Little Red Envelope

Seriously?!

Tuesday, February 15th, 2011 | Things My Son Has Taught Me | 2 Comments

Tyus has hurt his hand at school.  It happened on the playground and the school staff are concerned because of two main factors: he has an insanely high tolerance for pain but seems bothered by it, and he doesn’t speak.

I make a doctor’s appointment so that we can get a lab requisition for an x-ray even though I am quite sure that he’s ok.  At the doctor’s office Tyus is extremely stressed out. He doesn’t like doctors.  The doctor is good and understands this.  We leave with the requisition and head to the imaging lab.

Once inside the lab I immediately confide in the nurse at the counter that Tyus has autism and this situation is extremely stressful for him.  Anything you can do, I tell her, to expedite this process would be appreciated.  She tells me that there is no one in front of us and it shouldn’t be long.  She’s nice and I’m grateful.

We get called in shortly after and Tyus’ calm begins to leave him.  He sees the x-ray machine and he starts to sing his nervous song.  We get our coats off and suddenly an ear-splitting sound unlike anything I’ve ever heard fills the air.  It sounds like a very angry bird. AHHHH…..AHHHHHH….AHHHHH.  I realize it is some type of alarm and wonder if this is part of the process.  I look at Tyus and he is doing ok despite his extreme sensitivity to loud sounds.  The technician informs us that this is not a test and we have to go outside.  Seriously?!

We put our coats back on and head outside.  It’s cold.  Tyus uses his iPod to say “Goodbye” and I tell him soon.  We wait and I am meanwhile testing his hand.  I squeeze and poke and then it occurs to me that I am not 100% sure which hand is supposedly hurt.  Seriously?!  I call the school and speak to his teacher who confirms with his aide that yes, they agree, it’s the left one.  The bird-alarm inside continues.  We are getting cold and his hand doesn’t seem to be bothering him at all.  I go talk to the nurse and tell her that maybe we’ll go home and I’ll watch for any signs that it’s serious enough to come back.  She seems disappointed and she apologizes.

We walk back into the building because we have to go through it to get to our car. AHHHH….AHHHH….AHHHH.  We get within sight of the front door and the sound stops.  Seriously?!  Now what?  I decide to stay the course and come back if we need to.  We wait at the front door while crowds of freezing cold people filter back into the warm building.  A nurse runs up behind us and says that she’s glad she caught us.  Do we want to try and get the x-ray?  We’re here anyway.  Oh man. Seriously?!

We head back to the lab and get back to where we were.  Tyus is very anxious.  He tells me, “Scared. Frustrated” on his iPod.  I tell him I know.  It won’t take long.  We let him worry his way through three x-rays and I’m so proud of how he does.  He is scared out of his mind, but he DOES it.  He does a great job and I tell him so as we walk out.  Mission accomplished, right?

We get home and I laugh while telling my mom and sister about our afternoon and Tyus’ first x-ray.  I get to the part about calling his teacher and my mom pipes up with, “and she told you it was his right hand, right?”  Uh, no.  Yes, she says, she’s sure.  She had been to the school after the incident happened and she is sure.  She takes Tyus’ right hand and shows me the slightly pink area that confirms her story. Seriously?!

I laugh loudly at the adventure we’ve been through.  I could not, I think, have written a stranger story myself.  I realize that I have definitely learned to take things in stride and that sometimes the best way to handle a crazy situation is to not take it too…seriously!

A Happy Day

Wednesday, December 15th, 2010 | Things My Son Has Taught Me | 2 Comments

Tyus has to be put under a general anaesthetic to have a dental check up.  He completely loses his mind when our dentist tries to look in his mouth, so we have to go to a dental surgery office and I have to hold him down while he is drugged into submission.  It is not fun.  At all.  So, imagine my anxiety spike when my six year old autistic son came home a couple days ago wiggling his tooth.  I had been dreading this day for about a year.  Tyus, I figured, would have several issues with this process.  First of all, he is unable to leave anything alone.  Minor wounds (i.e. paper cuts) become major injuries because he likes to squeeze them to see the blood.  I have often snuck into his room in the night to apply liquid band-aid because the normal kind are off the moment they go on.  Secondly, Tyus has a high level of need for oral stimulation.  He always has to be chewing something, so I thought a loose tooth might be forced out long before its time.  What a happy day it was when autism, once again, surprised me!

