the Facebook group that is a companion to this blog wanted to talk about their girls at Christmastime (if they celebrated Christmas), and many did---thank you to all of you!  (and if you are reading this and have a girl with autism in your life, and you aren't already in the group, I'd love to have you join---it's a friendly and welcoming place!)

A few things stood out about our girls and Christmas.  One is that it's not about the presents, for the most part.  Another is that it can be an overwhelming time.  But with those things kept in mind, most of the girls and their families did find a way to enjoy Christmas and make it a special time.

The part about the gifts was striking to me, in that most of the girls were like Janey---not big fans of gifts.  Of course, there are exceptions, but for the most part, gifts were one of the toughest parts of the season.  In a way, that might sound like every parent's dream.  We hear over and over that Christmas isn't supposed to be about getting presents, and of course it isn't, but presents are a big part of it, and to have a child that no only doesn't much want any presents but can even be actively upset by them is hard.

There were some great ideas people have.  One person talked about making the Christmas stocking full of small unopened toys, instead of having presents under the tree that had to be opened.  Another idea was having one box with all the presents in it, to reduce opening.  A great idea was giving a little present each Sunday of Advent, to practice.  An important thing is finding presents our girls actual like---like sensory toys or food.

I've always struggled with presents for Janey.  Part of it for me is a feeling of equality.  I don't want to just give her brothers presents and not her (although, to be honest, Janey would not notice or care).  And I ENJOY getting toys and gifts for Janey.  But she hates opening presents.  She doesn't get it, and it is not fun for her.  This year, there was a wonderful moment when I asked her what she wanted for Christmas and she actually answered "a book", so of course there will be a pile of books for her under the tree, but I won't wrap them.  I will give her one wrapped present---a tabletop drum set.  And her stocking will have a lot of chocolate in it (yes, I know I've said in the past chocolate makes her crazy and insomniatic, but she loves it, and I want her to get something she loves)  I won't try to make her watch her brothers open things, and I won't be upset if she shows no reaction to anything she gets.  That's the plan, anyway.

I think one of the most stressful parts of Christmas for us as autism parents is that our kids often have a hard time sharing Christmas with extended family and with friends.  We can control things to some extent at home, but it's hard when visiting others.  And it's hard sometimes for grandparents and other relatives, too.  They want to share Christmas, to give presents, and it seems to go against what is expected that the very sharing and hospitality and presents can be a source of stress.  A lot of families just don't make visits, or if they do, it's to one place each year.  We go every Christmas Eve to a dear friend's house.  Janey knows the family well, and I think knows that is the plan.  She is an early to bed kid, and so we have a lot of the night after she falls asleep for the our two families to have time together, but while she's awake, they know her and make sure there's food she likes and routines she understands for her to enjoy.  That means a great deal to me.

What do our girls like about Christmas?  A lot of girls like the tree and the decorations.  Traditions also seem to fit naturally with autism!  They are routines, after all.  And for Janey, and some other girls, the best part of Christmas is the music.  Starting at the beginning of November, I switch my iPod to an all Christmas list.  I know a lot of people hate Christmas music too early, but for Janey, that's a compromise---she'd listen all year, and at least keeping it to two months makes it a little more special!  I sing carols to her every night at Christmastime as she goes to sleep.  She seems each year to pick a carol or song that she loves best.  This year, it's been "Hark the Herald Angels Sing"  She especially seems to like later verses of carols.  She's gotten very annoyed with me a few times for not remembering all the verses of "We Three Kings", especially the depressing one about sorrowing and dying!

One of the most amazing and wonderful moments ever with Janey, one of those I hesitate to mention almost because it seems like one of those "autism is magic" stories that in daily life don't really happen that often---when Janey was about 6, she heard the Hallelujah Chorus from The Messiah for the first time, in the car.  She was quiet and looked to be in awe for the whole thing, and when it was over, she burst into applause, clapping for a long, long time---something she had never done before for a song, much like the first time George II
of England heard it and stood up in honor, which has become the traditional thing to do.  It was a moment I'll remember all my days.

Autism never takes a holiday.  That can be very tough at times like Christmas.  It's hard having to adjust plans, presents, visits and expectations for the whole family to avoid meltdowns, but not doing so is even harder, as a meltdown filled Christmas is not fun for anyone.  Overall, I felt encouraged by hearing from others about their Christmases.  We seem to find a way to find joy in the season even with the challenges.  It's not easy, but not much of this autism parenting gig is.  I hope all of you have a wonderful Christmas and/or New Year.  We are all in this together, wherever in the world we might be, and that truly does help.  Merry Christmas.

Thanksgiving 2015

Last year, Janey spent Thanksgiving at Bradley Hospital, hospitalized for her increasingly agitated and aggressive behavior.  This year, she was home.  That alone was something to feel very thankful for.

There's a lot else to feel thankful for, of course.  There's my husband and sons, three amazing, brilliant, kind and interesting people.  There is Janey herself, my beautiful, fascinating daughter.  There's my extended family.  There's my friends, including all of you.  There's the fact that we have enough to eat, and a roof over our heads, and don't go to bed at night in fear.  That puts us far up on the things to be thankful for scale compared to so many in the world.  There's the many other things that make life worthwhile, for me anyway---books, cats, Scrabble, music, coffee---all of life's little pleasures that really aren't that little in terms of the pleasure they bring.  And there's just the fact we are all here, seeing another Thanksgiving Day.

