What drives us up a wall

After many years of this autism parenting gig, we can be pretty unfazed by most behaviors Janey shows.  We get the reasons behind them, more and more, we understand they are ways for her to communicate, or sometimes, we know they are just teenage behaviors, not autism behaviors, and we try not to take them personally.  But we are human beings, as all of us are, and there are still things that Janey does that are highly trying, to say the least.  Here's some of them...

Screaming

When Janey is very displeased, she screams.  If you've never heard her scream, you probably will have a hard time picturing just how loud it is.  I'm pretty unbothered by most loud noises, but when she screams right in my ear, it's painful.  She screams so loud that I'm very sure people on the sidewalk and perhaps even people in other states can hear her.  It's an incredible scream, and nothing we say or do seems to stop it.  I think she's figured out it's a weapon---something she can do that we can't do a thing about that certainly gets our attention.

"I need help!"

Of course, if Janey really needs help, we are happy to help her.  But usually, this "I need help!" doesn't really mean she needs help.  It means she wants us to stop whatever we are doing and participate in a ritual she wants performed.  Often, it's changing a TV show.  If she really couldn't change the shows, that would be one thing.  However, she can change shows with complete ease now when she wants to.  The other night, as Tony dozed and I watched from the other room, Janey switched shows around for hours, going from one streaming service to another, switching the TV into internet mode and back, rewinding and fast forwarding, changing shows probably a hundred times.  When I came into the room, though, suddenly she needed help doing the most basic TV action.  I get it...she wants or needs attention, or she somehow can't access the part of her brain that knows how to make the changes.  But that doesn't make it less irritating at times, especially when we hear the "I need help!" phrase every minute for hours and hours.

"You've helped me, now go away!"

This comes up most when Janey asks us to snuggle her on her bed.  What this means is for us to cover her with her comforter, get her pillow (the comforter and pillow are always thrown onto the floor by her when not in immediate use, no matter what), lie down with her for a millisecond, and then..."want to go away?"  Once we've done our part, we are no longer supposed to be there.  Which I get---a 16 year old girl doesn't want her parents around all the time.  But after a few minutes on her bed, Janey will get up, watch a little TV or eat a bit, and then want, once again, to snuggle on the bed.  And we are supposed to, again, lie down with her for a second and then go away.  Often, this happens after a night when she didn't sleep.  Once we get on her bed, we want nothing more than to just close our eyes for a minute and rest, but no---we must hop back up and wait for the next summons to lie down.  If we refuse the routine, which we often try to do, the scream comes out, Janey is in a mood probably for the rest of the day, she makes the demand far more often...it's usually just not worth it.

"Go for a car ride?"

Janey's favorite thing on earth is going for a car ride with Tony, a car ride usually to nowhere, just a ride around listening to music.  Tony takes her for rides like this two to three times a day, every single day.  The rides are around an hour each.  So she gets LOTS of car ride time.  But it's never enough. Often, the minute they are back in the driveway, Janey immediately says "Go for a car ride?"  There's no credit for the car ride just completed.  And the car ride requests are not changed by weather conditions, the fact it's the middle of the night, or even the rare occasions when Tony has taken the car elsewhere and there is literally no car to have a ride in.  And like the other requests, us saying no brings on, always, a predictable series of reactions---screaming, arm biting, sometimes throwing things or smashing her fist into things.

"Music please, music!"

Janey loves music.  She always has.  But she doesn't just like any music.  She has very specific tastes, tastes that change from time to time.  Like any of us, she gets sick of certain songs after a while, or discovers something new, or just wants something different.  Unlike the rest of us, she often isn't able to tell us just what it is she wants.  This comes up the most in the car, and affects Tony far more than me.  Tony will be playing Sirius Radio, or Accuradio, or music he has on a thumb drive, and Janey won't like the song that's on, and she'll say "music please, music!" which means "change the song"  If Tony doesn't immediately comply, she repeats the phrase, much louder.  If he doesn't comply after that, she will kick his seat, scream, generally freak out.  Some days, she's listen happily for a long time to whatever comes on (and Tony does his level best to play playlists she likes---her favorite by far is any British Invasion music), but other days, the "music please" is continuous, stopping songs after just a second or two, over and over and over.  I think that's when she wants a certain song, but can't express it.  So she just hopes it comes up, and of course, with many thousands of songs out there, it's not likely to.  We've tried having her control the music via smart phone, but she won't do it.  It's Daddy's job.

