Abject Terror

Our family also includes two dogs and a cat, who are constant sources of entertainment and amusement. Susie, the cat, is most noted for her penchant for not moving for 16 hours at a stretch. Tripsy, the older dog, is likely to continue to be a puppy into old age, energy-wise. Trellis, the younger, though first adopted, dog is very sweet but often described by me as "dumb as rocks". She proved this to be true the other day in a way that still makes me burst out laughing when I remember. I had placed a bowl of potato chips on the arm of the sofa, then went to attend to something on the computer. Hubby was sitting on the sofa with Trellis, who began quaking and shaking, staring at me as though I was a monster! I went to try andf soothe her, trying to figure out what had scared her so badly. We finally discovered that she was terrified of the chips. What a dog!!!!!! I'm so glad she's here to scare off intruders!

Grace

Another series of thoughts came out of my radio show adventure. I've been reading a lot on the internet lately about autism from the perspective of autistic adults. Many of these autistic adults feel very much that their rights are often ignored or dismissed, and some have horror stories of growing up in institutions being restrained and drugged. It has made me think hard about my daughter, and how I want her to always feel loved and respected, and happy. I think she is happy, and I know that she is loved, but I want her to feel loved and respected. I have also read a little about adult autistics who feel that their parents did things the right way, and I'm trying to apply those ideas to raising my daughter. A key element in these success stories is the acceptance of the child as autistic--not trying to "cure" or hide the autism with behavioral boot camp.

After Saturday's radio show, I was buttonholed by someone I know as an acquaintance. She said, "You have a child, don't you?" I responded in the affirmative, and mentioned her age and that she's autistic. She said, with her head dropped to the side, something like, "Oh, I'm so sorry, how tragic. My relative has an autistic child..blah blah blah.. wears you down blah..."

I felt somehow repelled by her response, and thinking about it later, I realized that I don't think of my daughter's autism as tragic. I used to feel like Job, back when her feeding problems became life-threatening, and I had a difficult time dealing with the initial diagnosis of autism a year or so ago. Back then, I might have agreed with her that it was a tragedy. But I don't now. Now I'm proud of my daughter, and hope that she'll be able to reach her potential.

I was surprised to discover this acceptance in myself, and realized that with the acceptance has come a sense of peace that has eluded me for a long time. This doesn't mean I escape frustration dealing with the everyday and long term challenges of raising an autistic person, but it does mean I wouldn't trade it for a"normal" child.

Great Expectations

In a post several weeks ago I mentioned my upcoming attendance at Michael Feldman's "Whad'YaKnow?" in town here in Indy. I went to the show last Saturday, and was fairly disappointed. I found myself feeling depressed during the show, and tried to analyze these seemingly inappropriate emotions. Then, with shame, I realized that I had not merely hoped to be on the quiz, but I had actually expected it! When it became clear that I would not have my moment in the sun, I suddenly lost most of my interest in the show. Also because the local band they highlighted, Reverend Peyton's Big Damn Band, really sucked. I also felt annoyed by the people who were actually chosen to speak on air--they mostly seemed like attention-seeking idiots--unlike myself, of course!

I learned a little about myself in this episode of my life. When I build up my expectations to an insupportable height, I'm going to be disappointed. Also I can be pretty damn immature! Or should I say "big damn" immature?

Brainteasing

I'm finally able to spend a few moments sitting at the computer after a difficult week, both schedule-wise and emotionally.

Having (at least for the present) stopped using respite care, my husband and I are trying to find ways to incorporate more time alone into our days. This means "dates" at home after Grace goes to bed. (Notice I didn't say sleep--these days it's at least an hour or so before she quiets down in there.) Often times we end up watching NYPD Blue or some other show, but this doesn't give us the interaction we need to sustain our marriage. I have read somewhere that marriages with autistic children have very high divorce rates, and we don't want to go anywere near that, so it's very important for us to continue working on our relationship. Grace's situation is a challenge for us, but it makes it easier if we are a team, supporting each other.

So what's a tired couple to do on an at-home date? My husband, ever scouring the local antique shops and used book stores, stumbled across a large number of bound volumes of the childrens' magazine St. Nicholas from the teens and 20's of last century. This magazine includes some serialized novels, poetry, drawings, news items, and various word puzzles that would put Will Shortz to shame! We've been busting our brains trying to work out puzzles that were actually written by preteen children. And we're no dummies, believe me. These puzzles and the articles in this magazine indicate to me that children back then just had better thinking skills, and also didn't spend much time watching mind-numbing television. Those were better times.

Unless, of course, you think of the lack of civil rights, World War I, and the 1918 flu.

Who, me?

Last night I stayed up way too late exploring oddizm, and had a few revelations about myself. Firstly, that I was thick for taking so long to get the pun of the website's name. Secondly, a number of experiences in my past became more clearly "autistic". Since my daughter's diagnosis, my husband and I have been playing the game of pointing out each other's autistic behaviors and sensory problems. I had always been smugly thinking to myself that he was really much more autistic than I was. He may still be, though neither of us has a diagnosis, but I am much more autistic than I had realized.

The first symptom I recognized in myself was auditory sensitivity. I had always believed that I was sensitive to loud noise because I was a musician. When a group of my colleagues are on the street when a fire truck passes with its siren blasting, we always cover our ears, while the general public barely seems to notice. I also have a terrible time understanding people's speech when there is any kind of background noise, and do a lot of lipreading.

Which leads to my next symptom--I have always felt uncomfortable looking at people's eyes. I've always looked at their mouths when they are talking. I feel as though looking into someone's eyes is like really looking into them, and that they can see into me, which feels overwhelming. I had attributed this to my insecurities, but now I wonder.

Last night, reading the jokes on oddizm--You Might Be An Aspie If...--and I realized that I was laughing an awful lot, and that actually a lot of those things sounded like me, and some memories were brought to mind. I remember being a freshman in high school, having found a great group of friends, all overintelligent misfits who hung out in the gifted counselor's office in the library. I was well known among this group for being gullible. One day one of the group told me that gullible was actually not in the dictionary, and I got the dictionary out to prove them wrong. I used to tell this story later on as a funny anecdote, but now I wonder if my literalism is more than that.

This weekend at the symphony we're playing an Oktoberfest pops program, complete with a group that yodels and plays alpenhorns. For one piece they encourage the audience to link arms and sway, and I've been swaying, too, to get into the spirit of things. I realized that the swaying actually feels good--comforting somehow. Maybe I'll start stimming intentionally.

I doubt I could be diagnosed as having Aspergers, but these things (and others) confirm my belief in the spectrum--that even those who don't fall on the spectrum really do in some way or another. That we are not really so different from one another.