Autism Ten Years In

Janey, age 13---Ten Years In

Last month, the tenth anniversary of Janey's diagnosis with autism passed unnoticed.  I realized it a few days ago, and I had a thought.  What if, on that December day in 2007, I'd been able to have a glimpse forward to now?  What would I have thought?

I will be honest and say I might have been quite discouraged in some ways.  Janey talks now probably less than she did at the time she was diagnosed, and far less than she did when she was two, before her big regression.  Her academic growth has been very, very slow.  She doesn't read, or write, or add or subtract or reliably do things like identify shapes or colors.  She is not fully toilet trained.  She still needs a huge amount of help with self-care.  In short, if you look at measures like standard IQ testing or academic achievement or potential to live an independent life, she is not one of autism's success stories.  That would be a hard thing to have known in advance.

However, in some ways, I think I would have been quite encouraged.  My glimpse forward might have landed on any of quite a number of happy times just this past weekend.  Maybe I'd have seen us all watching Weird Al videos, together on the couch, laughing our heads off.  Maybe it would have been the big Thai take-out feast we had as a pre-back to college treat with Freddy, Janey joining in with huge smiles and her usually adventurous appetite.  Or I might have just seen one of the many times Janey's engaging manner and enthusiasm for life improved our days.

While talking to my friend Michelle about these thoughts, we touched on what I think many out there have realized.  There are different kinds of autism.  I truly don't think it would have made a huge difference what we did in terms of Janey's speech and academic development.  I see other kids that are in the same program as her, kids who started at a baseline like hers or in some cases, far lower, and who now read with ease and speak in a way very close to typical.  However, Janey has something that I don't think all kids starting where she does develop.  It's hard to put my finger on.  It's not really social skills, or ability to engage with others, but it's a personality that in some ways is very unlike the stereotypical vision people have of autism.  In that way, she has progressed.  I would hope if I were able to glimpse forward, I'd have seen that---the spark, the joy, the humor.

When Janey was first diagnosed, fear and hope battled in my mind.  I had hope that she would regain all her speech, that she would somehow progress to the point she left autism behind.  I had fear that life for her would be a joyless life, that she would never be happy---and because it's very true that a mother is only as happy as her saddest child, I would never be happy either.  Now, ten years later, it is fair to say I have far less hope about Janey's potential for typical progress.  However, the fear is also much less.  The Janey that exists today is not defined by what she can't do.  Of course I fear for her future, often, but I also delight in her joys.  In many ways, I have changed more in the ten years than Janey has.  Even if I had been able to look forward, I would not have looked at Janey with the same eyes I do now---eyes that see her for who she is, a valuable, special, frustratingly but steadfastly complex and unique. 

Here's to the next ten years.

Thoughts during the calm

Calm Janey

My friend Julie said to me recently that it seemed like life with Janey was evening out as time went by.  That struck me as a very good way to put it.  The last year with Janey has mostly been a year of evening out.  Her lows are higher, her highs lower, and she spends more time in the middle.  There's still tough days, and still amazing days, but most days are..days.  Which is good.  Which is very good, actually, compared to some of the hard times. Whatever it is---her getting older, her now being essentially an only child as her brothers are both away at college, the right combination of medication, a stable school situations, our changes in attitude and strategies---life with Janey is much smoother than it was a few years ago.

That's why it seems strange to me that more than I have in years, I have been thinking about tough questions.  Why is Janey autistic?  Why, unlike so many kids with autism, has she made so little progress with speech and academics?  Why is it so hard to get help with her?  I guess when we are not in crisis mode, but also not being blinded by exciting new things Janey is doing, there is time to sit back and think, and sometimes the thinking is hard.

I never used to dwell much on why Janey is autistic. A lot of that is because there is no shortage of potential reasons.  Pretty much every time a new idea comes out as to what causes autism, it is something that applies to Janey.  I had a terrible pregnancy with her, with a severe allergic drug reaction at 12 weeks.  Tony was, at age 42 at the time of her conception, an older father.  Genetics can't be ruled out, and auto-immune disease run rampart through both sides of the family.  We live near a busy street, and pollution certainly could be a factor.  I could go on and on.  But still, I wonder. Was there something I could have done differently?

As for why Janey has progressed so little, that's harder to say.  And more heartbreaking.  So, so many little kids that start out at the same place as Janey make so much progress.  They have the same resources and teaching Janey did, and now they can talk easily, can read, can write, can function at a hugely higher level than her.  I love Janey just the way she is, but for her, I wish she had made the leaps some kids do.  The evening out applies to her progress, too.  She talks less than she has at times, her toilet training has regressed to less than it was, she is in some ways more affected by autism than she was at 6 or 7.  I don't know why.  The same question comes up here---was there something I could have done differently?

And why, WHY, is it so hard to get help with Janey?   Why does it seem that those charged with helping children with special needs don't understand children like Janey, children whose needs are fairly extreme, and because of that, children in families that need help so badly?  As an example, over and over this holiday season I've heard about ToysRUs and Target and so on having special "quiet" shopping hours for kids with autism.  And although it probably sounds petty and mean, I think "Bah Humbug"  That is an example of the kind of help that is no help at all to someone like Janey.  She would not be quiet for a quiet shopping time.  She doesn't understand shopping for toys.  She has no desire for toys.  And most of all, taking her shopping is NOT a source of help for us.  It's more stress, not more help. What would be a million times more helpful is if the stores somehow arranged for someone to actually watch kids like Janey so Tony and I could shop.

I know there's money out there to help kids with autism.  I've talked with people working for various agencies.  But the money seems to go into a couple fairly useless areas. It goes into "awareness", or it goes into "family events".  Well, if you have a kid like Janey, you are pretty darn aware of autism.  And if you have a kid like Janey, just getting out of the house with her is tough enough.  It is really not any help to have some kind of event to go to with her unless it is catered to kids LIKE her, kids with high need autism.  And even if it is, that's not respite.  That's not a break.  It might be fun, like going to the Lego playland or the Autism Eats Out events, but it's not really help.  Quite simply, help is RESPITE.  Help is someone else taking care for Janey for a while.  It's that simple.  It's that simple to state, but it's very, very hard to find.

Having the time and energy to think about the larger autism issues is a luxury. I am very grateful things are calmer than they were with Janey, and I knock on wood to hope they stay calm.  Progress or no, respite or not, reasons  known or not, she is a remarkable, wonderful girl---my sweet precious Janey.  I am lucky to be her mother.