There's more I could add to this list, but those are the big ones.  And thinking about them, they are much more annoyances than things that used to happen.  For the most part, she doesn't lash out at us or herself like she used to.  There can be hours and sometimes days when she's perfectly happy, and none of these behaviors show up.  But I'm not going say it's easy.  I'm not going to lie.  It's still tough, in a lot of ways, being Janey's parents, and tougher this year than ever before, without school as a respite for us and a change of scenery for her.  

I'd be so interested to hear what would be on all of your What Drives Us Up A Wall lists!

How would we have done it?

One phrase that I think most families with special needs children don't like is "How do you do it?", sometimes phrased as its twin "I don't know how you do it!"  We know the phrase is usually meant in the kindest of ways, and that it's an acknowledgement of some of the struggles our families can face.  But it can feel hurtful in a couple ways.  One is that it makes it seem like our child has created a situation so difficult that others can't even imagine what it would be like to live our life.  Another is by saying, in a way, that we ARE doing it, by making us somehow separate, set apart, somehow as a family unit handling it all ourselves, and not in need of help, due to our superhero status.  Both views of our families are untrue and unhelpful.

That being said, lately I've been thinking a version of the "How do you do it?" myself.  It's in the form of "How WOULD we have done it?"  How would we have handled this pandemic, this lack of school, this isolation, during what I always think of as the Tough Years---approximately from when Janey was 5 until 10?  Those years...wow.  Those were the years in which an inclusion school which aimed to include all special needs students realized they were not up to including Janey, and then, while in the autism program she moved to, she was so unhappy and angry that the day came that I got the call that she wasn't even safe to go home, that we needed to come to the school to go with her by ambulance to the emergency room, the start of an ordeal which include six horrible days at Children's Hospital and 3 weeks of Janey being in a psychiatric hospital.  Those years featured many, many days where Janey screamed all day, literally, days when she bit herself hard, days when she cried heartbreaking tears for hours, nights of her fury and sadness that seemed like they would never end.  But during those years, there was school.  We had about six hours a day when we could sleep (or often, just I could---Tony was working, most of that time at a job an hour from home, and how he ever lived through those years I'll never know), recover, breathe, know that she was cared for.

But what if the pandemic had been during those years, and there was no school?  I think about that all the time, and I truly wonder how we could have done it.

Of course, the thing is, lots of other people with children with severe autism are living through those tough years right now.  And I think about them, all the time.  I think about how it must feel to have a child so desperately unhappy, and to be trying so very hard to help them, and having absolutely no respite---no school, no activities, no nothing.  I think of them trying to think of ways to fill the days, and to get some rest.  I think of the siblings, trying to learn at home in a household that might be often filled with screaming or hitting or crying.

If COVID-19 had happened during the Tough Years, I have to say honestly that I would have sent Janey back to school the second school was open, even if I wasn't sure it was safe, even if I had huge fears about the virus.  I would have sent her because I would have known that we simply had to---in order to stay sane---not just us as parents, but her too.  I would have taken the risk, the possibility of sickness weighed against the absolute knowledge of what more time at home would be like.