It wasn't an easy day, really.  The thing about autism is that it never, ever takes a holiday or vacation.  It is with Janey always.  I wish so much she could have a day off from it now and then (and that we could, too)  The 2015 version of Janey has a hair-trigger.  She gets instantly, overwhelmingly upset over things she doesn't like, and there's a long list of things she doesn't like.  The anger, though, doesn't last a long time.  Within five or so minutes, she is usually not screaming.  But the screams are a daily, or pretty much really an hourly, occurrence.  They make it very hard to relax, ever.  We had our big meal upstairs with my brother-in-law.  The food was good, the conversation was good, but Janey was unhappy.  She screamed and flung clothes around and was generally extremely unhappy.  We were determined to eat anyway, together, something that I must admit doesn't get done a lot with our family.  But as soon as we finished, before dessert, I took her downstairs.  There is only so much that we can make her endure, and, honestly, endure ourselves.

Autism is our reality.  It's a huge, huge, huge part of our lives.  And I am not thankful for that.  As I think I've said before, I am hugely thankful for PEOPLE with autism, such as Janey.  But I am not thankful for Janey's autism.  I very much understand it when other people ARE thankful for their autism, or their children's autism.  But Janey's particular breed of autism takes away far, far, far more from her life than it gives her.  She is so unhappy so often.  She is hurting, and not just mentally---she bites her arm constantly, and not lightly.  She is unable to participate in so much of life.  It would be cruel for me to say I'm thankful for what autism has brought into our lives---the devoted teachers, the wonderful friends, the fascinating glimpses into Janey's unusual mind.  I AM thankful for all those things, but it's like saying "It's okay that Janey has to suffer so much, because it has brought us some very good things"  

So I will say to all of you reading this---you are a remarkable bunch of people.  I'm glad I know you.  But I wish we could have met under different circumstances.  

Happy Thanksgiving.

Janey is 11!

In many ways, I'm glad to see Janey's year of 10 being over.  It was a tough year, by any standards.  It featured two long hospitalizations---one for psychiatric reasons, one for a ruptured appendix.  Partly because of that, her school year was rough, with many absences and a lot of behavior issues, and not much progress, if any, academically.  However, I look toward Janey's year of being 11 with tempered hope.

Who is Janey, right now?  She's a beautiful girl.  She's getting taller and taller---I wouldn't be surprised if 11 is the year she overcomes me in height.  She's endlessly interesting---you can say that about her!  She is prone to extremes of emotion.  She goes from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows, sometimes within minutes.  She loves the things she loves---certain music, some movies and TV shows, some people.  When she doesn't like something, you know it.  Her smile is something amazing.  Her scream is, too.  She is intense.  She is a force.  She's my Janey.

Learning to be Janey's mother is a process that will never end, I'm sure, but I feel like I've made some big steps this year.  One of the biggest is a step of acceptance---acceptance that Janey is not going to change.  She is who she is, and it's us who have to change.  We can work helping her with some issues, we can try to teach her and modify her behavior, but in large, it's our job to modify.  We have the tools to do it.  She, for whatever reason, doesn't.

Parenting Janey is not something a book or an expert or anyone else can tell me how to do.  I need to figure it out myself, along with Tony and her brothers.  There have been some moments from this past year so tough that I never dreamt, in a million years, that I would have such moments in my life.  I picture a room in the ER full of people trying to subdue Janey after she bit me and started flinging everything in site.  I picture being told Janey's appendix had burst and she needed emergency surgery, right then.  I picture the moment I got the call from her school that her behavior was such they were calling an ambulance to take her to the hospital.  I picture the night we struggled all night to keep her oxygen mask on, as her oxygen leveled dropped to dangerous levels over and over.  After a year of such moments, we no longer are living a life that parenting books cover.

But hope shines through.  The simple phrase "I'll be so proud when you calm down" has worked some miracles lately.  In leaving it up to Janey to calm herself, in praising the end result and not worrying about the reasons for the outburst or feeling we must react in typical ways, she is learning to calm herself, and we are learning something I thought I already knew, to emphasize the positive.  And we are learning to have true delight in the little moments of joy Janey gives us.  Yesterday, she said "Chinese rice, please?", hoping for a take-out treat.  Tony said "Chinese rice?  That's an interesting idea!" and Janey repeated back, in her perfect imitation voice, "Chinese rice!  That's an interesting idea!" over and over, encouraged by our laughter.  We never did get the Chinese food, which she handled, but we had a lot of fun.

I think the biggest change in my mind lately has been in how I see Janey within the family.  We've all realized, from the times she was in the hospital, that she is a hugely vital part of who we are as a family.  Somehow, in the past, she was always separate in my mind.  I thought of it as having two "regular" kids and one "special" kid.  It's hard to admit that, but it's true.  Lately, I have gradually changed that thinking. I have three kids, three amazing kids.  They are my family.  We might not be quite like other families, but no two families are.  All three of them are equally special, not "special".  So, a very Happy Birthday to my Jane---and, an equally Happy Birthday to Freddy, who turns 18 today!  August 16th was a very busy day for me, 11 and 18 years ago today!  And all my love to them and to Tony and William.  You are a family any woman on earth would be proud to have.

Autism and the Misconception of the "Magic" Mental Disorder A Guest Post!

This is a guest post written by my older son William, a sophomore history major at Brandeis.  He's an amazing writer and researcher, and I am so proud of him.

As a millennial and the older brother of my sister Janey, I have surfed the internet countless times, and I often find myself drifting to articles about autism and other mental illnesses (if one classifies autism as a mental illness, a debate which I will not get into right now!), partly out of my own curiosity, and partly as a way to understand the difficulties that Janey faces. One thing that always strikes me is the amount of lists, sometimes poorly compiled, of famous individuals who people speculate had autism or other mental disorders. People say that Albert Einstein, Thomas Jefferson, Alan Turing, Vladimir Putin, William T. Sherman, and even Abraham Lincoln could have had or have autism. I am not sure if the people compiling these lists are psychiatrists, but they do have a goal in mind.