I noticed it as soon as he got off the bus that day.  He was doing weird things with his lip, so I inquired, “Tyus, do you have a loose tooth?”  Right away he came over and stuck out his lower jaw, baring his teeth as if to say, “YES! Can you DO something about this?!”  I wiggled it and sure enough, it was loose.  Very.  I felt a mild wave of nervousness and took a deep breath.  Here we go, I thought.

Over the course of the next 20 hours Tyus and his tooth were quite an entertaining show.  He was, as predicted, very preoccupied with his wiggly friend.  The surprising part was that he didn’t seem at all concerned about it.  In fact, he seemed to be kind of…enjoying it.  And I was pleasantly surprised to find that I was enjoying the whole process, too.  Once I said to him, upon seeing that it was very loose, “Tyus, you can just pull it out you know”.  He responded by coming over to me again and offering up his lower jaw.  He wasn’t scared, he was just interested.  We got in the van to go to school and I told him that it would be very exciting to show his friends at school his loose tooth.  He reached into his mouth and casually removed it!  He and I were both shocked to see the tiny white treasure in his fingers.  Ok, I told him, now you have something else to show!  I quickly programmed into his iPod the phrase, “I lost my first tooth!”, and left him to share his excitement with his school mates.  His teacher had the other kids sit in a circle and they all discussed their teeth and showed them to Tyus.

I’m not sure why I got so much joy out of Tyus’ first lost tooth.  It was just so easy.  So normal.  And it was none of the things I had dreamt it would be.  Maybe it was partly that the two days preceding had been a little rough.  We were in need of a happy day, and it came with such an unexpected event.  So many things with autism are unexpected, and many of them are unpleasant, so this was a nice change.  Tyus didn’t care so much about the tooth fairy or any of the rest of the things that will make Taya and Parx excited, but he liked losing that tooth.  If there really was a tooth fairy, I think I would have left more than that little white present under Tyus’ pillow that night – maybe a note that said, “Thanks for the happy day.  Don’t be a stranger!”

Mother Bear

Tuesday, November 16th, 2010 | Things My Son Has Taught Me | 1 Comment

Tim and I took our three kids to the World Waterpark at West Edmonton Mall last weekend.  I must say that as we fought our way through the change room I started to wonder if we were crazy.  Afterall, we don’t even take our kids to our local swimming pool on a Saturday because it’s too busy!  And here we were at one of the largest shopping malls in the world on the Saturday of a long weekend, hitting one of the largest indoor waterparks. Nonetheless, we forged ahead and met up with our family members inside.  I looked up, took in the sheer magnitude of the place and braced myself.  This was a situation that would put any mother on high alert – crowds, blind spots and hazards out the wazoo.  When you are the mother of an autistic child that is prone to bolting, this is a scene that lights your every nerve on fire.

Our kids were beyond excited to enjoy the water spraying from every nook and cranny of the play structure, they LOVED the wave pool and they were grinning from ear to ear from the beginning.  I was close to Tyus at all times and watching his every move to keep him safe and help him navigate the social rules of a public place (why do you need to wait in line for the slide when you can just run to the front and dive down when the lifeguard looks away?!).  Everything was going wonderfully and I told Tim that I wished I could bottle these moments to reopen later.

At one point Grandma took Tyus and they left the wave pool.  I wasn’t worried – she knows the reality of being on “Tyus duty”, and the importance of vigilance.  Then, a short while later, my sister returned from the washroom with Taya and reported that she saw Grandma in there, but Tyus wasn’t with her.  I knew that she had probably passed him off, but Tim was at my side and the only other possible guardian was my dad.  My heart skipped a beat, but I didn’t panic.  Logic told me that he was in good hands.  It occurred to me that I would not have felt this way if it had been either Taya or Parx that was out of eye sight.  I realized that I am like a mother bear.  I have three cubs and I love them all equally, but one of my cubs is wounded and the moment he is not beside me I worry about him.