This knowledge is why I am not sure how I feel about schools staying closed. If we lived in an ideal world, I would feel sure they should stay closed, but we don't live in that world, and I know there are families out there right now just barely hanging on.  I think about the teachers, with families of their own often, and I know they will be put at risk going back to in-person school, as well as the aides and lunch workers and bus drivers and therapists.  I worry about all of them.  But I can picture most, of course, the situation we have lived through, the child who needs help so badly and the family so extremely stressed by that child's needs, and I worry so much about how they are managing to go on. I know some of you reading this might be living that life right now, and feeling like you are very alone. I wish I could help more. I wish I could come to your house and take care of your child for a day or two, so you could sleep and recover. I wish I had magic.I wish I could fast-forward your life to calmer years.  But right now all I can do is tell you I am thinking of you.

We are so lucky.  Janey, at almost 16, is happy most of the time.  Aside from a period of adjustment at first, and from the days she got upset by Zoom meeting school, which we will no longer do, she has been a champ during this time at home.  We are enjoying her.  Most of that is just her maturing.  Some of it is changes we made, changes in our expectations of her and also changes in our lives.  Tony retired early, which has been a financial challenge but without a question absolutely a right decision.  The boys are older.  We are okay.  We hope that Janey can safely go back to school at some point, because she loved high school, but for now, we are okay.

I hope all those in the places of decision making do give a thought to those who are in the Tough Years of severe autism.  I hope we can find a way to help those families get through this.  I won't say to them that I don't know how they do it.  I know how they do it.  They do it day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute.  They do it because they love their kids, their amazing kids.  But they need help, and we as a society need to figure out how to help them, especially in these extraordinary times.

Still Screaming After All These Years

This afternoon was hellish.  There is no other word for it.  The morning wasn't any piece of cake either, but things really kicked into gear this afternoon.  It's hot as, well, hell, about 98 and humid.  Janey didn't sleep well last night, and although she slept in some this morning, we all are tired.  I left to go to my therapist about 10:45---the one time in the week that is just for me to rant, as I tell him.  As I left, Janey was screaming for a car ride.  Freddy was staying with her.  I told him if it got to be too much he could call me and I'd come right home (it's right around the corner).  He was a trooper and handled her.  When I got home, feeling refreshed from getting out of the house for once and having some time to vent, I was determined to do just what Janey needed to keep her happy.

She was no longer interested in a car ride.  What she wanted, or thought she wanted, was for me to put on shows for her and then get out of the TV room.  So I did that.  In the course of about an hour, I changed shows literally about 30 times.  Most of these times included tears from her when I didn't immediately understand what show she wanted.  As soon as the show was on, she'd say "Go away!" and point to my bedroom.  I'd go in there, and about a minute later, she'd come in with the remote for me to change the show again.  If I said ANYTHING besides a very cheerful, chipper "Of course!", she would scream---the ear-splitting scream.  One of the times I said "Okay" in a neutral kind of voice, just as an experiment, and that earned an especially loud scream.

About every third show, Janey asked me to cuddle on her bed with her.  I did.  The cuddles lasted at most 30 seconds.  And then---back to the shows, the sending me away, the asking for a new show...

You might ask, very reasonable, why I let this go on for an hour.  The answer is...I'm tired.  I tried the more measured approach the last few days, the #3 approach I mentioned in my last post.  I showed her a timer app, told her "just a minute" over and over, used "first" and "then" to explain...and it wasn't going well.  To say the least.  This morning, with my tiredness and hers, was the breaking point. Very often, just doing what Janey wants keeps her happy.  She does ask to change shows, but not at that pace.  She does scream, but not constantly.  But today, whatever haunts her brain at times was in full force.  I think it's OCD.  The changing of shows and the cuddling for a second and the fact I need to leave the room---all rituals, rituals I think she is using to try to ward off the feeling that something is off, something bad is going to happen, something isn't right.

I know those feelings.  I've had those feelings, so many times.  I am on medication for those feelings.  I understand those feelings---I have the tools and cognitive abilities to know they are a glitch, something off in my brain, a chemical mis-read.  But Janey doesn't.  To her, the compulsions, the rituals, are something that, when she's fired up, simply feel like complete necessities.  And often, doing them for a while calms her.  Not today.