I think that it is out of a genuine compassionate desire that people say that truly remarkable individuals throughout history have had difficulties such as autism. Countless movies such as The Aviator, The Rain Man, and A Beautiful Mind attempt to chronicle remarkable individuals’ lives and document their struggles with mental illness. Even avenues such as YouTube seem to eschew this benign praise and recognition of remarkable people with mental differences, as evidenced by videos such as “Jake, Math Prodigy Proud of his Autism”. And while drawing a correlation between something like autism and outstanding achievement or skill tries to empower the autistic community and other communities scarred by prejudice against people with disabilities, the extent of these correlations in modern media obscure a critical struggle of people and families of people with disabilities: the agonizing pain of the disability itself.

Sure, I concede that perhaps Albert Einstein had autism, or that Howard Hughes had OCD, and these two disorders probably shaped the greatness they became know for. Yes, sometimes individuals with autism achieve great fame and recognition and thus empower other autistic individuals and their families. I know all of these things to be very true. But, pain is the hallmark of any disability, and autism is no exception. Howard Hughes may have created spectacular movies, but he also suffered enormous pain everyday from his brain’s unrelenting desire for cleanliness and compulsion. Similarly, autistic prodigies such as Daniel Tammet can learn the Icelandic language in a week, but suffer tremendous pain in what for “neurotypical people” are everyday social interactions.

I know I may come off as stiff, formal, and academic right now, and in many ways I am. But what I have said resonates deeply with me and how I view my sister Janey. When my mother tells other people that Janey has autism, I want people to realize that that means Janey lives with constant, unrelenting pain everyday. Things that most people take for granted such as speech are tremendously difficult for Janey, and thus she tries to cope through screaming agony or what a parent who has not experienced autism first-hand might call “misbehavior” or even more disparaging, “bad parenting” (PLEASE never say that last one to my mom!). Janey cannot express even a simple desire for something like food easily. Partly out of our human nature and our frustration for Janey, the entire Amara family is profoundly affected by the chronic disability that Janey has called autism. Yes, she shows a passion for music, but that doesn’t mean she’s playing Carnegie Hall on the weekends. If you take anything away from this entry, it’s this: when you learn my little sister Janey has autism, don’t let the first thought in your head be the misconception that Janey is a savant with almost magical abilities. Let the first thought be that Janey, like millions of other autistic people and other people with disabilities, suffers tremendous, chronic pain everyday from her disability and this pain has profoundly shaped her life and the lives of her loved ones.

The Month That Wasn't

It's been a month today since the day that I got the call from Janey's school, the call that they were calling an ambulance to take her to the hospital.  It's been a month that in many ways, I would like to erase from my life.  In other ways, it's been an important month---in some ways, even a good month.  But I think it's fair to say I hope I never have another month like this one.

Here's a little synopsis of the month.  Janey's behavior, which had been escalating for a week or so, got even worse on November 14th.  I rode with her as she went by ambulance to Children's Hospital in Boston.  In the emergency room, she was assessed and it was determined she needed hospitalization in a psych ward for children.  There were no appropriate placements available right way, so we spent 6 days at Children's as boarders, waiting for a placement.  We got one after those 6 days at Bradley Hospital in Providence, and Janey was there for 18 days.  She came home after that, when they felt she was stable enough to leave.

Those are the bare facts, stripped of emotion.  Here's some of the emotion.  The stay at Children's was hell.  I can never think of another word to use for it.  The 28 or so hours in the emergency room were the deepest, darkest levels of hell, and the next 5 days in a room on a kidney transplant ward were regular hell.  Janey wasn't able to leave the room, was periodically attacking the nurses, the sitters who sat in the room and me.  She screamed extremely often, asked frantically for one thing after another we couldn't do, and slept poorly.  I don't think I'd survive another 6 days like those.  The stay at Bradley was in some ways a relief and in other ways not.  The drive to Providence was often very, very tough, both in terms of traffic and in terms of giving us time to think what we were doing---visiting our precious daughter in a locked psych ward.  The visits with her were both wonderful, because we missed her so much, but also awful, because in what was a theme for the month, we were not supposed to leave the room with her, and she would quickly become bored of us and restless.  It would become a situation where either we saw her for far shorter than we wished or we risked setting her off into a spiral of a meltdown.  Having her home, although joyous, led us to see nothing had really changed.  Janey has been often very unhappy the 5 days since she's been home, although there have been good times too.  A few days ago, she attacked my father, in a frightening repeat of what started this whole time.

What has been good?  Well, we got a letter yesterday saying we had been approved for state supplemental insurance for Janey, so going forward, we might be qualified for help with therapy and things like pull-ups.  I need to work on getting that all set up, but it's something we probably should have done years ago.  Janey is off two of the three medications she had been taking, and we are seeing some improvement in her talking, which leads to the upsetting thought that she may have been overmedicated for a while, but in trying to be positive, also means she might be no longer overmedicated.  And the greatest good part--the absolutely overwhelming and incredible support, in so very many ways, from all of you, all my friends who read this blog---those I know in person and those I know through the magic of the internet.  You are a wonderful bunch of people, and you let me live through this.  I mean that with all of my heart.

What are our fears?  We have many fears.  The biggest is that Janey is going back to school tomorrow, if everything goes well.  Her school has been wonderful, and they are eager to have her back, but we truly feel everything might repeat itself.  I have no confidence Janey is going to be able to not repeat the behaviors that started all this.  We have realized places like Bradley are not set up to change the future.  They are set up to deal with children in crisis, during the crisis, and they do a outstanding job with that.  But they are not set up to change the child.  I am not sure it's possible to do that, to be fair to them.  I don't think I'll ever relax again while Janey is at school.  I will always be waiting for another call like that horrible one a month ago, a call saying she is out of control and they think she should be in the hospital.