After several minutes of enjoying time with my other kids, my dad had still not surfaced with Tyus.  My level of concern was rising, but still I tried to talk myself down.  My step-mom returned to confirm that, yes, she had passed Tyus to Dad and she was sure they were fine.  I told Tim that I knew where he was (kind of) and that I would still feel better to see them.  A total of about 20 minutes had probably passed since he left me, but it felt much longer.  Every once in awhile a vision would pop into my head of me explaining to the lifeguard why we had to contact the police and issue an amber alert right NOW.  I would shrug off the thought and go about enjoying the waves until another thought would surface.  We took the other kids to the kiddie pool and it wasn’t long before I caught up with Tyus, holding hands with Tim and letting the waves crash over his head.  Relief washed over me with the same force of the water at my feet.

I know that parenting Tyus is different than parenting my other children, but rarely is it as obvious as when I have to let go of him and trust that someone else is caring for him the way I do.  He is different and so is my mother instinct for him. I don’t know if I’ll ever be completely comfortable when he is not near, but at some point he may have to venture out on his own and I will have to stand there and watch him go.  Until then, I’ll do my best to protect him because that’s what a mother bear does.

Change

Thursday, September 30th, 2010 | Things My Son Has Taught Me | 4 Comments

If nothing ever changed, there’d be no butterflies    - Unknown

****

Change is hard – everyone knows that.  But without change we would stay happily stuck in status quo, possibly missing out on some of the best parts of life.  Please note that I said the best parts, not the easiest.

Registering Tyus in public school has required a lot of change – for him and for the rest of us.  As autistic kids go, Tyus is excellent at adapting to change.  Many of his peers would have struggled much longer to adapt to the newness of everything that goes along with moving to a different school.  I’m proud of how he’s quickly made a new home, and we are now beginning to see the incredible potential of what lies ahead for him.

Of course, change is not just about adjusting to the new, it is also about letting go of the old.  Tyus is also strong in this regard, but for me it has been a challenge.  I drive to Tyus’ old school four times a week to take Taya to play school, and I see many familiar faces each time.  Taya’s new classroom is directly opposite to the room that was Tyus’ home for the last two years.

One day, about two and a half years ago, I walked into a small room and I stood in the doorway with a happy smile on my face as I watched several sweet little children who acted just like my own newly-diagnosed three year old go about the business of learning.  I had researched and heard rumours about this place, but nothing prepared me for the undeniable fact that this was a room made for my son.  I knew what we had to do.  Within months we had packed up our entire lives and moved so that our little boy could sit in that room with those amazing teachers.

On the first day I dropped Taya off for play school this year I glanced over at that room and I gasped.  It had been completely gutted.  Everything that looked like it meant to be played with had been removed and the sign on the door had been changed to read “Quiet Room”, and it was.  I had to hold back tears, which was only possible until I was safely in my vehicle.  Why does everything have to change?

I have said it a million times, and I believe it more strongly than ever – the best part of life is that it just keeps going.  When I think of all the times I’ve wished it to freeze, I cringe at the thought of what I would have missed out on.  Life is so great because it’s such an unknown.  It forces you to leave the familiar and enter the unknown and it’s impossible to control.

I saw Tyus’ old speech pathologist today and we had a wonderful visit.  It made me think that sometimes the best thing about change is that you get to keep some of the old and still experience the new.  The marks left on you by the people you meet are forever and you can carry that with you into the scary world of change.  And you know what?  The things I learned from that little smiley room will always be a part of my son and myself.  The people that altered our lives will continue to do so even though we have moved on.  And I wouldn’t change that for anything.

Glitches

Wednesday, September 15th, 2010 | Things My Son Has Taught Me | 2 Comments

I told you it would happen, and it did.  Still, I’m not sure that I was prepared for it.  The glitch in our happy little life came and though I predicted it myself, it was worse than I imagined.

