Tag Archives: Health

“Will She Be Okay?”

Posted on April 15, 2013 | 31 Comments

“Will she be okay?”  This was the question that went unanswered for the first nine years of my daughter’s life.  

“Will she be okay?” I asked every autism specialist, neurologist, pediatrician and anyone else who seemed vaguely knowledgable.  This question actually had almost nothing to do with the child I saw before me and everything to do with how I felt.  I so wanted reassurance.  I so wanted and needed someone to tell me she was going to be okay, whatever okay meant.  Whatever world “okay” occupied, I wanted to know, really know that my child was going to be embraced and fully in the “okay” of it all.  

“Will she be okay?”

Like the children’s story about the baby bird who’s fallen from its nest and asks all manner of creatures it meets “Are you my mother?” I desperately wanted someone to put their arm around me and say those seemingly magical and reassuring words – “Yes.  I promise.  She’s going to be just fine.”  But none did. So on I went, searching, trying every therapy, remedy, every crazy combination of vitamins, diets, homeopathy, naturopathy, healer, energy worker, cranial-sacral therapist, shaman, neurologist, developmental pediatrician, speech therapist, occupational therapist who held out the promise that all would be okay if only I did whatever it was they believed would make her “okay”. 

“Will she be okay?”  

When we finally ended our campaign to cure our daughter, our campaign to help her accelerated.  But this didn’t happen in a vacuum.  We had support.  And the support we were given came from other Autistic people. In retrospect, had I known my friend Ibby, I would not have asked “will she be okay?”  Had I met Tracy Thresher, Larry Bissonnette, Jamie Burke, Jennifer Seybert or any of the other people I’ve had the good fortune to physically meet, I would not have felt the need to ask repeatedly whether my daughter would be okay, because I would have known she already was.  That question would not have occurred to me to ask, because these people, many of whom do not speak or more often than not do not speak, or as in Ibby’s case speak, but when stressed, is unable to, are living their lives fully and they certainly know joy.  Each of them has grown up in a society that underestimated them.  All of them have been doubted and had to prove their intelligence over and over to those who are unwilling to see the evidence before them.   

“Will she be okay?”

We, as a society, must stop forcing people we deem different or less than to prove their worth.  We, as a society, must look inward and start asking ourselves, not “will my autistic child be okay?” but “what can we do to accommodate Autistic people so that all can flourish and be included?”

In the end, that’s all I really want for both my children.  I want them to feel a part of a society that supports them. 

“Will my child be okay?”

She IS okay.  Right now at this moment.  It’s up to the rest of us to recognize this.

Em singing “Clumsy” for Ibby and Emily last night

Em's performance 

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“Burden”? I Don’t Think So.

Posted on December 7, 2012 | 20 Comments

The roller coaster I call “autism” is less actual and more a description of my emotions, expectations and judgments surrounding specific things such as communication differences, internal issues, pain perception, sensory issues and the different ways in which Emma takes in information as opposed to the way my (more often than not) non-autistic brain works.  (My friend, AspieKid calls brains like mine NT-NOS, which I think is a hilarious and fitting acronym.) It is a “roller coaster” of my own design and construct.  A roller coaster being an accurate description of my emotional state, something I’ve grappled with my entire life and certainly well before I ever met my husband and had children.  Suggesting “autism” is the root cause for those pre-existing twists and turns my emotions tend to take or pinning the psychological upheavals I’m experiencing onto “autism” is not only wrong, it’s dishonest.

The truth is, I’ve always been a bit high-strung.  I live in New York City, a city whose inhabitants wear their neuroses proudly.  Neuroses in New York city are treated the way a runny nose is looked upon in the mid-west.  No big deal.  New Yorkers have melt downs at the drop of a hat.  I’ve seen fist fights break out between grown men in the middle of an intersection because of a perceived insult, people routinely scream at each other and cut each other off while driving.  Moms pushing babies and toddlers in Hummer-sized strollers wield them like tanks plowing a path for themselves along clogged sidewalks like Moses parting the Red Sea.  People think nothing of getting into loud arguments with lovers, neighbors, friends and strangers in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing pedestrians to walk around them.  It’s a city of ids and super egos.  It’s a city that is (perhaps) an exaggerated version of what one sees anywhere in the world.  People are capable of some pretty dreadful behavior.  Add a child with a different neurology to that already fragile, high-strung mix and you’re going to get some interesting results.  To then conclude that autism is to blame, defies all logic.  No one would do that.  Yet people blame their bad behavior, their inability to cope, their sadness, depression and general irritability on their autistic child all the time.