I will close with right now.  Right now, Janey is happy.  She is having bacon that Daddy is making---bacon made by the best father in the world.  We are looking forward to getting a Christmas tree today.  We are together, our older son William will be home from college soon, and we will celebrate Christmas and look toward 2015 with hope.  And that is enough, for right now.

The day it all hit me

It's funny how the mind and body work when you are in the middle of a crisis.  There must be some kind of system that kicks in that lets you keep going when normally you would have collapsed on the floor, overwhelmed.  That system was in high gear from last Friday until yesterday.  It's not that I didn't cry some or feel exhausted, but I was functioning.  Last night, the system wore out and I was hit hard.

I was okay yesterday morning.  I did housework and laundry and dishes, enjoying the feeling of doing everyday work again.  We drove to Providence to see Janey midday.  Freddy came too, to see her in the new hospital.  The drive went quickly---we are figuring out new routes to take, and it's a pretty straight shot to drive there, although a long straight shot.  We are starting to know the routine, how to check in, what not to bring into the hospital, where the long locked halls lead, all that.

Janey looked well cared for, which was great to see.  Her hair was clean and brushed, and she was dressed in her nice clothes.  She seemed much quieter, calmer overall.  We visited with her in her room, as we are required to do.  She seemed happy to see us.  We brought her her toy Olivia and Beanie Baby style My Little Pony, and we played with those a bit.  Then I sang her some Christmas carols, letting her choose what I would sing next.  She looked at me with the look I only see when she is totally overcome with music---a look of wonder and amazement, as if she can barely believe the perfection of the songs (not my singing!)  When I sang "O Little Town of Bethlehem", she kept repeating the line "yet in thy dark streets shineth" and I sang that part over and over.

After a while, she was getting restless and started asking for the kind of things she asked for in the hospital, over and over..."Want to take a shower?  Want to watch Olivia?  Want bacon?  Want take off socks?"  We realized it was probably time to go, before she got more upset, and we told her we were going to say goodbye.  She said "Put on shoes?  Go to Mama's house?"  If there is a moment when a parent has their heart broken, that is it---when your ten year old daughter, in a locked psychiatric ward, asks for you to take her home.  I hope I never again feel what I felt that moment, and I hope none of you ever have to feel that feeling.

We took her back out to the ward---the area they seem to spend weekend days in, outside her room.  I won't write much about the other kids there, because it is not my story to tell and I respect their privacy, but I will say Janey was the only girl I saw, and also the only child that seemed to talk.  She stood out, as it feels like she has done all her life.  I wish so much sometimes I could gather all the girls together that I have met through this blog, that we could get our girls together in a room so Janey for once could have peers like herself.  Maybe someday that can happen.  But for now, it so often feels like Janey is very alone.

After we got home, I did mindless things---watching some Star Trek, reading, knitting.  Tony was working on a long, long application we have to do to try to get state supplemental insurance for Janey, to help with the bills that will soon start rolling in.  At one point, he asked me for a little information for the form.  I found I couldn't answer.  I couldn't think.  I couldn't put together simple sentences.

Tony quickly realized what he was dealing with.  He stopped asking any questions.  He made me some hot chocolate, and then, a French bread pizza.  He comforted me as I collapsed into my bed, crying and crying.  I am incredibly lucky to have a husband like him.

Later, my rock of a friend Maryellen called me, and we talked for an hour.  She listened to my teary account of the visit to Janey.  That is so important---to have someone I can pour my heart out to, someone outside the family but still very connected.  I am so lucky in the support I have, from friends like Maryellen, from my family and from my extended blog family.  I truly want you all to know that---how much you all have helped.

Today I feel stronger.  I am sad we will probably not visit Janey today.  The Patriots play in between where we are and where she is, and traffic back and forth becomes a nightmare.  I would not let that keep me away, but I think also Janey might need a day without the confusion our visits seem to bring.  I hope I am right there.  I know she is in the place she needs to be, but I miss her so intensely.  It is not the normal course of things to have your little girl so far away, literally locked away.  My life has taken a turn which is often feeling surreal.  I need to get through this.  I think today, I will retreat to gather strength for the next round, to go on and keep on fighting.

Randomly selected moments with Janey

Of course I probably can't really be random with my selections, but I thought I'd write about some everyday moments in life with Janey, just to try to capture who she is right now.

1.  We are all taking a ride to get Freddy things he needs for school.  There's a black car coming out of the parking lot near the police station.  We are trying to figure out if it's a police car or a limo.  Janey pipes in "It is a police car!"  We are all surprised and pleased, as it's quite rare for her to join in a conversation like that.

2.  Janey wakes me up in the middle of the night.  She lies down next to me, and I try to go back to sleep.  She says "You want to take a shower?"  I say no, not right now.  She asks a few more times, with the same answer.  Then she says "You want to see the shower curtain?"  I put up a new curtain, the day before, with owls on it.  Pleased that she noticed, I do get up so we can go see it.  She immediately takes over the whole bed.  I've been fooled again by her sneaky nighttime tricks.  I go to sleep in her bed, until she decided to switch beds again.

3.  Janey is watching "The Little Mermaid".  She's been asking for it all weekend, and we've been telling her she can't watch it because she pulled out the tape.  Finally, Tony decides to try to fix it, and is successful.  She is thrilled to see it, until the scene where Ariel's father yells at her.  When that comes on, Janey smashes against the TV with her fist, a recent behavior that she knows will result in the TV being unplugged.  I am watching her as she does it, and I can see in her face she realizes her mistake a second after punching, and she screams in frustration.  The TV is unplugged anyway.

4.  I wake up Saturday morning after having a nice night's sleep.  Janey has been up a while already, having her favorite type of weekend breakfast with Daddy, various greens with olive oil and hot sauce.  When she sees me, she dashes over and gives me a big hug and smile.