On loving the real Janey, not the potential or perfect Janey

For a week or so now, I've been feeling frustrated and upset by a lot of what I see out there in the world of the internet about autism.  I haven't been able to quite put my finger on what has been bothering me until now.

This article somehow cleared my mental clutter a bit and allowed me to put voice (internally and hopefully now to you!) to what I've been troubled by.  It's been a combination of themes that have upset me.  These themes, on their own, are well-meant and progressive, but they combined to send a message about severe autism, low-functioning autism, non-or-low verbal autism, whatever you want to call it (and having to be careful what you call it is another issue).  The message they send is "People with severe autism are not valuable or worth helping just the way they are"

One thing that is said a lot about Janey's type of autism is "Assume competence".  There's a lot I like about that idea, but I realize now there's also a lot about it that can lead to the message above being sent.  Janey isn't a valuable person because of something we have to assume, something that might or might not exist in her.  She's not valuable because she might understand more than she lets on, she might be reading without me knowing it, she might be a musical genius in disguise, she might have a higher IQ than she can show by testing.  She's valuable EXACTLY HOW SHE IS AND APPEARS.  She is valuable even if she never, ever progresses beyond where she is right now.  She's valuable without having to assume anything.

Another trend I see here and there lately is that of never saying anything that isn't positive about parenting autistic kids.  There's sometimes an implication included that if you don't speak only of the wonder and joy of raising your child with autism, you are lacking as a parent, you don't love them, or, at the very least, you are leaving a trail that they might someday read and feel upset about.  Well, I'm here to say that anyone who never has found anything negative about parenting ANY child is at the very least kind of clueless, and at the very most kind of, well, lying.  I love all three of my kids with an intensity that almost scares me.  But there were moments in parenting all three of them that were horrible.  There were scary moments, frustrating moments, moments I felt angry, moments I felt in despair.  In setting aside kids with autism as somehow being different than that, somehow being incapable of provoking any feelings but pride and wonder and joy---that seems to me to be again saying they are only valuable as some kind of fairy tale innocent, some kind of otherworldly being.  Janey is valuable for who she is, exactly how she really is.  I don't have to be careful with every word not to break a bubble of illusion around her, because I love the real Janey.

In so many areas, the thoughts and beliefs of a culture change like a slow-swinging pendulum.  In the past, a child like Janey would be seen as a tragedy, someone to "put away" as to not ruin the lives of the parents and siblings.  I am so thankful that is not the thinking now.  But we have swung to the other end of the line, where Janey and children like her are full of amazing potential and a glowing beacon of perfection in a fallen world.  That leaves parents like us, parents terrified about the future, living a life that is hugely full of stress, getting by from day to day, left feeling like we are somehow at fault, somehow seen as not accepting or loving our children enough.  In my eyes, being honest about children like Janey, the good, the bad, the wonderful, the terrifyingly tough---to me anyway, that is love.  That is love of a real child, not a symbol or a potential or a myth.  I love Janey.  I love my low-functioning, severely autistic child.  I love her, the actual her, the truth of her.  And I know there are many, many other parents like me, and many, many other children like Janey.  I am going to try to keep being brave enough and honest enough to honor Janey by telling the story she can't---the story of a little girl, who, like every child in the world, deserves love exactly how she is.

Why I Do This

Recently, my son Freddy read one of my blog posts and didn't like it.  He felt one line in particular wasn't good, when I spoke of how Janey is one in a thousand in terms of her level of needs and disability.  I based that number on statistics I've read of kids at her IQ level and functioning level.  However, Freddy said I was trying to make people feel sorry for me.  That isn't what I was consciously aiming for, and I hope that isn't how it came across.  It kind of horrifies me to think of people feeling sorry for me.  I would hate to think people did.  This is partly just because I grew up in a time and place where you just didn't do that, and partly because I don't feel like I have a life people should feel sorry for.  I have enough to eat, a roof over my head, a husband I love, amazing sons, a daughter I longed for for years, hobbies and friends and interests and books and my garden and so many great things.  Like anyone, I have moments of self-pity, moments I do maybe want people to feel sorry for me, but that isn't why I write here.

But I was left thinking---why DO I write about how hard things can be with Janey and how little support there is out there, if not to make people feel sorry for me?  I had to search my soul a lot on that one.  The answer is---I write about it because it's an experience, a life, that I don't see written about elsewhere.  I don't see the media writing about kids like Janey, kids with the non-glamorous kind of low functioning autism.  Because of this, I also don't think there is a lot of awareness outside of the families with kids like Janey of how hard things can be and how little support there is out there.

There is a debate I've had with myself, and talked to others about---are those with the power to do something to help families like ours just ignoring our needs, or are they truly not aware of them?  I have to believe they aren't aware of them.  They could be excused in this.  Let me give  you an example.  Over and over, I've had people tell me about two different programs.  One is a program at the Boston Conservatory that provides music lessons for children with autism.  They hear about it and think "Wow!  That would be perfect for Janey!  She loves music and is very musical!"  Well, yes.  It would be perfect, except that the program requires that the child already be able to play an instrument and read music.  Janey certainly can't do either of those things.  The second example is a respite care house near here, a wonderful place we did take Janey to and get her accepted into it.  It would be wonderful, with Saturday respite and overnights and all.  However, when we took her there, we realized that the ratio of caregivers to children was no-where near what would be safe for Janey.  She requires a 1:1 ratio, for sure, sometimes even 2 adults to her if you really want to be safe, and they were more like 5 to 1 or 10 to 1.  Not possible.  So---to the outsider, it might seem there are programs and help that would work for Janey.  I want to explain to them that although these programs might be well-meant, and extremely helpful to some kids, they do us no good.

I talk about Janey's difficult behavior here for similar reasons.  I had no idea, no idea in the world, before having Janey, what it is like to have a child like her.  It's a bit of a hidden world.  There are several reasons for that.  One is that most of us living this life are too busy caring for our kids to really get out there and tell our stories.  Another is that we don't want to be negative about our kids.  We love our kids.  We love them so much it's hard to ever explain.  In a way, we love them so much we want to shelter them.  We don't want to let people know how hard it is to raise them.  And so, the stories that do come out are often horrible stories of mothers who just could no longer continue.  Or they are feel-good stories, stories of "cures".  Or they are tragic stories of children who wander away and drown, the stories that are far too common, especially in the summer.  I want to tell the story of a regular, ordinary family raising a child with low functioning autism, an intellectual disability and severe behavioral and self-injury issues.  I want to show that we aren't the others.  We are any family out there, who by the luck of the draw were dealt a tough hand in this one way.