Tyus started school and it went according to plan.  He cried the first day, but not as hard as I did.  The second day was easier on both of us and by the third I was more concerned with his education than his emotional state.  It wasn’t until we hit a bump in the road that I realized how fragile it all is.

I noticed that the vitamin supplement Tyus gets had expired only after he had already had a couple of bad days.  The vitamins, I knew, were his life line to emotional regularity and cognitive ability.  Without them he has trouble communicating and his frustration level is at an all time high.  The trouble is, it takes about 3 days for the vitamins to kick in, so by the time I threw out the bad stuff, I knew I had sentenced him to a very difficult week.  I listened to him cry himself to sleep two nights in a row, and I felt like doing the same.  I put all my faith in the fact that the supplement was the answer and that any day things would improve.  They did, on the fourth day, and our glitch was ending.

I felt an unbelievable sense of relief and so did Tyus.  There were some patches of sadness in the following days, but things improved drastically.  We had passed one glitch, but unbeknownst to me, another lie ahead.  One bad afternoon and I began to doubt the truth of the magic vitamin.  Without that answer, that one thing to fall on, I lost my hope.  I moped around all evening and I told my husband that this time I was not able to get back up.  This time autism had pushed me too hard and I was staying down.  He let me work through it on my own, knowing that my optimism would win and I would lean on him until it did.

One of the most amazing things about parenting is that it is impossible to quit.  It’s a good thing, too, because I would not have made it past that Sunday night.  I would have quit.  I really would have.  It seems like just when you don’t think you can handle one more day, they come and they sit and they smile at you and remind you why it is all worth it.  And so Tyus smiled and my hope began to renew.  He laughed and looked at me with his eyes that say everything he can’t.  He was pulling me to my feet.  Tim stood quietly in the kitchen and said, “We need you to keep fighting, Kristeen”, and so I got up and went back to my corner, prepared for the next round.

I approached the next day with fear and determination.  I expected the worst and it never came – he had a good day at school and has had several more since.  His supplements are firmly back in place and life is back to crazy-normal.  I was prepared for the glitch that autism threw at us, but I wasn’t prepared for the glitch in my own resolve.  I have always said that our primary goal for Tyus is that he is happy, but I was not aware of how closely my own happiness is wrapped up in that package.

I know this isn’t the last time I’ll get knocked down by autism, but each time I learn something.  Tyus isn’t going anywhere, and neither are the rest of us.  We all fight together and we are strong enough to keep going.

Jumping In

Tuesday, August 24th, 2010 | Things My Son Has Taught Me | 3 Comments

Many things in life are scary.  Sometimes taking a risk turns out to be a terrible idea and you need to search for a silver lining. But sometimes risk yields reward.  One of my favourite things about life that it is uncertain, and so I try to choose optimism and accept challenges.  But if you’re going to do it, jump in with both feet.

*****

Tyus is one week from his sixth birthday and eight days from his first day of grade one.  I am terrified.  Not about the birthday – I saw that one coming.  He is about to be thrown into a new school, classroom and group of kids.  And here’s the real scary part: the other kids are all going to be normal.  Not since he was three years old has he been in with a group of typical peers. This is it, the real world.

I’m a former teacher and I believe strongly in public education.  The world is not made up of people exactly like you and the only way to experience the full gamut of characters out there is to be thrown in the pool with them.  I feel in my heart that we have made the right decision for Tyus.  I am extremely optimistic about his future in school and I get excited when I think about the friends he can make and the wealth of knowledge he will gain.  Still, I am scared out of my mind.

I’m not second guessing our decision – in fact I feel more sure of it than I ever have.  The next few weeks will be nerve racking and uncertain, but I am willing to try it.  I’m willing to take this risk for Tyus, with Tyus, because I know there is the possibility of a great result.

My fear is like the surge of adrenaline you would feel as you stand on the edge of a cliff, staring down at the raging water below, ready to take the plunge.  You want to do it and you are sure it’s the right choice, but for those moments before you leave the edge, the overwhelming emotion is terror.  And then, you jump.