5.  We are coming back in the car from being out visiting William.  It's later than Janey usually stays up, about 9 pm.  She has been fairly cheerful, but suddenly and without warning, she lunges at Freddy, who is sitting next to her in the back seat.  She tries to pull his hair.  He grabs her hands to keep her from doing so, and she bites at them.  Freddy manages to keep her from hurting him much, but it's a struggle for the 10 minutes until we get home, completely with her screaming.  We offer to stop, to have me sit in back with her, but Freddy declines.  He's gotten used to such scenes over the years.  I cry in the front seat.

6.  I put on "Olivia", which we have in streaming video from our Amazon account.  Janey hasn't seen it for years, but she is instantly taken with it.  She watches the whole episode, and then deftly navigates the user-unfriendly interface to put on the next episode.  Over the weekend, she watches eight episodes---eight different ones, not the same one obsessively eight times.

7.  I am dressing Janey for school.  She is tired and annoyed, and kicks me in the stomach.  I am too tired, bone tired, to get upset.  I just say "You can't do that.  We have to get dressed".  She becomes instantly cooperative.  She keeps looking at me with a worried look, as if she expects to hear more about the kick.  When I am done dressing her, she kisses me, which she almost never does.

8.  Another morning getting ready for school.  Janey is in another bad mood.  We managed to get dressed, but she is crying and screaming.  She goes over and gets the hairbrush and hands it to me, while saying "Don't brush your own hair!  Don't brush your own hair!", which is what she says when she's upset I'm brushing.  I brush quickly, to get it over with, without counting out twenty brushes, as I usually do.  When I stop, Janey screams and hands me back the brush, yelling "Thirteen!  Fourteen!"  That is right where I left off in my silent counting.  I brush up to twenty, as she screams.

9.  Another middle of the night.  Janey wakes me up and saying "Chinese rice!"  I tell her we don't get takeout in the night.  She considers that a moment, and then says "Pizza!"  I repeat myself.  She is undaunted..."Happy Meal!  Chicken nuggets!  Fries!  Chocolate Milk!  Toy!"

10.  Janey gets off the bus and her Auntie Rose is just arriving at our house.  She hugs her aunt, thrilled to see her.  Auntie Rose goes upstairs to help my brother-in-law in his apartment.  Janey has her snack downstairs with me, and then says "Go see Nana and Grandpa!"  I tell her they are far away right now, although I suspect what she really means.  She thinks a minute and says "Go see Auntie Carrie!"  I tell her Auntie Carrie is even further away, in Colorado.  I ask her "Do you mean Auntie Rose?" and she smiles a huge smile and says "GO SEE AUNTIE ROSE!"  So we do.

Everyday life with Janey is hundreds and thousands of moments like these.

Ten things I'm grateful for---an exercise in positive thinking!

I wrote a post earlier today, and then deleted it after a bit.  I've only done that once or twice, but in this case, I realized I was letting my own discouraged feelings creep too much into my writing.  I was writing about how I felt, not about Janey, and although I'm sure there's a time for that, I have always wanted this blog to be about Janey.

I've been impressed lately with grateful lists that people have put on Facebook.  I am going to try to challenge myself to write ten things I really, truly feel grateful for in my life, things that relate to Janey.  I guess, in a way, I'm again writing about me and not Janey, but hopefully in a way that will help me focus back in on her!  So here goes...

1.  I'm grateful Janey can talk as much as she can.  I know there are many, many parents of kids like Janey who would give almost anything to hear their child talk.  I try to never, ever take her talking for granted.

2.  I'm grateful for a husband who is amazingly supportive, a true partner in raising Janey, and her favorite person on earth.

3.  I'm grateful for my sons, who make me proud every day and who are wonderful brothers to Janey.

4.  I'm grateful for the Boston Public Schools, who do a fantastic job with Janey and other children with special needs.

5.  I'm grateful for Janey's physical health.  I don't think there's many 10 year old on the planet who have been sick less than her.

6.  I'm grateful for Janey's love of music.  It's something we can enjoy together, and something I hope is a lifetime source of happiness for her.

7.  I'm grateful for the internet, for the chance to connect with other parents around the world with children like Janey.

8.  I'm grateful for friends, both those I know in person and those I know on-line.

9.  I'm grateful for living in this day and age, where knowledge of autism is growing all the time.

10.  I'm grateful for Janey.  I'm grateful I have a daughter, a beautiful, interesting, fascinating and unique girl.  Here's a picture of her early on, the girl I thought I'd never have...

That wasn't even hard to do, and I feel better! There is something to this positive thinking bit...

Reflections on Janey's week at camp

We picked up Janey early this morning from her week at Camp Fatima.  What an amazing place it is!  We were truly blown away by the kindness and generosity of the so many people that make their Exceptional Citizens Week possible.  Her counselor, Dawn, teaches autistic kids during the school year, and then takes a whole week of her year to be with an autistic child at camp, and she is just one of the hundreds of volunteers that make the camp possible.  Janey went on boat rides, rode horses, sang in the church choir, went to a dance, shot a rifle, did arts and crafts, had meals served in the dining hall by teenage boy waiters, slept in a cabin, went to a campfire, had her nails done in the camp salon, hung out and ran around with her camp friends---she had a true week of camp.  And we had a week of true respite.

We got great reports from camp.  Janey was very happy there.  Her counselor figured out she does have a tough time every day from about 3-5 pm.  This almost made me feel good to hear, as that is her tough time at home too, and it made me feel less like I'm doing something wrong during that time and more like that's just Janey.  But the rest of the time, she was nearly all happy.  I had guessed she might be.  Janey is a natural camp-goer.  She is in so many ways the opposite of me as a child.  I was a natural get-homesick-and-go-home-early camper.  Camp was everything I didn't like then and still don't like now---sports, lots of togetherness, not a lot of downtime, a place for extroverts.  Janey is not like me.  She loves to be active and busy.  She is not shy or introverted.  That was one big reflection I had on this week.  A lot of Janey isn't her autism.  It's just her, who she is and I think who she would be with the autism or not.  I need to work harder to give her the kind of recreation and activities she craves.