I write because that is what I can do.  Others can do other things.  I am no good at going to rallies, at being a fierce advocate, at raising money, at starting foundations.  I can write fairly well, and I can do so in-between Janey's tantrums (I wrote this interrupted by at least 10 fits of fury from Janey, as she watched videos and became upset by them).  I write to tell our story, and the story of so many wonderful families I've met with children like Janey.  I write to tell people we exist, and to hope somehow to plant a seed in the mind of someone with the power to help us.

Accepting Autism Acceptance

Tomorrow is Autism Acceptance Day.  You might know it as Autism Awareness Day, but like a lot of others, I have chosen to change the name.  I think most of us are aware of autism by this point.  The next step is acceptance, and that is a step not only for the general public for but many of us personally.  Or at least it is for me.

I struggled for a long time with the idea of autism acceptance. My reasons were many, but there were lots of times I heard that term and said to myself "Never!  Accept autism?  That's not going to happen!"  I always told myself it had nothing to do with accepting JANEY, it has to do with accepting her autism.  However, I think I'm finally there.  I've figured out what autism acceptance means to me.

Autism acceptance doesn't mean liking the tough parts of autism, or NOT liking the great parts.

When Janey bites herself or others, or when she cries for hours on end for reasons we don't understand, acceptance doesn't mean not trying to help her to feel better and stop hurting herself or others.  It DOES mean accepting that those behaviors are part of how autism affects her.  It means not denying the parts of autism that are so tough, not writing them out of the story to make autism more palatable.

When Janey is delightful, amazing, hilarious, autism acceptance doesn't mean that I can't enjoy the positive effects of autism.  I don't have to say "Janey is wonderful DESPITE her autism".  I can say "Janey is wonderful partly BECAUSE of her autism"  That's a tough one for most people to take, somehow.  But when Janey recites dialogue amazingly well, when she learns songs instantly and sings them so well, when she snuggles us without the typical pre-teen reserve---I accept that those behaviors are part of her autism, and I love them.

Autism acceptance applies to ALL parts of the spectrum.

This year, when the press decides to showcase people with autism, I wish for every Temple Grandin, for every child that has written a book or learned to type and give us all insights into their world, they would also showcase a child on the lower end of the spectrum, like Janey.  I don't accept Janey conditionally, and I dream of a world that doesn't accept people with autism because they have or might someday do something amazing.  Janey and and the children of my friends around the world with a child with low-functioning autism deserve to be accepted and to have their lives made as meaningful and joyful as possible.

Autism acceptance also applies to acceptance of a family's choices

It is very hard to see how fragmented and politically correct and potentially trigger-filled the world of autism is.  Part of what I think we all need to accept is that we've all made different choices in how we deal with the autism.  Some people embrace ABA.  Others do Floortime.  Others have put their children on special diets.  Some use vitamin supplements.  Some use medication.  Some homeschool.  Some have children in residential placements.  There are an amazing number of ways to educate and medicate and provide therapy to children with autism.  We might feel strongly our way is the best, but we need to accept another family might not feel that way, and as long as we all have the goal of helping our child live a happier and healthier life, these issues should not divide us.

I will close with a video a lot of you have already seen, as I put it on my Facebook page.  It's Janey surprising me with a different message than the one I asked her to give---I asked her to say "Happy Autism Acceptance Day!" but her Boston and 1/8th Irish got the better of her!  She also says in the video "I have autism"  I love her sweet voice as she says that.  I used to avoid using the word "autism" around her, but I have decided that's not at all what I should do.  I accept Janey's autism as part of the amazing little girl she is.  I love you, Janey.

Here's the video!

Including those who will never catch up

I got to Janey's school a little early today.  I try to do that now and then, although morning sluggishness and traffic often prevent it, but Janey loves the extra time to run around outside a bit.  Today was beautiful, a lovely fall day.  The morning play area was covered with leaves and sticks and acorns and all the things kids love like that.  Some boys were playing football.  Most everyone had on something Red Sox, in support of the home team playing in the Series tonight.  It was one of those great Boston mornings.  Janey was very happy running around.  Every now and then she'd stop to pick up a leaf, or hold a stick, but mostly she ran, ran among the other kids, never quite interacting but still, I think, very aware of what was around her.

It made me think about inclusion, and how as kids get older, support for it seems to melt away among professionals advising parents.  I've heard quite a few times now from professionals saying that inclusion isn't right for Janey, that she would be better served in a classroom specifically for autistic kids.  I get the feeling that most people think inclusion is fine for little kids, but that when the kids are older, it doesn't benefit either the disabled child or their classmates.

I think this reflects society as a whole.  We embrace, often, disabled children, but disabled teens or adults make us uneasy.  There's probably a couple reasons for that.  One is that we like to think we can "fix" kids.  Sure, let them take a while to catch up.  Let them be around other kids, and have it "cure" them.   In time, they will be just like everyone else!  They just need lots of love and patience!  The other reason is kind of a vicious circle.  Very few "normal" teens or adults spend much time with disabled people their own age, and that leads to fear and maybe even sometimes disgust.  "Look, that big girl can't talk!  She's making strange noises and waving her arms around!  We better steer clear of her!"  We're more tolerant of a range of odd behaviors in the young.

But as I watched Janey today, I thought about how important it is for inclusion to continue to be her life as she gets older, if at all possible.  The reasons for this might be different than when she was younger.  She's not going to catch up.  She is probably understanding less and less of the mainstream curriculum.  She's not going to suddenly be able to make meaningful friendships with the kids in her class.  But in a way, that's all the more reason to have her around them.  I want her to sense the Red Sox excitement, to watch the boys toss a football, to hear the excited chatter of early morning kids.  I want her to have the fullest life she can, and because it's harder for her to access life's everyday joys than most, she needs to be around them MORE, not less.  And it works both ways.  As the kids she goes to school with get older, they are probably noticing her differences a lot more, and working out in their own minds what is going on with her.  By seeing her every day, by being familiar with how she acts and what makes her happy and sad, they are learning that we don't just include people when they are little and cute.  We include them for life, because they are human beings just like us, deserving of a full and interesting and meaningful life.

It seems like there is a point, an invisible line, where many professionals give up.  They seem to say "We gave it a shot.  It didn't work.  She's never going to be part of real life.  It's time to give up on that and find a place for her away from everyone else"  I'm sure they would never consciously say that, but I've sensed a change of attitude from the medical and psychiatric professions.  Not from her school, not from her teachers or administrators  or aides or even the other students, but from the "experts".  Maybe she represents a failure to them, someone that didn't get fixed.  But watching her today, happy among the rest of the kids, content to be living life on her own terms, I think she deserves a chance to be included for life.