Or, if you’re lucky enough, you hold hands and you do it together.

Perseverance

Tuesday, May 25th, 2010 | Things My Son Has Taught Me | 5 Comments

When you have a child with autism many simple things become complicated.  Tyus‘ passport is set to expire this June, a new photo is required and so we found ourselves facing just such a situation.  Some new situations present a very minimal challenge for Tyus and he adapts well while others are uncomfortable and require more preparation and planning.  But there is another category of event that pushes Tyus to his limits.  I knew within the first minute of our first trip to the Walmart photo place that we were dealing with this last category.

We walked into the photo studio, Tyus, Taya, my friend Dianna and I, and Tyus immediately began to exhibit signs of stress.  As Taya sat on the stool and performed he became more and more distraught.  I looked into the eyes of the photographer and said calmly, “Tyus has autism and this situation is very stressful for him.  He won’t be getting a picture today, but we’ll be back until he feels comfortable.”  I didn’t know that I was looking into the face of the woman who would become my number one ally.  She explained that she had a niece with autism and that we could come back as often as we needed.

We went back to the photo studio several times in the following weeks, Tyus and myself and a variety of different assistants.  We saw small improvements.  Tyus no longer became stressed by entering the studio because he knew that no demands were going to be placed on him.  He would not go near the stool or even stand in front of the white background, but would sit on the chairs across from it.  We learned the name of our friendly photographer and took her picture.  Soon we were visiting Crystal regularly and she would inform us of her schedule so that we would be sure to meet her familiar face each time.  We coaxed him slowly to the right area of the room by purchasing a soda and using it as bait.  Still, the progress was slow and I was becoming worried that we might never achieve our goal.

I contacted the passport office and found that they could be lenient with the requirements for a photo if we had a doctor’s note and applied in person.  I wrote up a letter that day and made an appointment for our doctor to sign it.  I filed it under “pending”.  Still, he would need to sit on the dreaded stool and look forward.  Tyus’ school aide started coming with us on his home-based visits and she seemed to be a calming influence.  I made a social story for Tyus which described the experience with phrases like, “Even if it is scary, I know I can sit on the stool.”  I used Photoshop to place a cut-out image of Tyus on the stool beside Crystal.  We seemed to be at an impasse, and I inquired with a photo supply company about the cost of a passport photo camera in case we didn’t make any further progress.  I was getting discouraged but then, on our ninth visit, we had a breakthrough.

Tyus allowed Crystal to take his picture in a dark area where he was comfortable.  She showed it to him and explained that she needed a white background.  Very hesitantly, Tyus made his way to the stool.  He stood near it and she took another photo.  Again she showed it to him and pointed out the problems.  Tyus sat up on the stool for a brief moment and Crystal took a final picture.  He was not facing forward, but he was there.  And then he was done.  Enough for one day, so we left promising to return for what we hoped would be our last visit.

We entered the Walmart for the tenth time and found that Crystal had a doctor’s appointment and wouldn’t be there.  My heart sank.  I told the fill-in girl that we would just do our usual – hang out for awhile and leave.  There were far more people than usual, but Tyus was upbeat and my hope cup started to refill.  During a lull in action Tyus walked over and began to spin the stool.  I casually suggested that he could sit on it, “just like Alexa did!”, referring to the little girl who had, Taya-style, just finished her five second photo shoot.  I helped him up and he sat there!  We nonchalantly summoned the photographer and Tyus sat patiently for what seemed like a sweet eternity while she took three photos of him.  I told her I would purchase them all.  We walked out and I thought I might float to the car.  Tyus beamed with pride.  His aide smiled from ear to ear.

I came home and proudly showed off my photos to anyone I could find.  I hugged my mom and began to cry.  Tim hugged me and told me he was proud of my tenacity.  I was proud of it, too.  I was so proud of my son, of myself.  I felt so happy, and I realized that when Taya had come away, that first day, with her passport photo I felt….nothing.  It was just as I had expected it to be.  Yes, I had to take Tyus nine more times, but here I was crying tears of joy.  When you have a child with autism many simple things become complicated, but sometimes the complicated things become amazing achievements.  I have learned so much from Tyus, and I know I won’t soon forget this lesson:  Don’t give up.  Persevere.  The rewards are correlated to the effort.