At home, we got a very lot of sleep and rest, and were able to eat out a lot, go on some day trips and watch a ton of "Dexter" on TV---all things we don't do with Janey home. We had a lot of fun.  But I missed Janey very much---to be completely honest, much more than I expected to.  I knew I would miss her, but because we have never, ever before had a week of respite, to say nothing of really a full day of respite, I thought the missing would be overwhelmed by the freedom.  I loved the freedom, but I missed her so, so much.  Somehow, without her, we weren't quite operating at our best as a family.  We argued more.  The boys fought more. We got irritated at smaller things---bad drivers, bad pizza, forgotten keys.
We had a great time, but it somehow felt like a great time with a piece missing.

We eased Janey back into our regular life by stopping on the way home at a friend's camp (camp in the Maine meaning, a summer house) on a lake.  We had a great boat ride and Janey had time to run around in the beautiful yard.  Then the long drive home, and re-entry.  That was a little tough.  Janey ran through all the things she most likes to do at home quickly---some iPad time, a video, asking Daddy to cook things, ordering us to snuggle her on the bed, some YouTube---and then it seemed to hit her and she melted down some.  She was tired and I am sure she was missing camp.

What did I learn from this week?  I learned Janey can thrive away from me.  I learned I need to find a way to get more sleep, because sleeping through the night felt amazing.  I learned I have to find more ways for Janey to be active physically.  I learned that there are many incredible people out there who give of their own time for families like ours.  I learned, as I keep learning in life, that our children are their own people.  They like different things than we do.  They truly do deserve, and enjoy, a life that is at times apart from us.  But I also learned that our family doesn't feel complete without Janey.  She is part of us.  At times, when Janey is very tough, it has felt like she has somehow taken away the family life we were supposed to have, but I know now that our family without her isn't our family.  It's a different family.  We need Janey, maybe even more than she needs us.

How Janey's brothers see her

Janey is extremely lucky to have two amazing brothers.  William is 10 years older than her, and Freddy is 7 years older (to the day!)  I often have thought how much harder our lives would be if Janey was our first or only child.  I can't tell you what a help the boys have been over the years.  Often it's just the little things, like when I have to run down and change laundry or check the mail---countless times, I've said "Can you keep an eye on Janey for a minute?" and they have stepped up to the plate.  As they've gotten older, if Tony and I want to get out and they are available, they are the only babysitters we use.  We do that very little, partly because they are busy and partly because we can't afford a lot of going out.  When we do have them babysit, we generally pay them, because watching her is certainly a payable job, but they often offer to watch her without pay for special occasions.  They joke with her, play with her, treat her in a brotherly way that is so important for her.  They are great boys.

Over the past few years, on several occasions, each boy has said the same thing to me separately.  They have both told me they truly feel Janey has normal or better intelligence---that for whatever reason, talking and communicating is hard for her, but that they very strongly feel that inside, she is bright.  I take their opinions on this very seriously.  They are not saying it from any position of wistful thinking or from lack of information.  They know Janey completely.  They see the full extent of what she is like---the screaming, the lack of academic progress, the limited talking---all of it.  But through it all, they see something else.  They have both seen amazing things she has done, those once a year type odd moments when she shows a glimpse of what she can do.  They have also seen the day to day demonstrations of her strong sides.  They have seen her learn songs instantly and sing them back, they have seen her figure out complex baffles we have put on things we don't want her to touch, they have watched her easily manipulate the computer and the TV.  And they also see the intangibles---just the way she can look at you, the way she picks up on the mood of a room, the way she subtly knows how to get what she needs from people.

I know a lot of people think I should have more faith that Janey is of normal intelligence.  I know very well that intelligence is not an easily measured thing, and that there are lots of kinds of intelligence, and that autistic kids don't take well to testing.  But I also fiercely need to live in reality.  Janey is nine.  She rarely talks in full sentences (except for echolalia).  She is not toilet trained.  She can write her first name, but nothing else consistently.  If she can read, she generally hides it well.  I have never seen her do even very basic math skills.  She rarely responds to questions.  By most any measure, she is intellectually disabled.  But IS she?  I don't know.  But I know that having her brothers feel she isn't is one of the factors I most strongly am influenced by.

Here's some pictures of Janey with her brothers, just being happy in their presence.  She's a lucky girl to have them, and I am a lucky mother to have all three.

Talking back to "I don't know how you do it"

Over the years, the phrase "I don't know how you do it!" has come up over and over in autism writing as probably the phrase autism parents most dislike hearing.  I admit at times it's bothered me a bit too, but lately, I've come to peace with it. It's struck me it's all in how you take hearing it, in what you hear when you hear it.   What do I mean by that?  Well...

Take it as a compliment   When people say the phrase, reword it in your mind as "Wow---you handled that meltdown/screaming/tantrum/obsession/biting/what have you  well!"  Assume the speaker is truly awed by your ability to deftly navigate the waters of autism.

Take it as a question  Think of it worded as "HOW do you do it?  Imagine that the speaker is truly wondering how you cope.  Use it as an opportunity for education.  Fill them in on some strategies you use, what techniques work to calm your child, what respite type services have been helpful, what educational strategies have worked best.  Turn them into an advocate by informing them what actually helps and works.