Daryl Hannah?

I'm writing this just after reading this article and a few others about Daryl Hannah (article).  It's my gut reaction, so it's not polished or heavily thought out, but I felt sort of compelled to write about this while it's fresh in my mind.

What was my reaction?  First, it was, well, sort of an anger. Not anger toward Daryl Hannah, but anger at how revelations like this change people's perspective of autism, and add to what much of the public already believes---that autistic people are very bright, that they have amazing abilities, that people can be autistic and you'd never, ever know it unless they told you, that girls and women with autism in particular are on the high end of the spectrum---things like that.  And all those things might be true, for a small percentage of people out there.

And then there's Janey, and the many children and adults with autism like her, the ones on the low end of the spectrum.  They don't get the press, because they don't grow up to be celebrities, they don't have astonishing abilities, they don't get "cured".  They have a serious, at times heartbreakingly serious, lifelong disability.  Maybe I am not using the politically correct terms here, but I am speaking from the heart.  With Janey's type of autism, you would not ever be able to star in movies, to live on your own, to be politically active, to have dated JFK Jr, to be Daryl Hannah.

I am not saying Daryl Hannah isn't or wasn't autistic.  I have no reason to think she is lying, and I don't think she is, as she sees it.  But this illustrates the problem with having one word for autism, for conditions that range from nearly invisible to kids like Janey, to kids lower functioning than Janey.  It leads, I think, to a lack of services.  If the public thinks that most people with autism are able to do the things that someone like Hannah can do, they aren't going to think they need the kind of help that Janey and the other Janeys out there need.  I think that's why it's so hard to get good respite, good sheltered housing, and good recreational opportunities.  If you think people with autism are all like the ones in the public eye, you'd be justified in thinking they don't need our help that much.

Part of my mission in writing this blog is to give a little bit of a voice for Janey, and other kids with low functioning autism.  They may not be celebrities, but they are worthy of our love, our attention and our help.

Why I blog

If you search for blogs about autism, you find a very lot of them.  However, what you don't seem to find is too many about truly low-functioning autism.  There are some, and of course kids with all kinds of autism do have traits in common, and there is no real set in stone dividing line between high, medium and low functioning autism.  But the fact is I haven't found a lot of blogs about kids that function at Janey's level.  And I think I know why, at least partly.  With LFA, the narrative can get stalled.  What Janey is doing now is very similar in a lot of ways to what Janey was doing a year ago, or two years ago.  She doesn't make huge breakthroughs.  And because of her LFA, we don't do a lot of other exciting things that would spice up a blog, like taking big trips or outings.  We aren't following a radical new treatment regiment.  Janey is not suddenly picking up her iPad and writing books, and I doubt she ever will, although of course it would be wonderful.  Janey is Janey, and that's what I write about.  So why?

Well, for three reasons. 

The first is that writing is my therapy.  I'd write about Janey even if no-one was ever going to read it.  That is evidenced in  the 20 or so diaries I have around the house, which I mostly wrote in high school and college, but some as adults.  I wrote for myself, because writing is how I process things.  The day Janey was diagnosed, I started this blog, and I think I did it in blog online form mostly because I can't even read my own handwriting any more, and I wanted to type a diary.  I'd heard about blogging, and I figured I'd try it.  I didn't tell much of anyone about the blog, and I didn't promote it except in very small ways.  Gradually, it started to get read, and now, it gets read a good deal, which is amazing and wonderful to me.  But I still write in it much for myself.  When I have a tough day with Janey, or a wonderful day, my first impulse is to write about it.  

The second reason---to give Janey a voice.  I hope someday Janey will have her own voice.  I certainly follow with interest news about other people with LFA finding a way to communicate.  But in all honestly, I don't think there is a huge hidden store of deep insights that will someday make up a beautifully written book inside Janey's head.  And my point here is that that doesn't make her life, her ideas, her communication, her voice ANY less valuable.  I don't want to give her a voice to prove that she somehow has hidden stores of miraculous insights.  I want to give her a voice in a way because she doesn't---because there are lots of kids and adults like Janey out there, and their lives are valid.  They have lives that people should be able to hear about.  People can learn from Janey.  They can get insights from stories about her life into what it's like to live with a disability that affects the mind, the emotions, the ability to learn.  They can see that she can be a delight, can be amazing, just by being her.  Hopefully, people will realize that a person's worth is not measured by IQ or future earning potential, but that we all have a value.

The third reason, and probably the most important---to support other parents, and to get support from them.  I don't know how I would have lived through the last 5 years had I not met other parents with girls like Janey, had I not realized that I wasn't the only one with a child like her, had I not gotten the hope that comes from hearing there is indeed a bit of light at the end of the tunnel.  I know there are girls (and boys, but there is less out there as a support for girl) being diagnosed with autism every day, and not all of them are like one misguided book about girls on the spectrum made them seem, very verbal with unlimited futures.  The media tends to focus on girls with autism that are misdiagnosed because they seem so "normal".  But I know there are a lot of girls like Janey, that will probably never pass for what society calls normal.  And there are a lot of parents that love those girls, but are starting out on a tough journey, one filled with crying and screaming and sleepless nights and frustration.  I want to tell them I know how it feels, and I also want to give them hope---not false hope that says "one day your child will be cured, if you do everything right!" but hope that you will still have wonderful moments with your girl, that she will bring you happiness, that one day you will have a time when you think "I wouldn't want her to be anyone else"  And then she will scream all night and you will lose \that feeling for a bit, but it will come back, here and there, and that's enough.  If I can give one parent that message when they need to hear it, that's enough too.

Standardized Testing For Kids Like Janey?

I read this article yesterday  (thanks, Mary Leonhardt!) about developing standardized testing for the kids like Janey.  I hadn't really understood how the whole No Child Left Behind bit affected kids with severe intellectual disabilities like Janey.  The article explained that it's allowable for 1% of students to be tested in an alternative way---to not have to take the regular state tests, which here in Massachusetts are called the MCAS.  Most students with special needs do have to take the tests---the article estimates that only 10% of special needs students are in the overall 1% that don't have to take the tests.  I don't know officially that Janey is in that 1%, but I am quite sure she will be.  The article discusses a program being developed to modify the regular tests so even that 1% can be tested.