After an hour, I was at the end of my rope.  I turned off the TV and suggested a shower.  That often can break the chain.  Not today.  Janey did want a shower, but she screamed all during it.  She threw my iWatch onto the floor, the watch I was given as part of the Framingham Heart Study to track my movements.  If it breaks, there will never be another one.  It didn't break, but it hit the floor hard.  Janey got out of the shower after a few minutes, still screaming.  I was feeling shaken.  I called Tony, to talk me down, which helped, but poor Tony, having to deal with a traumatized wife and a screaming daughter on the phone.  For a long, long, long time, after I hung up, Janey screamed.  I spoke to her as soothingly as I could, while literally praying for calm.  I am fairly agnostic, but you know the saying about foxholes.

And then---Janey calmed down, for now.  I put the TV on computer mode, so she could pick her own videos, which she is doing.  She hasn't asked for anything during the 15 minutes or so it's taken me to write this.  Just now she's come over and asked for a car ride.  Traffic outside is backed up outside our house to the point that getting out of the driveway even would take a while, and I can't drive when Janey is volatile.  It's too dangerous.  So, she has settled for a walk to the store.

Why do I write this?  It's not, as sometimes parents like me are said to be doing, to get sympathy.  Raising Janey is my job, and my privilege.  Sympathy is not something I need or want, not the kind of sympathy that says "Your life is so hard!"  or "I could never do what you are doing!"  Everyone's life is hard, and most everyone, if they happened to have a child like Janey, could raise them.  It's not to try to get help.  I've given up on that.  The kind of help that would actually, you know, help, doesn't exist.  Additionally, I'm pretty good at taking care of Janey, and today was almost more than I could stand.  I would not put Janey or anyone else in the position of having to try to handle this kind of day.

Why do I write about days like this, then?  I write so others living this life know they aren't the only one.  I write because the most helpful thing ever for me is knowing that there are others like Janey, other parents like Tony and me.  There are lots of people living this life.  I write because that's what I do.  I've always written---diaries, reviews, letters, postcards, stories---I'm never not writing.  I write for the same reason others volunteer time or money, or talk to their congressmen, or run for office, or do research---because it's the way I can try to contribute to others living a life with a child with autism.

But I also write for Janey.  I write because she can't.  I write because she is an amazing, wonderful person who is living a very hard life, much, much harder than I am.  She is dealing with many of the same demons I've dealt with my whole life, but without the ability to understand the tricks the mind plays on us.  She's dealing with parents who sometimes get to the end of their ropes and stop doing the things she feels need doing.  She's dealing with a world that doesn't always welcome her kind of diversity.  She's living a life that is not an easy life, and she deserves to have her story honestly told, as best as I can.  And so my title means both that she still screams, but also that I am still screaming out our story, after all these 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 Awareness/Acceptance/Whatever

Other years, I've tried to write a post about Autism Awareness/Acceptance Day/Month.  This year, I wasn't going to.  This is partly because the whole idea of an autism day or month seems to be very controversial, and I am not much into controversy.  For those who might not get why it would be controversial---from what I understand, Autism Awareness Month and the whole Light It Up Blue campaign was a brainchild of Autism Speaks.  Autism Speaks is not a well-liked organization with autism circles.  There's a variety of reasons, the big ones being that they portray autism very negatively often, and that they give very, very little money to actual help those with autism---most all their money goes to administration or to research.  They also haven't been too interested in having people with autism on their boards.  I would tend to feel these are pretty valid criticisms.  However, I know that most people who do things for autism awareness, like wearing blue or putting up blue lights, have no idea what the history behind it is.  I believe in taking gestures in the spirit in which they are given, and so I don't get that upset over all of it.

However, the other reason I'm not trying to write an autism awareness/acceptance post is that I more and more realize I am not aware of autism in general. Very few people are.  I am aware of one child, Janey, with autism.  And autism is only a part of her.  I can't take anything about her and generalize it to the larger autism world.  She is herself.  I can and do and will write about her, my daughter, and the joys and struggles involved in raising her, and I am happy if that helps others raising children with autism and if it helps others better understand what it's like, in my particular case, to raise a child with special needs.