Take it as a confession  I think a lot of parents feel, secretly, that if they had had a child with severe special needs, they simply wouldn't have been able to deal with it---that they would have done whatever people do when they simply can't take it.  I often let people know that I felt that way too, before actually being faced with special needs parenting.  We learn as we go.  Despite lovely fables about parents being chosen from above to have a very special child, the truth is none of us are prepared for our special kids.  It's a tough on the job training, but I tell people they too would have done just fine if they had been "chosen".

Take it as an offer of help  This one can be fun.  Say something like "You know, I don't know how I do it either.  Thanks for noticing.  Yes, I'd LOVE your help.  When can you babysit?"  Seriously, the phrase can be an opening to admit sometimes we CAN'T do it alone, and we can use any help we can get.

Take it as shock  When people are faced with a situation they haven't seen before, one that seems overwhelming to them, they don't always know how to respond.  I've most often heard the phrase after Janey has severely melted down, has pulled out all her tricks like ear-piercing screaming and arm biting.  People just don't know what to say.  I think the phrase often is almost involuntary---a reaction to seeing behavior they have never seen before.

Take it as better than the alternative  What if people said instead "I could do that much better than you.  I can certainly see how you do it, because it looks very easy.  I don't know what the big deal with autism is.  It's a piece of cake"  I don't think most of us would like that much.  In a way, hearing the phrase is a badge of honor.  We are doing something tough, and we are being recognized for it.

Take it as a statement of love, for you and your child  The truth is, most times I've heard "I don't know how you do it", it was coming from someone who cares about me.  They might mean any of the meanings here, but they are saying it because they care.  Sometimes it's not the words that really matter, but the thought behind them, and sometimes, as with our kids, we have to read more than plain words to know what is being said.  Sometimes, we can answer without words too---just send back a shrug, a smile, a hug, a laugh.

None of us know how we do it.  We are like cartoon characters that walk off a cliff.  As long as we don't look down, we just keep going.  We might be defying the laws of physics, but we are doing it, one way or another.

My own personal autism awareness wish list

Here it is, World Autism Awareness Day again.  I've been saying to myself what I say to myself every year on this date---I think I'm about as aware of autism as I can get.  However, I've been thinking about what I'd like others to know about autism.  Here's a list of the top four things I'd like the world in general to know.  It's my own personal list---I am sure that everyone with a life touched by autism has their own list, different in many ways, but I can only speak for myself.

Most autism you see portrayed in the media is high-functioning autism.

There is a huge, huge range of abilities and characteristics all lumped together as "autism".  In the past, there was actually a separate name for the highest end of autism, Aspergers Syndrome.  But the powers that be, for whatever reason, have now lumped that in with all the rest.  If you see Temple Grandin, or hear about Daryl Hannah, or even see the often hilarious Autistic Reporter on The Onion, you are seeing very, very high functioning autism.  On the other end, there are children and adults like Janey.  Janey is nine.  She is not toilet trained.  She cannot be left unsupervised for a minute.  She can talk a little, but mostly only in scripted "I want.." sentences or in repeated phrases from videos.  She screams, cries, injures herself and doesn't sleep regularly.  Academically, she functions about at a 2 year old level.  She is autism, as much as people with college degrees can be autism.

I am not looking for a cause of autism or a cure for autism.

There are many, many possible causes of autism.  Janey's autism could have been caused by any number of them.  In our daily life, it doesn't much matter what caused her to be autistic.  And in Janey's particular case, there is not going to be a cure.  I am not sure there ever is a cure for correctly diagnosed autism, but many disagree with me there, and that's fine.  However, I don't choose to pursue a cure for Janey.

Autism affects family life extremely severely.

If you've ever spent even an hour with a child with autism, especially low-functioning autism, you were probably exhausted after that hour.  Imagine that you have that child living in your house, every day, every night.  Imagine that you can never, ever count on a full night's sleep, that at any moment, your child might start screaming or crying or biting themselves or trying to bite you, and that there seems to be no reason for this behavior and no way to soothe them.  Imagine that you can never, ever count on going out in public as a family and having it go smoothly.  Imagine that even close friends who would do anything to help you have admitted they can't watch Janey, even for a few hours.  Imagine that you must sometimes make choices like whether to listen to a sibling tell you about their tough day or follow the rituals the autistic child demands, and if you pick the sibling, you know you'll be dealing with hours of screaming.  Imagine a life that autism touches every single second, every single aspect of.  That is family life with our particular brand of autism.

I love Janey more than I can possibly describe, and that guides all my decisions about her.

It is the most important thing in the world to me that Janey be loved, cared for and valued.  I make every decision about her life with that in mind.  For example, I am not sending her to summer school this year, because I am not comfortable with the program.  I need respite, but more than that, I need to know Janey is safe and loved, just as any parent has that need for their child.  In Janey's case, since she can't usefully tell me what happens when I'm not with her, I have to be ever-vigilant about who is caring for her when I am not there.  At this point, I can't compromise on this---I can't accept less when letting her out of my sight.  Maybe that is my biggest point.  There needs to be quality education, care and respite for children with autism, because they deserve it every bit as much as any child.  Without that, the burden on many families is near unbearable.

To all my friends, to all my readers, to everyone who has helped me through this life, and especially to Janey----Happy Autism Awareness Day!