What do I think of this?  Well, my first impulse was that it's crazy.  No matter how much you modify a math test that has concepts on it like algebra or a English test that has you analyze a poem, Janey is not going to get it.  And more importantly, it's a waste of everyone's time and money to work on her to get it.  If you put hour upon hour upon hour into it, you might get her to somehow point to a picture relating to what the poem is about with some degree of accuracy, or parrot back an answer.  And what in the world is the good of that?  That is time and money and energy that could have been spent teaching Janey something she COULD learn---self-help skills, letters, iPad use, things like that.  My second impulse is that this is another example of people not really getting low functioning autism.  There is a larger gap between a child like Janey and some children I know with Down syndrome or higher functioning autism than there is between those children and "typical" children.  I completely believe in including kids that learn differently or more slowly, in having them take the tests with accommodations.  But learning differently or more slowly is very different than not being really able to learn the material at all, or learn it in a way that's going to make a difference long term.

Here's an example.  I have terrible handwriting.  I mean---terrible to the extent of being unreadable.  I always have, although it's gotten worse in this age of keyboards.  Now say there was a test back in my day that required writing an essay.  It would be crazy to say I shouldn't take the test because my writing isn't readable.  That is a case where an accommodation makes complete sense.  I could use a keyboard, or dictate the test, or be given a lot of extra time to try very hard to print the letters in a readable way.  And the result would be meaningful.  It would test my writing ability, without having a disability stand in the way.  (and I'm quite sure in today's world I would have a diagnosis for my inability to write legibly, or to keep an organized and tidy desk or locker)  I would be able to move forward with writing, and use it in my life.  But let's say it was Janey instead.  Janey can't read.  She can't write.  She doesn't consistently know her letters.  She doesn't know what an essay is.  She can't in any meaningful way at all even understand what would be expected for a test like this.  Now, I'm sure you could figure out a way to somehow completely modify the test so she could do LOOK like she was somehow being tested.  You could read her a story and have her point to pictures.  That might look like something useful on paper, but in reality, is it?  Does the test result mean anything?  Does it do anything but satisfy some sort of quota or make a state look good on paper?  I would say---no.  So yes, accommodate if there is something standing in the way of someone showing their skills.  But don't "accommodate" if the skill simply isn't there, and never will be, or won't be unless some huge intermediary steps are taught first.

This reminds me of all the times I've been failed by parenting advice.  Janey and kids like her, the other 1%, don't fit into the regular rules, the regular plans.  Accepting that, and doing the best we can for kids like her without forcing them to being tested in meaningless ways, is how she will move forward.

Janey Awareness, Autism Awareness

Today is International Autism Awareness Day.  I've said in the past I think I'm about as aware of autism as a person can be, but that's not really true.  I am aware of the way autism affects one little girl, and one family.  Autism is a huge spectrum.  There's the saying that has gotten to be a little cliched, but it's true---if you know one kid with autism, you know one kid with autism.  I had been thinking of writing in general about autism and what I'd like the public to be aware of, but I realized I'm not the expert in that.  I'm the expert on only one child with autism.  So here it is, my "Janey Awareness List"

1.  Janey is eight years old.  She's my third child, my first girl, the girl my husband Tony and I longed for.  She was born on her brother Freddy's seventh birthday.  Although she had some quirkiness from birth, she appeared to be basically normally developing until a bit before her third birthday, when she regressed severely.  She was diagnosed at age 3 years, 3 months with autism.

2.  Janey has low functioning autism.  She, like many children with autism, is intellectually disabled.  Although her skills are a little scattered, in general, she functions like a child of about 2.  She speaks, but around 98% of what she says is either simple requests ("I want Kipper, I want green candy, I want snuggle on Mama's bed") or echolalia, delayed or direct (repeated phrases from videos, books, past conversations, etc)  She says very little that is original or communicative beyond requesting.  She knows some letters and some numbers, inconsistently, some shapes, she can sometimes write a J and is working on the rest of her name, she can name single objects she knows when she's in the mood.  Learning this much academically has taken her 6 years of school (preschool through second grade, where she is now)

3.  Our lives are hugely, extremely impacted by Janey.  She literally cannot ever be unsupervised, not for even seconds.  She has the impulsive nature and lack of safety concerns of your typical 2 years old, in a fairly tall 8 year old's body, and she's pretty good with physical things like climbing and opening.  Someone must always be assigned to watching Janey, ALWAYS.  That means even if you have to leave the room for a very short time, like to run to the bathroom or check the mail.  Otherwise, Janey will put herself in dangerous situations or do things like pour liquids on the floor, or worse.

4.  Because of Janey's lack of ability to communicate and her swings in emotion, she can become very, very upset for long periods of time.  We have had stretches of days on end where Janey cried without stopping, all day, crying really being a mild word for what she did---more like screaming hysterically.  There are other days she laughs for hours on end, and wakes manically in the night still laughing.

5.  Janey attends an inclusion school, the William W. Henderson Inclusion School.  She is in a classroom with kids that are typically developing and with a few other kids with various special needs.  There are 2 teachers and an aide in the classroom, and Janey is also supported by a lot of specialists like physical therapists, occupational therapists, speech therapists, music therapists, an ABA specialist---it takes a full staff to education a Janey!  We love Janey's school, and are very lucky she is there.

6.  We don't know what caused Janey's autism, although I have plenty of theories.  I don't really believe in autism cures.  I don't have a fixed autism policy, belief or style.  I believe in doing a hodgepodge of whatever works.  Janey is on no special diets, takes no special vitamins.  I am not saying that those diets or supplements might not work for other kids, but we haven't chosen to go that route.

7.  Janey loves music.  She knows hundreds of songs by heart, and if the spirit moves her, she can sing them in tunes with the full lyrics, but not on command!  Listening to music with Janey is my favorite way to bond with her.  We listen to a huge variety of songs on the iPod in the car, and when Janey likes one, she asks to re-hear it, and I add it to her list, which she knows how to access when I put the iPod on a base at home.  She especially likes country gospel music (although our family is not very religious!), bluegrass, Weird Al, and most of all, Christmas music.  She sometimes is intensely bothered by certain songs, and it could be those are sung out of tune---I'm not really musical enough to know!

8.  One of the hardest parts of autism for me is the stares in public.  If I could make the general, autism-unaware public aware of one thing, it would be how hard the stares are.  If you see a child acting unusually, maybe making odd sounds or jumping up and down or crying when there doesn't seem to be a reason, or just acting much younger than they are, please try hard not to stare!  I never mind people making eye contact with me and smiling, just to let me know they see us and are supportive, but please don't just look at us like we are a sideshow!

