Summer school and some thoughts

Janey started summer school this week.  I was nervous about summer school when I found out she would be going to a different school than she does during the regular school year.  This is because she's technically in 6th grade now, and her regular school only has an elementary school summer program (although it goes to 8th grade during the regular year).  She is attending a middle school a ways from our house.  There was an open house last Friday, and we took Janey.  After going to the open house, I no longer felt nervous at all.  We found out Janey's teacher was going to be the husband of one of the most wonderful people we've ever had work with Janey---an ABA supervisor whose known Janey for many years and is the person who actually visited her in Rhode Island when she was at the hospital there.  Any husband of hers was okay with us, and he seemed great---like someone who would understand Janey and like working with her.  We also met the ABA therapist assigned to her for the summer, and she knew Janey from way back at her original school, and seemed great.  The administrator of the program met us as we came in, and was enthusiastic and very good with Janey. It was a huge relief to meet them all.

For the first time ever, I think Janey was truly looking forward to summer school.  I don't mean just it was the first time she looked forward to summer school, but the first time she's understood enough to look forward to anything.  She woke up excited on Monday, and when I asked her "are you happy you're going to summer school today?" she smiled hugely and said "YES!" in an emphatic voice.  She wanted to go out and wait for the bus about two hours before it was due to arrive, but I held her off until about 20 minutes early.  When the bus came (on time!) she jumped on with complete confidence.  I love it that all three of my kids don't seem to suffer from the social anxiety I have.  None of them has ever had much trouble separating from me.  I thought about how I would have been at age eleven in Janey's position, going to a new school.  I would have been a wreck.  I don't think it's Janey's autism that makes her different than me in that way, at least totally.  It's her personality, and I love that about her.

In thinking about this past week, I kept thinking about WHY things seem easier now.  It's partly because they ARE, but if I take any day this week, I could find examples of very tough behavior from Janey.  There's been screaming, the loud piercing scream.  There's been arm biting, lots of it.  There's been "toileting incidents".  There's been hitting of Freddy, who seems like her go-to person when she is angry.  There's been obsessive changing of TV shows, and meltdowns when I didn't understand what she wanted.  There's been, in fact, most of the behaviors she's had all along.  But if I thought of the week in a quick summary in my mind, I'd say it's been a very good week.

I think two things make life seem easier now.  One is duration.  The behaviors happen, but they don't last all day, or usually very long at all.  They happen, intensely, and then Janey recovers.  The other thing is perspective, our perspective.  Not that I want to think we ever DIDN'T accept Janey, but now, it's a different kind of acceptance.  Janey is who she is.  It's hard to explain, but I'm starting to see that parents of autistic kids are often made to feel that their kids are somehow fixer-uppers.  They have potential.  They need to be remodeled extensively, and then, they will be livable and valuable.  More and more, that kind of thinking is bothering me a great deal.  NOBODY is a fixer-upper.  That doesn't mean we are all perfect, if you see perfect as some ideal that doesn't exist.  It doesn't mean we don't need to work on helping our children, ALL our children, learn to live in society.  But in accepting that Janey is not some project, not some house that needs to be gutted and remade, we can also accept that there's going to be screaming, there's going to be arm biting, there's going to be times that are tough.  They don't last forever, and there are also times that are great.  I'm not pretending that the challenges of autism are easy.  They aren't.  I'm not saying that Janey is not, overall, more of a challenge to parent than most kids.  She is.  She is very, very challenging, often.  But all that doesn't make her less of a complete person.

Now I will go and try to explain to Janey why Netflix no longer carries "Hercules", and try to calm her meltdown over that.  I am tired of the daily battle over that issue, but it will pass, and it's part of what makes Janey Janey, the Janey that fascinates, frustrates, confuses, intrigues and captivates me, like her brothers, like all kids.

One year ago today

A year ago today, Janey had emergency surgery to remove her burst appendix.  The surgery was preceded by days of extreme sickness (the surgeon estimated it had been burst for 3 days before it was removed) and was followed by weeks of complications----a stay of three days in intensive care for breathing problems, another surgery to place tubes due to abscesses, being fed by TPN into her bloodstream for quite a while, much weight loss---it's hard to believe it all happened, looking back.

In a lot of ways, the health crisis changed how we look at life with Janey. To put it in a slangy way, we don't sweat the small stuff as much.  We focus more on making Janey's life happy and calm.  I think it's safe to say we decided to change our behaviors instead of trying to get her to change hers.  We did this at first because for several months, she was still very affected by the hospital stay.  She was, as the surgeon told us she would be, debilitated.  It was important to focus on very basic things, like making sure she ate and drank.  

To our surprise, life with Janey got easier, overall, when we tried less to change her and more to change ourselves.  That's not why we did it, but we realized that if she's happy, everyone is happy.  If we keep her calm, we all can live our lives a bit more.  

Of course, there's no miracle change.  There are still days when Janey screams a very, lot, cries constantly, gets frantic for reasons we don't understand.  But there are less of them, and they feel less desperate.  They don't seem to last as long or usually be as intense.