Several times lately, I've seen writing about how in many ways, there truly is more awareness of autism than there was in the past.  I've noticed this.  When Janey breaks down in public, or when she doesn't answer someone who talks to her, or when she shows her unusual behaviors, I often am quick to say "She is autistic"  I do this partly to fend off those who might think she is misbehaving, and partly to do my own little part for awareness.  More and more, though, I get the response "Oh, I knew she was".  People are more aware than I'd say they were even five years ago of what autism can sometimes look like.

My hope is that there is a progression with issues like autism.  First, people become aware of it.  Then, they are open to helping with it, and open to government and schools and cities spending money to help people with autism.  You need to be aware of what is needed before you can understand why you need to give that help.  That is part of why I write here.  It's easier a lot of times to relate to one particular child than to a concept in the abstract.  I want to do my small part to make people aware of one child with autism.  I don't speak for anyone but Janey and our family, but in telling our story, if people become more aware of autism in general, I consider it a plus.

How did we spend our special autism day?  We had a good, quiet day.  Janey was quite happy all day (and all weekend).  She watched videos, played with her iPad, ate a lot and danced to music.  We took a couple car rides, including a long one to Dairy Queen (the closest one to us is a ways away) and she had chicken and french fries while we rocked to her car music.  There was of course a bit of screaming here and there, a little bit of arm biting, but a lot of happiness and laughter, too.  Janey, you have made me aware of autism.  You have led me to accept autism.  And I love you.

Hopeful visit to an autism clinic

Today we had our visit to the Lurie Center, an autism center connected to Massachusetts General Hospital.  We had been waiting a long time for this appointment.  A lot of people had recommended this center to us back when Janey had her crisis in November, and I contacted them then.  To get the appointment, I had to fill out a lot of form, wait for them to be processed, and then I got a call to set a time, which was far in the future---but the future finally arrived!

Cheery Janey before the appointment

I was trying not to get my hopes up much for this appointment.  We've had several other such clinic visits at different places, and they have been mostly letdowns.  I didn't want to pin a lot of hopes on this one, but I must say I'm feeling good about it, and quite hopeful in a lot of ways.

The appointment mostly consisted of me talking to a psychiatrist specialist in autism.  Tony came along, and Janey was in and out of the room, as her patience for sitting around during long talks is limited.  I knew as soon as I started talking to the psychiatrist that she seemed to truly understand and ask the right questions about Janey.  In analyzing what was different in my head, I realized that it seemed like she had a lot of experience dealing with children like Janey---children on the lower end of the autistic spectrum, the children that wind up in hospitals and in psychiatric wards.  That was strangely comforting.  Often, even in the world of autism, I feel like an outsider.  I don't need peppy "resources" about camps Janey never could attend or ideas for games or books she could never read or play.  I need practical advice and help, and I felt like I got it there.

First, we got a prescription for a new medication.  This one will eventually replace the Risperidone that Janey has been taking for a long time.  The psychiatrist was very, very familiar with the various medications for kids like Janey.  We were pleased to hear her say that the psychiatrist Janey has seen up to this point has done quite a decent job with her medication so far.  However, he is a more mainstream guy, who I believe sees mostly kids with things like school anxiety.  Today's psychiatrist knows more about kids with severe mood swing, aggressive behaviors and self-injury, and we are hopeful about the new medication.  We did have a scare when our pharmacy said our co-pay would be $150 a month (for 30 pills!)  But we reminded them she has the supplemental state insurance, and for the first time, that worked well for us, and we didn't have to pay at all.  Out of pocket, the cost would have been $1124!  We joked that we certainly hope they are miracle pills.