9.  If you are interested in helping autistic kids and their families, my personal wish would be that you volunteer or give money or whatever to organizations providing direct support, direct services.  That means people that are working directly with autistic kids---giving the parents a break, giving the children opportunities for recreation, providing afterschool programs, camps, parties, things like that.  Just because an organization has "autism" in its name, that doesn't mean they work directly to help kids with autism who are living here and now.  They might support one very specific type of autism therapy they believe in, or they might give money for research.  I'm not knocking those things, but there are many families out there desperate for help RIGHT NOW.  They already have the kids with autism, and knowing what caused it or working for some long term "cure" is not going to get them through the day.  I speak from experience.  I am very lucky that Janey can attend afterschool and summer school.  I'm not sure how I'd survive otherwise, frankly.  Even with that, vacations and weekends can be brutal.  I'd do anything in the world for Janey, but there are times that her needs overwhelm our family.  I worry about families with single parents, or more than one autistic child, or less school time.  I worry about them very much.

10.  Janey is an amazing person.  I love her very, very much.  That being said, life with autism is tough.  It's tough for her, it's tough for our family.  Those are the two big points I'd like to emphasize in the end, I guess----that children with autism are people, beloved family members, children that are as precious to their families as any child, but that doesn't change the fact that raising an autistic child is extremely, overwhelmingly, unbelievably tough.  Or, to get back to my Janey-centered approach, I love Janey more than I could have ever imagined, and she is tougher than I ever imagined a child could be.

I'll end with a shout out to every family out there raising their own autistic child.  Here's to all of you.  I'm raising a toast in your honor.  Cheers, and my love.

Low Functioning Autism and the 1 in 50

Low Functioning Autism (which is often abbreviated LFA) isn't a pretty term.  I guess there are others that can be used, like classic autism or Kanner's autism.  I've also heard non-verbal autism used as a synonym, but I don't like that, as Janey is low functioning but does speak, although not really often meaningfully.  LFA is also a hard term to find a definition of.  I was trying, just now, and couldn't find a hard and fast one.  Sometimes IQ seems to be the criteria used, with an IQ under a level I saw quoted as 80 in one place and 70 in another as the cut-off.  It seems like LFA is one of those things you know when you see.

And why am I thinking about this today?  Mainly because of the statistic of the day---that now it's said that one in 50 school children in the US have an autistic disorder.  Frankly, honestly, that statistic annoyed me.  It annoyed me because it seems it must use a hugely wide net when saying exactly what an autistic disorder is.  It just doesn't make sense.  Janey goes to a school that is an inclusion school, and each classroom has some children with disabilities.  Her school might be one of the rare ones where that one in 50 makes sense, for that reason.  But although of course I don't know official diagnoses of other kids, I can say just from being around the school that Janey is lower functioning than most any other kid with autism there, and that some of the kids I know are considered on the spectrum can do things that I doubt Janey will ever come close to doing---writing well, doing advanced math, talking in conversations---things like that.  Someone without knowledge of the huge range that autism encompasses will not understand that statistic.  They might think all kids with autism are what would be called high functioning, and think it's just a fashionable thing to have your child called, to get them a little extra help.  Or they might think all the kids are like Janey, in which case you would think there would be widespread alarm.  If one if 50 kids were like Janey---well, our special ed systems would be completely and totally overwhelmed.  All I can imagine that must be meant by the one in 50 statistic is that one in 50 children at some point in their life showed some autistic characteristics.  In fact, I'm pretty sure that somehow my older son, who has not been on an IEP for 8 years and who has already been accepted at 5 colleges, including Brandeis, is considered one of those 50.  The differences between Janey and him are so vast that to include both of them in that statistic makes the statistic pretty much meaningless.

I tried to find a statistic on how many children have LFA.  I couldn't.  I think that would be a very useful number for the government to have, in order to plan for the future.  Many of the kids in that 1 in 50 are not going to require lifetime care.  But the ones with LFA are, barring the extremely rare "cures" and miracles.  I think part of the reason there aren't more numbers and isn't more information out there about LFA is that it is far less studied than HFA.  It's hard to study Janey.  She's not going to answer your questions or cooperate with tests or refrain from freaking out if you want to do something like an MRI with her.  The one study I enrolled her in was a bit of a disaster, as when they tried to test her, the testers seems stunned by the reality of her.  They essentially gave up on testing her half way through.  I'm sure that's not an uncommon outcome.  It's a lot more interesting to test quirky verbal kids, I'm sure, than kids who scream and don't answer and aren't at all with the program.

Here's how I'd define LFA.  Please note this is only my own idea of a definition, not anything official!

Kids with LFA either don't speak or they speak mainly in echolalia or with simple, scripted requests.  They are not able to learn academically without a huge amount of help and support, and even with that, they will never be able to access a regular curriculum.  They require around the clock care, and must always be under supervision, as they do not understand basic safely protocol.  They have limited self-help skills.  They often have trouble regulating their emotions, and may cry or laugh for no obvious reason.  Their range of interests is very limited.  It is extremely unlikely they will ever be able to live on their own.

If that sounds pretty grim, well, it is.  I didn't sugarcoat it.  There is not room there for the good parts, although every child in the world, including those with LFA, has good parts!  But I think it's important, crucially important, for people to understand the challenges of being a family with a child with LFA.  Autism casts a wide net.  Today's statistic proves that.  But I'm starting to think having that wide a net is not serving the needs of those under the net.

What I wish I'd been told

I read a blog entry that was highlighted on the Huffington Post recently.  Here is it...  LINK  For some reason, maybe because I'm having a not great day, it upset me a lot.  I calmed down and re-read it, and found there was a lot I agreed with there.  Most of the message that the author wished she had been given when her son was diagnosed was something I agreed with, really.  But with one big exception.  Her dream message says " What you'll need to find is the right fuel, the right environment and the right supports. With those, your child has great potential. With the right supports, he will have a happy and fulfilling life."