In the hospital, Janey watched "The Spongebob Squarepants Movie" about 50 times.  Since then, she's watched it maybe 100 more times.  That's a good example of a change we've made.  I used to always try to get her to watch new things, or, heaven forbid, not watch anything when watching TV was what she wanted.  Now, we let her watch what she wants, when she wants.  She doesn't watch more TV, I wouldn't say, but we relax and let her enjoy it, and enjoy the time it gives us.  Believe me, that was a breakthrough for me.  I always pictured myself with kids that shunned TV and instead played with wooden organic toys and begged me to let them get one more library book.  But that was me---my dream, my vision of parenthood.  

Janey sleeps every night with a pillow covered with a flannel pillowcase she got in the hospital.  I looked up just now to see the name of the charity that makes pillowcases for children's hospitals---it's Ryan's Case for Smiles.  Janey has never been attached to any object like she is to that pillowcase.  She looks for it the minute she comes in the house.  That's just one example of all the kindnesses we were shown at Mass General Hospital.  If you have to have a child spend almost a month in the hospital, that is the place to be.

I feel like this post is disjointed, and that is partly because my mind keeps drifting back to a year ago.  Of all the things I ever worried about with Janey, a severe physical health crisis was about the last.  I wish it all hadn't happened, of course, but it did, and the perspective it gave me has changed me.  Our kids, all our kids, are precious.  It sounds like a sappy card, but I realize you can't take a single day for granted.  Janey, I am so glad you are with us today.

Little Triumphs of Christmas

Christmas has come and gone, and overall, it was a good one.  I was very tense about Christmas this year, as I guess in some ways I always am, but it seemed like more this year.  However, I used a "fake it until you make it" method (a phrase a friend told me that I very much like) and kept plugging away at Christmas stuff, and when the day came, it all seemed to work.

As you can see from the pictures, Janey actually opened two presents, and looked at what was in them.  That was huge for me.  She wasn't that excited, but she did seem to get the process, and was pleased with her nail polish and her plush Sesame Street count---the presents shown here.

You can see she wasn't too into her stocking, but she did take a few things out of it and looked at them briefly!

I think the best part of Christmas with Janey this year was Christmas Eve.  As we almost always do, we went to the house of a family friend.  The picture above is our traditional picture of our kids and the friends' daughter, in front of the tree.  This year, it was going to be a little bit bigger crowd than usual, and we weren't sure how Janey would do.  She did quite well!  She did something she sometimes does when there's a lot of people---she surveyed the crowd and found someone she liked the looks of, and sat on their lap.  In this case, it was the girlfriend of our friends' son, and the girlfriend's mother, people she had never met before.  They were wonderful with her and pleased she picked them, I think!  She did well with the two year old boy that was there, the grandson of the friends, which I had been nervous about---Janey can sometimes be aggressive with younger and smaller children, but she mostly ignored him, although at one point, while we all held our breath, she briefly put her arm around him.  There was one screaming incident there, when Tony had taken her out of the room to calm her down.  Tony and I both realized that how he and I handled that screaming made a different.  We stayed calm and acted like it wasn't a big deal.  I said something like "This screaming isn't uncommon.  It's fairly normal for Janey" and I carried on as if it wasn't happening, and that seemed to relax everyone about it.  We've realized, over time, that how we as parents react to things Janey does sets the tone.

The Christmas Eve night and Christmas day made me realize that Janey is making progress.  It's slow, but it's there.  In little, small ways, she is becoming more mature, and we are becoming better at being her parents.  Some days it doesn't feel that way at all, and if you were watching us from outside, you might not see it.  But we are learning all the time, and so is she.  As we look to the New Year, we feel hope---hope mixed of course with fear, with some sadness, with challenges and with acceptance of the life we have been given, but with hope nonetheless.

Gold in the Ocean

I've read there's lots of gold in seawater. It's there, but it would be very, very hard to separate it from the water.  Do we look at the sparkling ocean and think "Wow, it's so beautiful because of the valuable gold it contains?"  I don't think most people do.  They love the ocean for other reasons.  Lately, I've been thinking about this a lot as a metaphor for Janey's brain.  I think there are amazing things inside her brain.  I think she has ideas, music, opinions, sassy backtalk, arguments, words of love and all the other parts of a child's personality that they share with us when they talk.  But getting all that out?  Sometimes it's like getting gold out of ocean water.  To carry the metaphor further, I don't want Janey to be valued for what might be in her mind.  I want her to be valued for what she is right now.

But what if we could figure out a good method to get the gold out of the water, effectively and safely?  That would be great.  I'd go for it.  But say I tried and it didn't work.  Would I think devalue the seawater?  Would I think less of its beauty, and value, and usefulness?  I hope not.