Next, we talked about how we can get more help for Janey, and what we will do if she has another crisis.  The psychiatrist finally convinced me to consider in-home help.  I have been resistant to it, for many reasons---it is not respite, but rather someone working with Janey AND us, I am not terribly into having strangers come into my house, I don't feel like it would be helpful for our family, and a bit of "I don't need someone telling me how handle Janey".  But at this point, we are ready for any help we can get, and what most convinced me is that she told us it's the first step to getting almost any other kinds of respite style help.  So...okay.  We'll talk to someone about it.

If Janey has another crisis, we will take her to Mass General.  The psychiatrist said everyone in the ER there is trained to deal with autism, and she herself has connections to Bradley Hospital, where Janey went before.  She said it's possible that if Janey truly needs help quickly, she might even be able to get her directly admitted to Bradley.  I think that is what most made me feel a burden had been lifted from me.  I think I've been living in fear of Janey having another hospitalization, and of feeling completely alone in that, like it would be the end of the world.  The way this woman talked so matter-of-factly about it melted a frozen place in me.  She said it like it would be something we could deal with, something that is not shocking or horrible or unspeakable.  She said it like she expects it to happen at some point.  It's strange that would feel so freeing to me.  But I think I've been trying for a long, long time to fit Janey into a mold that doesn't fit her.  She is NOT mildly affected by her autism. Today I somehow felt for one of the first times that she is not one of a kind, that there are actually protocols in place for kids like her.  I'm not sure I'm explaining this as well as I can, but having a plan for what might happen makes it not feel like the world's worth thing.

Janey and William at Noodles and Company, eating out!

We will take Janey to her first follow-up appointment at the center in a few months, and in December we will see a geneticist, something I have long wanted to do.

The rest of the day was very nice.  We did a lunch out at an upscale fast food place, along with William, and Janey was quite good.  Then she went for a long ride with Tony and William to a guitar store.  She was cheerful almost all day.  And I am feeling better than I have in a while, feeling like there is a place, there are people, there are systems set up for kids like Janey.  I've always know there were others like her, thanks to all of you, but this is one of the first times I've truly felt there are others outside the world of us hardcore insiders who really get what we live, and that is a good feeling.

Once you notice you've walked off the cliff

In cartoons, often characters walk or run off cliffs, being chased or chasing someone.  In their world, unless you look down, you don't fall---you run along nicely in the air.  It's only when you notice you've left solid ground that you fall.  I've been feeling like we've looked down, and we are no longer able to walk on the air.  We are thinking non-stop about when Janey comes home, and how we will be able to keep running now that we've noticed we are off the cliff.

I tend to wait until the last possible moment to seek help.  When I was pregnant with Janey, and taking the supposedly safe for pregnancy blood pressure medication Aldomet, it took a week of even increasing severe signs of allergy and reaction for me to finally realize I needed medical attention.  By the time I did, I had a high fever, a very low white blood cell count and a liver that was showing signs of severe distress.  That reaction, at 12 weeks into my pregnancy, is one of the prime candidates in my mind for what might have caused Janey's autism.

With Janey's increasing agitation and aggression to others and herself, I feel like I again waited too long to realize how bad the problem was becoming.  In fact, I'd probably have waited forever, had the school not pretty much insisted I take her to the hospital.  By the time we did, two weeks ago, it was highly apparent to almost everyone that there was a serious problem.

Why am I like this?  Part of it is a fear of crying wolf, of saying there's a problem beyond what there really is.  Part of it is a feeling that our children are our own responsibility, that we need to care for them on our own, without help beyond school.  And part of it is denial.  If you don't want there to be a problem, you don't seek help for it.

But now, we have looked down and seen we are in a tough position.  I don't know how long Janey will be at the Bradley hospital.  I got another of the letters today, the ones I am supposed to not worry about, saying she was approved to stay two more days, until the 27th, which is of course two days in the past.  We miss her so much, but we also see they have barely had a chance yet to really get to know her.  They have eliminated two of her medications, which hopefully will help, but nothing new has been added, and we don't know any new techniques to handle her.  When she comes home, I have no real reason to think she won't still be hurting herself and others.  And what do I do then?  I'm certainly not taking her back to Children's Hospital to start another round of waiting for a placement.  I think that would hurt her, and us, more than anything.  She could not take another period of time shut in one small room.