 Well, that is what got me.  It got me because it is like so much of what I've read lately.  It seems to disregard a huge part of the autistic population----kids like Janey.  Kids that DON'T have great potential.  Now, that sounds awful to say.  Janey might have great potential.  I might be somehow squelching it with my poor attitude.  But I don't think so.  I delight in Janey often.  I think she's amazing, she's wonderful, she's astonishing.  But to say she has great potential is not fair to a lot of people. It's not fair to all the people who work very, very hard with her and have yet to unlock that potential in any huge way.  It's not fair to me, who would give anything on earth to see Janey progress.  And most of all, and what really bothers me, is it's not fair to Janey.  It's not fair to say that a child with an IQ that no-one will give me an exact number for, but which I can guess is around 40, a child that still operates in many, many ways on a 2 year old level at the age of 8, a child that unless miracles occur, will need intense life-long care, has great potential.  It's not fair to say her life will "with the right supports" be happy and fulfilling.  Maybe it will be.  But what I've seen of what is out there for adults with her level of involvement is not happy or fulfilling.  It just isn't.  I'll do anything to make her life as happy as I can.  But I'm not going to take on the burden of thinking there is something I could do that I'm not doing that is keeping her from having this life of potential and happiness and fulfillment in the future.

So, what would I have like to be told, back when Janey was diagnosed at the age of 3?  Maybe something like this..

Your child is not going to be one of the spontaneous, amazing cures.  In many ways, 5 years from now she'll be functioning about as well as she is right now.  There will be days that can only be described as from hell.  There will be false hopes, there will be sadness, there will be disappointment and there will be discouragement.  However, keeping that in mind, there's going to be a lot good.  There will be times that you see Janey as just about perfect---whole days when there could not be a more delightful child.  You will realize that her intellectual disability matters very little in the grander scheme of things.  You will love the people at her school, the wonderful care and teaching and love she gets.  You will meet other parents, amazing people, people you will love being friends with, people that will help form your own circle of support.  Don't feel like there are things you should be doing that you aren't.  Trust yourself.  Take care of yourself.  Keep an eye on your own health.  Don't let it go in order to concentrate fully on your kids.  Enjoy your other children as well as Janey.  Appreciate your amazing husband.  Live for the good times, and know the bad times are not endless.  Autism is tough.  It's extremely tough, tougher than you can realize right now. But you are tough too, and you will learn to live this new life.  Give your girl a hug, and love her just the way she is.

Everyone's letter would be different.  And that is the important part.  Don't let anyone tell you what your letter should say.  You'll find out.  You'll make your own way.  There's only one part of my letter that applies to everyone---loving your child just the way they are right now.  And I know that the people I have met through this blog do just that.

Looking back on 2012---what Janey learned, what I learned

The year ending is, of course, making me look back and try somehow to sum up 2012, and figure out what kind of a year it was for us all.  In thinking about it, I do think it was quite a year of progress for Janey in some ways, and maybe more, a year of changed thinking for me.

Janey did some real learning in 2012.  The biggest jump was in her use of technology.  Some of this she might have already known, but I realized she knew it.  She can use the iPad with ease, she can pick videos on YouTube when given a bunch of picture choices, she can get to YouTube from a Google pages with an icon of it, she can, as I just recently figured out, turn on my camera and take pictures.  In today's world, being about to use devices like the ones she can is a good sign.  She also learned more academics than in past years.  She sort of knows some letters and numbers, she will do some worksheets at school, she can write J and once in a long time, kind of write her name, she is more interested in books than in the past.  She is still not even at anywhere near a preschool level in most areas, and she might not ever be, but that is more than the past.  The summer featured a toilet training jump forward, which sadly is not still going on quite as well, maybe with the need for winter clothes and our increasing insistence that she keep clothes on, but she does use the potty at school on a semi-regular basis, and sometimes uses it at home.  In the summer, there were days when she used the potty almost all day.  She also seems very slightly to understand her feelings more.  She is learning the words for sad and angry and happy, and uses them once in a while.  She cried less this year than most---there were still long crying days, but certainly less of them.  She learned to ask for songs in the car by name, and to say "do you like that song?" quickly at the end of a song to ask me to play it again.  She usually comes back when I scream "Janey!  STOP!" if she runs from me.  The mischief Dennis the Menace phase last year has certainly lessened, although it still happens at times.

Of course, there were still a lot of frustrating areas.  I don't think Janey's talking improved at all.  She still uses speech strangely and not that well.  She asks for things, usually with pronouns reversed "Do you want a Kipper video on?" and she repeats things, with delayed echolalia still being the vast majority of what comes out of her mouth.  She almost never answers us.  She still gets frustrated hugely and cries instead of communicating often.  She has gotten bigger and looks more autistic than in the past.  She makes a sound while out in public almost all the time, her "ahhhhh-ahhhhh" sound, and flaps her hands and pulls on her eyes. People pretty much always know now she is "different".  She relates very little to kids her age.  She tries to take off her clothes at home almost all the time.  Her sleep if anything is not as good as it was.  She goes to sleep too early often, and wakes way too early. She puts things in her mouth, more than ever, actually.  Constant vigilance is required to make sure she's not mouthing anything dangerous.  She occasionally hits me, harder now that she is older.  She has days where she makes constant demands, and is furious if we don't immediately obey her.  She is still very, very autistic.  The diagnoses of low functioning autism and intellectual disability are very accurate.

And what did I learn?  I think the biggest lesson I learned was to truly feel and believe that I am the expert on Janey.  The visit with the developmental pediatrician was a turning point for me.  I realized that she did not at all know what was best for Janey, or she decided what she felt was best through a very narrow viewpoint.  I understand Janey as well as anyone can understand her.  I am no longer thinking in any way there is some expert out there who can teach me about Janey, can help me help her.  I don't think such an expert exists.  If one does, I certainly haven't found them.  I don't mean there aren't people who can teach her, can love her, can take wonderful care of her.  There are---her whole school staff, basically.  But in terms of someone who is an autism expert and can tell me how to get more out of Janey, how to "fix" her or modify her behavior or figure out what makes her tick---I am that person.  I am the expert on Janey.  It's a lonely feeling, but it's a freeing feeling too.  I've not ever been the kind of person to search for a cure, but I have believed there are people that have seen Janeys before, that can tell me what her outcome will be, can give me gems of advice that will make her life and my life easier.  I'm pretty sure now there isn't.  Like all kids with autism, like all kids without autism, in fact, she's one of a kind.  And because she's one of a kind out at the edges of the bell shaped graph, each of her traits has less other kids sharing it. People can help me teach Janey, can help me care for her, and can share my love of her, but in terms of understanding her---that's all Tony and me.

I want to add a thank you to everyone who reads this blog.  Your friendship, comments and thoughts mean the world to me.  When I write here, I feel so much less alone, and I hope I have done the same for others.  To everyone in the autism family, and those who love someone with autism, all my heartfelt best wishes for a very, very happy 2013.