And Crystal?  I met her later that day with a bouquet of flowers and a big hug.

Soccer

Thursday, May 6th, 2010 | Odd Bits, Things My Son Has Taught Me | No Comments

Taya had her first soccer practice this week.  She is four so the drills were kind of….basic.  They practiced stopping when they heard the whistle and dribbling the ball.  It was fun to watch and I had several belly laughs.  The most interesting thing for me, though, was the parallel that I couldn’t help but draw between Taya’s soccer experience and the one that Tyus had this past year.

One of our goals for Tyus this year was that we expose him to a team sport.  When we found out about the soccer team that was being run by Special Olympics where the coaches were parents of two autistic boys we knew we had found our fit.  Tyus enjoyed soccer and never got upset about going.  He had days where he hated being there, although only a couple.  Most of the time he struggled through the drills and I was on the field literally pushing him along the entire time.  We usually had to take a snack break or he would get upset.  There were no games except the 3-on-3 battles that the coaches set up each practice.  Despite all that, it was fun and I considered it a huge success.

Taya’s soccer experience is bound to be quite different.  In fact it already is.  In the first practice I marvelled at how all the little four year olds understood the concepts being presented and followed the drills to the best of their ability.  When the coach said, “Ok, stand on this white line.  Now say ‘Go Gators!’”, every single kid took off running the moment they heard the word, “go”.  But the next time she got them back on the line (they stood on the line!), she said, “Ok, this time I don’t want you to move.  Just stay still and use your loudest voice to say ‘Go Gators!’.  Can everyone say that?” and she was met by a huge chorus of kids who knew exactly what was expected of them.

I had so much fun watching the Gators get their introduction to soccer.  As we drove home I thought about the time I sat in the van with Tyus after a particularly rough practice and just cried and cried.  Soccer with Tyus required that I drive for 45 minutes each week to get to the place where he would fit in.  It was stressful and challenging even when it went very well. Still, I can’t help but feel lucky that I get to experience both of these distinct worlds.  Maybe if I didn’t know what it was like to have to put so much effort in with Tyus I wouldn’t appreciate the ease of the experience with Taya.  Those other parents standing around that field this week were probably just hoping their kid did as good as the other kids.  I was just so happy to sit back and watch my child enjoy another normal childhood experience.

Next year I will probably put Tyus back in soccer because it was a good thing for both of us.  I know it will never be as easy as taking Taya to play, but that’s not the point.  The point is that my children are different and different is good.  They will both get to try their hand at soccer and they will both get to be part of a group where they belong and contribute, and I will be the happiest soccer mom around.

Life is Not a Standardized Test

Saturday, March 20th, 2010 | Opinion, Things My Son Has Taught Me | 5 Comments

My girlfriends and I have been facing a formidable foe:  standardized testing.  The problem with our enemy is that it doesn’t fight fair.  There is nothing standard about most of the children that these tests seek to evaluate.  Our little rag-tag group of moms has been through a lot – between the four of us we have had children with diagnoses of: obsessive compulsive disorder, anxiety disorder, sensory processing disorder, autism spectrum disorder, attention deficit hyperactive disorder, and epilepsy just to name a few.  We’ve been through a lot, but we didn’t anticipate this.

At  this time of year standardized testing begins to determine where special needs children will be placed the following school year.  First up was the dreaded cognitive test – in other words, the IQ score.  We had been told the IQ ranges for the three special needs programs offered by our school and we were aware that those, along with a regular classroom setting, were our options.  Naturally we had an idea where we thought our kids would fall based on the current group of kids in each room.  The first mom went easily into her meeting only to discover that her daughter would not qualify for the program she had been debating, but the program below.  Not only that, but the program coordinator felt it would be helpful to outline what she thought the long-term career possibilities for a child entering that program would be. They didn’t include doctor or lawyer.