Hope and Holiday Blues

First the hope.  Yesterday, we visited a respite house a few towns over.  Janey's first grade teacher had told us about it, and I did an online application and got an email inviting us to visit.  It was wonderful.  The house is on a college campus, and is all set up for being a place for children and adults with disabilities to spend time and have fun.  There is a great rec area, a fantastic kitchen and a floor full of dream bedrooms, for overnights they sometimes have, and a lot more.  And best of all, they actually have openings!  Janey started the tour by freaking out of her mind, screaming hysterically.  So they got to see that.  She calmed down quite quickly once she saw some of the great things they had there, and tried every bed in every bedroom and by the end was hugging the woman who works there who gave us the tour.  We signed her up for two Saturdays this month.  One will be a trip to the Children's Museum, and another to a local beach.  We are holding our breaths---it almost seems too good to be true.  It's exactly what I had wanted, and even wrote about, and it actually exists!  There are scholarships available, but if we can't get one, with a little belt tightening we can manage---it's not crazily priced.  There are 6 overnights a year for girls, and we might even try one of those next month, and there are vacation week camps!  I keep thinking something will go wrong, or Janey will be too much for them to handle, or SOMETHING---it really feels like a dream.  I'll write more about it after the 12th, when Janey goes for the first time.

The holiday blues---that was today.  It's the 4th.  Tony and I felt a little down all day, and talked about it tonight.  Lots of reasons, but a big one is the isolation that having a child with a disability brings, especially on holidays.  Gradually, we have stopped going almost anywhere.  When we used to go sometimes to cookouts or the like with family and friends, it was almost always a disaster.  Janey would get hysterical, and we couldn't stay long.  Most all of our friends and family now also have littler kids around---grandchildren or kids of their own.  We can never be sure how Janey will act, and I think there is fear on both sides about that.  We don't reach out to go places, and we don't get invited, probably because people know we wouldn't go anyway.  Even if somehow Janey acts perfectly, we are still on edge.  We can't ever relax.  Someone has to be following Janey at all times, within an arm's reach, especially at other people's houses or public places. And so we stay here.  And usually, we are okay with that.  We aren't hugely social people.  But on holidays, sometimes it feels a little sad.

We were planning a family trip to a beach tomorrow, but talking about it tonight, we decided to make it just Tony and the boys.  The beach is quite a drive, and once there, it's not like we can all have fun as a family.  I want the boys to have relaxed, fun, happy times with their father (and with me) and if that means us not all being together, it's better than just skipping the outings.

The two themes tie together there.  If the respite works out, and Janey can have fun, and be a place where there is paid staff and volunteers that are there just to take care of her and the other kids, then we can have some time with just the boys.  We can relax a little, but it's bittersweet.  It's not a full family without Janey.  I had a moment just before going into the respite house of an overwhelming feeling of sadness.  I was so happy to be getting a chance to see about the respite we've craved, but it felt sort of...I don't know the word. They start taking kids at 8, and I guess that's because that's an age where you know it's not something the child is going to grow out of.  This is our life, this is Janey's life.  We are at a point where we need more help than just home and school can provide.  And in a way, that breaks my heart, although I am so happy there are wonderful people who will be able to give us that help, and give Janey a great time at the same time.  But it's not normal family life.  Or maybe it is---"regular" kids go to activities and sleepovers.  Janey will be able to also---just with a little more support.  Maybe I think too much about things.  Maybe I am overthinking this.

Either way, Happy 4th of July to all my USA readers, and happy start of summer to everyone!

Growing Understanding

Lately, Janey seems to be making big strides in understanding what we say to her.  Or maybe she always understood, but didn't respond most of the time.  But the last week or so, I feel like she's actually listening to us.

A good example was last night.  Janey wanted very badly to eat Cheez-Its on my bed.  I told her she couldn't.  She said "YES!" and I laughed and said "No!" She said "Yes!" and laughed too.  It felt like a little conversation.  Then I said she'd have to take the Cheez-its in the kitchen to eat, and she did exactly that---took them in there, grabbed a few, came back next to the bed eating them, but not on the bed, and then went to get more.  She seemed to be pushing it as far as she could without directly doing what I said she couldn't, which felt pretty typical 8 year old to me!

Yesterday we all went as a family to a great BBQ place.  We don't do much as a family of five any more.  The boys have their own schedules, and our small cars are pretty crowded with us of us in them, but I felt determined after this past week of horrors to do something as a family.  It at first seemed like it was going to be a disaster.  After we ordered, I asked Janey where she wanted to sit, and she tried to lead me out the door.  I made her come back, and we sat down, but she started to get upset.  I decided to take her back out until the food came.  As we walked around outside, I explained what would happen---"It's a meat restaurant.  They are going to bring us lots of meat and some cucumbers and some spinach and some rice.  We'll have lots to eat"  It's the kind of thing I always hear recommended for kids with autism, like a social story, but in the past, when I told them, it had no impact.  This time, it somehow clicked.  We went back in, and Janey sat quite nicely and ate.  It helped that the food was fast and great, and that no-one expects dainty behavior when you are chowing down on ribs.  At one point, sitting there, all five of us, I said "It feels like a family of five here, like Janey is the same as the rest of us"  That sounds sort of wrong, but it's a true feeling---It was one of the first times ever I felt like I was sitting down with my three kids enjoying myself, not somehow trying to keep it all together with Janey, being four caretakers and her.  Of course, the minute I said that Freddy rolled his eyes and I saw Janey had stuffed a big hunk of paper towel in her mouth, but still...the moment had happened.

There's no miracle breakthroughs with Janey.  This has still been an awfully tough week with her.  But little steps are great.  Just now, she'd been watching her videos all morning (lately, we are back to Belle's Enchanted Christmas, and I am extremely sick of it).  I decided that Tony and I would watch an episode of Coach on Netflix for a break.  Janey tried hard to grab the remote and change the show, and got it a few times.  But we both kept telling her "It's our turn for TV.  We are going to watch a show, and then it will be Janey's turn again", and gradually, she stopped trying to change the show.  I won't say she was thrilled, but I think on some level she actually got it that it was our turn.  Now it's her turn again.

School starts back tomorrow, thankfully.  I hope there is never another week like this in Boston.  But like with the city of Boston, life goes on, and you have to be strong and keep trying and keep feeling pride when you can.  It's all you can do.