I am scared.  Not scared of Janey, although I don't like to have my hair pulled and my eyes gouged at and my hands bitten, but I can handle that if I need to.  I am scared FOR Janey.  I am scared of what the future holds.  Will it be an endless round of cycles of calm times and then horrible times like the past month?  Will her school still be able to handle her?  Will we?  What will become of us all?  that is what I wake up in fear of.

I said, before this all happened, in a post the day before she went to the hospital, that I wasn't sure there was any help out there.  Now, I see that there are places like Bradley, places besides home and school that can delight in Janey while dealing with her difficult behavior.  However, her time there is very limited, even if she is able to stay the few more weeks I hope for.  

I don't know what is going to happen next.  I don't even know how I'm going to pay all the bills from this current go-round (although this GoFundMe site has made that much less of a worry---have a look here if you are interested)  I want to think Janey will come home my same wonderful girl but with changed behavior, and it will be changed for good, and we all will live happily ever after.  But I don't think so.  One clue to this is how often we have been asked "Is this her first hospitalization?"  I guess there usually isn't just one.

If this whole experience teaches me anything at all, it's going to be to seek out and accept help a little more readily.  Even if it seems like help isn't available, I can see that might be at times because I am extremely resistant to ever saying "I can't do this any more".  I still am.  It makes me cry to think of our family not being able to care for Janey on our own.  I hope we can.  And even if we can't, I'm not sure we have a choice.  I think sometimes I need to stop looking down, to just keep on walking on the air.

The Terrible Day and the "What Next?" Feeling

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ten ideas for all autism organizations out there---what would REALLY help!

The last few days have been, to be frank, awful.  Janey is crying or screaming pretty much every waking moment.  I hope she's been happier at school, but she got off the bus crying today.  She has a good week last week, which ended the minute the weekend started, but I had hoped the weekdays would be good.  They aren't.  I've been feeling fairly depressed.  The other night, trying not to cry, I sat outside and thought.  My first thought was "Nothing would help.  There is nothing that would help" But then I thought more, and thought how wrong that is.  There is several things that would help.  They are things that I can't do alone, but I think they are possible. I thought I'd put them out there, in case anyone from an autism fundraising organization ever by chance reads this.  Here is what someone in the trenches, deep in the trenches, wishes you'd spend money on.

1.  A well-staffed, well-run, free or very low cost respite center.

2.  Emergency help that parents can turn to in a true mental health emergency

3.  A free lending library of developmental and sensory toys suitable for kids with autism.

4.  Specific instructions on best practices in autism parenting, without a biased leaning toward any certain approach.

5.  True year-round schools

6.  Recreational activities for children with autism---not once a year Special Olympics, not the occasional party, but affordable and well-taught lessons and fun---swimming lessons, music lessons, dance lessons, art lessons...

7.  Education for the general public---maybe a series of documentaries in prime time---that shows the FULL range of autism, not some amazing very high functioning handpicked examples

8.  Nights at local restaurants, museums, stores and more for families with autism, where the occasional scream or hand-flap or tantrum will be just part of the jolly background noise

9.  Education for classroom aides, who often wind up doing much of the hands-on care of autistic kids at school.

10.  Research not into causes or prevention, but into TREATMENT---medications, therapies, diets, etc.

That's my list.  Any one of the items would make a different in my life personally, and I think in the lives of many of us out there.  Like most parents, I'm not looking for a handout, not looking for money or special treatment.  I am looking for help that I desperately need to be able to raise my child.  I might write more about each of these wishes in the future, but just listing them for now felt good.  Even if none of them will happen, it's better to know there is something that COULD help.  Let's challenge every autism organization out there to help---to remember we need help that is hands-on, respite-giving and affordable.  Desperately.