Reading my life

I just finished a book which came the closest to describing my life with Janey of any autism book I've read. It's a memoir called One of Us, A Family's Life With Autism by Mark Osteen. The boy in the book, Cameron, is autistic, on the lower end of the spectrum. He talks a little, learns a little but very slowly, has mood swings and does and doesn't do so many things like Janey. I cried a lot reading it. He is much more aggressive than Janey, which might be a male/female difference, but in other ways I felt like my own life was being described. I loved the book in that it was in no way about miracle cures, about causes and blame, about one school of thought over the other. It was just a straight story---what life is actually like with a child like Janey or Cameron in the house. The parents loved him more than anything, but many days were almost unbearable. In the end, Cameron goes to a residential school most of the year, and it works fairly well, although it's heartbreaking for the parents. The picture of Cameron I loved best was not one of the ones of him as an adorable little boy, but the one of him at 19, a handsome guy, looking like any other teen, but as I know from the book, still watching his Raffi videos and reciting Max and Ruby. Some people would probably not find this book hopeful, but I did, in that it gave me a vision of a future for Janey. The theme of the book, I felt, was gradual acceptance. They worked hard with Cam, and did all they could for him, and loved him greatly, but it didn't change who he was, and I loved it how much they missed him when their house was empty. It was encouraging too to hear how he did get easier as he got older, and by that I mean as he got to his late teens. A light at the end of the tunnel is still a light if it's far away.

This is the kind of book there needs to be more of, to make people aware of the huge needs that are going to exist in the future. We can all hope and be excited by advances in autism and early intervention, but the truth is, some kids, probably most kids with autism are going to stay autistic, and become adults with autism. They are going to need us, and by us I mean everyone, not just their families. This book hugely illustrates how impossible it is for parents to alone care for a child like Cameron.

It also made me appreciate Janey. Janey's talking, when it does occur, is pretty clear, and she talks a little more than Cameron did in the book. She isn't often aggressive (but in one of those not so fun co-incidences, Tony just got home from getting her at school, where it was reported she was hitting kids today) and for now, she is a little easier than Cam seemed to be in the book. We all compare, as the author mentioned, for better or worse, and as he also talked about, after reading about autistic kids on such a high end of the spectrum that they can almost pass for "normal" and can self-advocate and so on, it's sometimes good to realize that not every child with autism on earth is miles ahead of yours.

I want to thank Mark Osteen for having the courage to write this book, and encourage anyone with an interest in autism to read it.

Retardation

That word, retardation, and the related one, retarded, are not well liked these days. Lately, though, I've been using them more, and trying to reclaim them as acceptable. Why? Because they say something clearly that seems to be like the Voldemort of special needs talk---it that can not be spoken. Autism is fine, but people often say to me "She's autistic, but she's very bright, right? She's probably going to be a professor or a musician or something? She's not...slow...is she?" Well, I can't predict the future, but I can say as of right now, Janey is retarded. It's not a evil word. It means she is behind intellectually. I think at one point it was probably the politically correct way to say it---it meant she might catch up some day, she's just slower. But that's not how it ended up being used, and when I say it, I mean it as it's usually thought to mean. I don't think Janey is ever going to catch up. I've never been told her IQ outright---she's been tested several times during studies, but they generally say it was hard to complete the test, or her non-cooperative nature makes the results hard to say, etc. But I know if they did say them, they would be very low. She is functioning in most ways about like an 18 month old. She talks a little, she understands simple commands, she knows familiar people, etc. But she can't consistantly identify any shape, color, letter, number, word, she can't understand concepts like "yesterday" or "Christmas" or "surprised" or "farm". At school and at home, we have been working on those basic concepts for 4 years at least. She hasn't learned them. She might someday, but I am unsure.

So why do I say all this? To put her down, to be depressing? Not at all. I saw it because I prefer to work with the truth. Janey being retarded doesn't lessen her worth as a person, doesn't make me love her less, doesn't make me try less to help her. On the contrary, if I know what can be reasonably expected, I will work all the harder to make sure she accomplishes that. If I know that it's unreasonable to expect her to get concepts like "wait a minute!" I will find another way to get that point across. I won't frustrate her with workbooks that are far beyond her. I won't ask her questions she just can't answer. I will find a way to encourage her strengths---her singing, her love of rhyme and poetry, her dancing. I will love the real Janey, not my dream of a different Janey.

Never know when it will hit you

Today was mostly a very nice day. Janey and I went to the library, where she played for a bit in the children's room while I looked for books for her (and only freaked out when I showed her a book by the Maisy author that wasn't a Maisy book---that was a bit much for her, but I took it out secretly anyway), and then we went to Chipolte with Freddy, and Janey was an angel there, after it being such a horrible scene a few weeks ago---she was as happy as could be, and ate well. She was even happy when I went to the Savers after that to get Freddy some school clothes. She has been a sweetie.

So what hit me? I started reading a book called Not My Boy! by Rodney Peete, an NFL star whose son was diagnosed with autism. It was about how he came to terms with that. There is of course all the awful early scenes with people saying his son is unteachable and low-functioning autistic and it's all so upsetting. Then gradually as I was reading, I realized that his son, who was 4 in the part of the book I got to, was FAR ahead of Janey---answering questions, writing letters, reading some, explaining what a fire engine was used for in one pivotal scene, etc. And I thought---and they think HE is low functioning? And I started thinking about how little Janey really can do---she's about as far from answering a question like how a fire truck is used as she is from flying to the moon, if she ever wrote a letter, it would be a day of all days...and I got thinking about her, and my friend's daughter, and all the other kids out there with autism who don't even seem to fit into the autism world anymore---the non-success stories, the kids who have "got it bad". And yes, I'm not supposed to think like that. And I'm not sure why it hit me so hard this particular day. I don't read a lot of accounts about autism, and this is a well written nice one, but I don't think I'll read any more for a long time. I start thinking not nice thoughts like "what have YOU got to complain about?" and that is not helpful to me or anyone. And I'm just thinking---autism really is a rotten thing to have. I don't mean Janey is not a joy, a wonderful girl who many times a day makes me very, very happy. But it's not fair to her. Why should she be autistic and retarded? Where is that fair? And the grownup voice inside always says something like "Life isn't fair. Think of people who have lost children" And I do. And I can't even think about it, it makes me so sad for those people. I haven't lost a child, I have her. But life is going to be hard for her. Now is probably the easier part. She is a beautiful girl, and I live in terror of that---of the world out there that takes advantage of beautiful girls, the world that values smart and self-assured and hip, a world that pays a lot of lip service to including all, but can't even find the funds for a single bit of respite, or after school care, or can't field a camp that can handle her. And I need to stop crying.