The rest of us were knocked back on our heels when we heard her news.  If her child was testing so low, where did that leave the rest of us?  Each of my other two friends received their news in the days following, and it was equally hard to swallow.  One was told that her child might end up with no supports if she chose to put him in a regular classroom.  The other was told of several tasks her son was unable to perform despite his obvious skills in his classroom and at home.  They cried, they drank  and they tried to digest the results of the all knowing test.

Tyus wasn’t willing to sit in a stranger’s office long enough to perform the test that my friends’ children were put through.  And even if he had, he would have had no interest in completing any of the tasks.  We filled out an extensive checklist of what he is and is not able to do, and they will somehow use that to determine how smart he is.  I am interested to know what number they give him, but I am fully prepared that it will be low.  Too low.

One of the truths of autism is that our children are not motivated to perform just for the sake of performance.  They will put a puzzle piece in it’s place 500 times perfectly if it spits out a candy, but just so that they’ll get a higher number on their cognitive test?  Never.  I know that my child is intelligent and I don’t care what the numbers say.  My son can unlock a door that has been dead-bolted and toggle-locked in two places by first pushing a chair over to it.  If the locks are too tight, he will remove the screen from the nearby window, unlock it and turn the crank until he can get out.  So don’t tell me that he doesn’t have the cognitive ability to put a five piece puzzle together.  Every day he sorts a dishwasher rack full of cutlery into it’s appropriate section in the drawer so he can collect 50 cents for candy at the store, so don’t tell me he can’t match up the two red blocks.  Standardized tests are only accurate if they are testing a standard kid on a no-stress, no problem day.  I am curious what number they will give him, but I place no weight on it whatsoever.  I have known this little boy for almost six years and I have no doubt of his intelligence.  And I refuse to let him doubt it.

I cried my biggest tears when I heard that my friends were doubting the abilities and skills of their children.  Cried because I expect doubt to come from the outside, but not to be able to penetrate to the inside.  These are incredibly unique little kids and unfortunately the system they are a part of feels the need to put them on a scale and compare them to everyone else. Well, they are not going to become standardized because you want them to.  Fortunately for my son and for my friends, life is more than a psychologist in a room with a sharp pencil and checklist.

Immunization

Friday, March 5th, 2010 | Opinion, Things My Son Has Taught Me | 2 Comments

Ok, fine.  Here it is.  I have avoided this post for awhile, but always knew I would do it eventually.  When people find out that my son has autism the two things I hear most often are: Did you know that Jenny McCarthy’s son has autism?  Have you read her books?  and  Do you think that it was caused by his vaccinations?  Well, yes, I did hear something about a former playboy bunny with opinions and no, I don’t think it was vaccinations that caused my son’s autism.

My husband and I are kind of big on science and research, so when Tyus was diagnosed we did a lot of reading.  We still do a lot of reading.  One of the tragedies of autism right now is the great vaccine debate.  Did you know that there has not been a single study that links vaccines to autism.  Not one.  Well, ok, there was that one, but there is not a single scientist on the planet now willing to stand behind it.  Unfortunately, the damage of that one flawed study has been done.  People want a reason and they want someone to blame for autism and that study gave them a scapegoat.  There have since been several reputable studies done that indicate no link between autism and vaccination, but they seem to go unnoticed.  Of course, it is hard for science to compete with a cute blonde who gets an invitation to the Oprah show.

I have three children and I have chosen to vaccinate them all.  In all my research I have learned a number of things about vaccinations, but the number one is that you as a parent have more control over the vaccines that your children get than you may know.  The best article I’ve read about autism and vaccination is this one by Dr. Bob Sears.  You can choose to alter your child’s vaccination schedule or refuse certain shots.  I personally believe in the science of vaccination, but I don’t think it is a black and white issue.  Each vaccine is different and to choose to avoid them all because of a fear that has been perpetuated by celebrities and the media and has no basis in fact is a mistake.  Make your own decisions, but base them on something other than a former centerfold with a soapbox.

*As an aside:  check out this website if you are looking for more fact and less fluff on this topic.  Plus, it’s entertaining.