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.

Hitting A Wall

Yesterday, I hit a mental wall.  I took Janey to school, came home, did the usual bit---housework, on-line work, packing things, etc.  It got back to be about 2 in the afternoon, and I started thinking about picking up Janey at school.  It was rainy/snowy and messy out.  I was bone tired.  Most of all, I was thinking about the day before, with the CVS screaming incident and Janey going quite frankly insane in the car.  And I felt a feeling that I've felt a few times before with being her mother.  I was hitting the wall.  I could not picture going out to drive in the slush and dark, picking her up and not knowing if it was going to be another ride through Hades.  I felt like I just literally could barely move.  I sat there, feeling shaky and dizzy.  And then I called Tony, because I am a very lucky wife.  I told him how I felt, and thankfully, his work is a little flexible, although always intense.  He said he could come home an hour early to get the car and go get Janey, if the next day he could go into work 2 hours early, and I said fine.  Then I collapsed into bed, and just lay there, trying to work up the energy to keep the day going.

I am a low energy person at the best of times, due at least partly to a thyroid that went on strike at least 30 years ago and despite me taking increasingly larger doses of replacement, has left for what looks to be a permanent vacation.  That is coupled with being Janey's mother, which is many, many ways is like being the mother of a perpetual toddler.  I am closer to 50 than 40.  Most days, I push through it, because that's what all mothers do.  You don't really have a choice.  And it's your responsibility.  I chose to have Janey, and she is my child to take care of.  But some days, I hit that wall.  I wonder if I can do it.  It's a useless wonder.  I am going to do it, whether I can or not.

But I think about what used to happen, in the past.  In the bad old days, which I in no way want to go back to.  But then, it was not considered possible to raise a child like Janey at home, at least by the vast majority of people.  Kids like Janey lived in institutions, and they lived horrible, horrible lives, most of the time.  I would do anything, including give up my own life, to have Janey not live a life like that.  I am eternally glad we live today and not then.  But I do think, like many things, the pendulum has swung in the totally opposite direction.  Now, so so many parents are routinely doing what was previously considered not possible.  They are caring for disabled children at home, and in many cases, they are getting almost no help doing so.  I am lucky to have Janey in school and afterschool for many hours a day, and then to have a 6 week summer program.  But I know far from everyone has that.  And even with that, I am exhausted.  Tony is exhausted.  The boys are exhausted.  We can never take our eyes off Janey.  Never.  We never know what day is going to feature her suddenly going through some kind of crisis, which will turn our world upside-down.  We live in fear she will hurt herself by doing something she doesn't know not to do, like running into traffic or eating something she shouldn't eat.  And we are all tired.  Society decided that the way children like Janey were treated in the past was wrong, but they didn't settle on any other way to help families raise them.

I don't feel Janey is anyone's responsibility but our own, but I do think if there was a real understanding of how hard life can be with children like Janey (and it's even harder with many children, for sure), the majority of people would want to spend the relatively small amount of our nation's overall budget it would take to provide more direct help to families.  Not the patchwork of programs that somehow can be accessed if you know just who to call and what to say and are blessed with being hugely persistent and not deterred by people trying their best to keep you from using them, which is what most out there is like now, but programs that parents could use without guilt, without jumping through hoops, without begging.  And mental health care absolutely needs to be as available as physical health care.  No parent should have to beg to have someone help them handle their child when they are in crisis.

For now, I feel better, thanks to Tony's help, thanks to school, thanks to Janey for having a few better days. But I'll hit that wall again, and again, and again.  There's no getting around that, and it's scary.

Thankful but wishing I could not have to be

People have been wonderful to me the past few days. Janey's teachers are so incredibly supportive, my friends are there for me in every way, people have been offering help right and left. I am very grateful, but I have an inside feeling that I wish I didn't have to be in a situation to be thankful. I would rather be helping someone else. I don't like to be helped, and I wish I didn't have to be. I wish Janey and I didn't need the help.