I would dearly love Janey to be able to better communicate.  I dream of it.  I long for it.  But over the years, she has made very little progress in this way.   This was brought home to me today as  I prepared for an appointment we had this morning to start the process of Janey being followed by the autism team at a big hospital.  I was looking over reports and IEPs and notes from years back, and I was struck hard by how I think Janey talked more at 4, a year after her big regression, than she does now.  Her talking ebbs and flows, but it can in no way be seen as a graph going up.  She isn't talking more as she gets older.  I don't think if she ever will.  This is despite lots of speech therapy, great teaching, Tony and my and the boys efforts, ABA, an iPad, everything we can think of.  There's a good chance we will never, ever hear the great things I believe are in her mind.  They may stay locked in there forever, at times letting us have a little glimpse of the treasure, but for the most part, inaccessible.

I want the world to value Janey just as she is.  But the biggest battle I have is with myself.  I need to truly accept Janey as she is.  I'd like to think I do that, but sometimes, I go beyond just hope to pushing, to probably letting Janey know that I wish she would talk more.  For example, last night Freddy was quizzing me on things he'd learned in school.  For fun, he quizzed Janey too, asking her to tell him a number.  We didn't expect an answer, but she piped up "Like, four?"  I was thrilled, and praised her highly.  I then started asking her lots more things, I guess trying to strike while the iron was hot---asking her to tell me a letter, to point to her brother, to tell me a shape, to spell her name, to give me the names of the cats----none of which she answered.  And as I watched her face, it turned from happy to confused to blank.  She tuned out.  I am sure I showed that I was thrilled by that glimpse of the gold in the seawater.  Do I act as excited when she claps along to her favorite bluegrass music?  Do I praise her for dancing around, for smiling, for just being herself?  I need to.  I need to show her that she is valuable not just for her potential, for what she might be have locked away and lost the key for, but also for who she is, right now.

The gradual changes---negative and positive

I read a short story at some point about the end of the world.  It happened on a Thursday, with a flash of blue light and a strange sound, but people went on with their lives for a while.  Things gradually got weirder and weirder, and about a week later, everyone realized the world was over and faded away.  The reasoning was that the end of the world was just too big a change for people to take in all at once, and so the mind absorbs it slowly, over a bit of time.  Now, having a child diagnosed with autism is IN NO WAY the end of the world.  But that story always struck me---how our mind can't take in all of a big event at once, can't pick  up on all the changes it brings.  I was thinking about how we realize how autism has changed our lives gradually, over days and weeks and even more, over years.

First, the negative.  You might not want to read this if you have a child just diagnosed.  You need the gradual time to process these changes, to have them not come as a blinding shock.  But if you've had a few years to live the autism life, you probably know them.  Your life is vastly changed by your autistic child, every single part of your life.  There are the little things you can't do any more, or can't do with ease---sleep all night, go on trips, eat out, have casual get-togethers with other families, eat a meal as a family calmly, have your dream Christmas, keep up with hobbies, go out with friends...pretty much every little pleasure you used to have is changed drastically.  And there are the big, big things you can't do.  You can't count on a future without a child to care for.  You can't assume your child will go to college, or finish high school, or learn to read.  You can't assume your child won't run out the door, into the street.  You can't count on them keeping themselves safe.  You can't relax.  You can never, ever again totally relax.  You can never, ever again be a normal, regular, mainstream family.  You are changed, for life.

You might read this and think---there are positives?  But there are.  They might be more subtle than the negatives, but they are there.  They take longer to see, sometimes.  But as time goes by, you will find them. You learn the true meaning of not sweating the small stuff, and to be cliched---that almost everything is small stuff.  You find yourself chuckling over the things other people worry about, the things you used to worry about.  Your child is having trouble mastering long division, or isn't scoring at the top of their class in reading?  And you are upset over that?  But your child can talk, has friends, will live on their own some day?  So what's the problem?  That's a freeing feeling, especially if you have other children.  Both my boys have said to me that they realize how little we pressure them compared to other parents.  To us, they are miraculous.  We don't sweat the Cs.  Next, you realize how many truly good people there are out there.  There are people devoted to your child in a way that goes far beyond any job or paycheck.  I have met more wonderful teachers, therapists, paraprofessionals, principals, and also more fellow parents of special needs children that are amazing people than I ever would have known or guessed without Janey.  Having a challenging child introduces you to people up to the challenge.

The last positive is a change that has occurred in my heart.  It's hard to write about, because it involves admitting I didn't used to feel the way I do now.  I remember when I was first pregnant.  Tony and I talked about what we would do if we had a child with Down Syndrome or other issue that caused intellectual disability.  We agreed we would most likely put the child up for adoption.  We thought, we truly thought, that we could not handle a child with that kind of disability.  I felt, in my heart, that children like that were a tragedy.  It makes me cry, to think now how I felt.  Now I see the children at Janey's school with Down Syndrome, the other children with autism, the children with various other challenges, and I can see them as the amazing people they are---people with as much value and personality and importance as any other child. I still wish Janey wasn't autistic.  It's not an easy life, for her or for us.  But as for her being a valuable, lovable person, a person worthy of respect...I am there.  It took a while, but my heart was changed.  I don't measure people by yardsticks like academic tests, or income, or accomplishments any more. That change took a while to come, but I am grateful forever to Janey for bringing it about.