Suddenly it’s autism and Autistic people who are a “burden” to society.  Autism isn’t a “burden”.  It’s the negative views of autism, it’s the autism = untold horror, it’s the perception of autism and the lack of understanding and services, the lack of training and programs in our schools so they can help our Autistic children learn in a way that will ensure they flourish.  The “burden” is not our Autistic child on society.  The “burden” is the lack of support and adequate help families need so they can better support their child, giving them the sort of assistance  they need to thrive and flourish, a child who will one day become an Autistic adult and, in an ideal world, an active member of society.  We have to move away from this idea of Autism = burden.  Autism = tragedy.  Autism = _______ fill in the blank with a negative word.  We need to abandon our preconceived notions of what a non-speaking Autistic child cannot do.  We need to open our minds to the idea that our children are capable of far more than we may believe or can fathom.  We need to begin looking at what is good about Autism and the countless ways in which Autistic people can and do contribute to this world.  We need to remove the stigma and negativity and replace it with a more balanced and yes, positive view.

Imagine a world that includes Autistic people, accommodates Autistic people and stops shunning, restraining and abusing them.  A world in which it is not okay to have seclusion rooms and restraints, where a non-speaking person is treated with respect and without prejudice and where it is not assumed that because they do not speak they have nothing to say.  A world where people finally understand the burden isn’t the Autistic person, whether child or adult, it’s the lack of services, the judgments and the scare tactics being used.   Autism is big business and there is no better way to ensure dollars continue to pour in than when we are terrified. Let’s change that.

Having a child is joyful, exhausting, frustrating and the single most extraordinary experience a human being can have.  Having an Autistic child is joyful, exhausting, frustrating and the single most extraordinary experience a human being can have.   One can say that about a great many things in this life.  Let’s stop blaming Autism and our Autistic children for the ills of the world and the bad behavior displayed by people.

Emma and her infectious laugh

Em

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Posted in Autism, Autism "Awareness", New York City, Parenting

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Standing with Henry, Diets and Where Do You Go to Get Advice?

Posted on October 16, 2012 | 6 Comments

Please read, “like”, share and tweet my latest interview with 13-year-old Henry, published yesterday on Huffington Post.  For all you tweeters, I am trying to get Henry on Katie Couric’s show.  If you’ll click on the link above to read the interview, tweet the piece out and be sure to include @KatieCouric in your tweet.  This is what I’ve tweeted –  ”@KatieCouric Henry’s fight for inclusion @arianezurcher http://t.co/vhSs85v2  Katie – Henry’s story would be terrific for your show!”  If enough people tweet her, she may just take notice.  Let’s stand with Henry!

Yesterday’s topic brought forth a wonderful discussion regarding “The Diet” whether it is a gluten-free/casein-free diet or a variation of it.  I realized in reading the comments that my post may have sounded critical of the diet and even critical of those who have tried it with positive results.  This was not my intention and so I want to be clear about that.  I have a lot of feelings about having put Emma through so much trauma as a result of putting her on the (in our case failed) diet. The first time we tried it, when she was still just two years old, did not seem to have the same negative impact that it did just a year ago when I took all her favorite foods away and implemented an even more restrictive diet under the guidance of a well-regarded naturopath.  This is something Emma still talks about, something she is still hyper-worried I might suddenly do again.  I should have placed more emphasis on this.  So to all who have experienced the joy of finding something that helped you or your child, I apologize.  I did not in any way mean to illegitimize what you’ve found to be so very helpful or to suggest the diet is quackery.

What is clear from reading all the links people thoughtfully provided and the many personal stories, a GFCF diet and its various variations, has and does help many children and adults, regardless of their neurology.  An important point, made several times in the terrific comments, was that because of the hyper-sensitivities experienced by so many Autistic people, what might be experienced as a mild intestinal discomfort in a non-Autistic person could be felt intensely and painfully by someone with a different neurology.   Hence a food “intolerance” not even an allergy could cause great distress.

In the post I hypothetically asked, were I able to do it all over again would I have put Emma on the diet?  I wrote, “…I would have sought out a reputable pediatric neurologist who could have given Emma the blood work necessary to tell us whether the diet was something she would benefit from.  I would have looked for scientific evidence giving me reason to put her on such a diet and without that evidence I would not have put her through it.”  Except, I realized last night as I thought more about this, we DID do these things.  We didn’t have a pediatric neurologist, but we did take her to a highly regarded pediatric allergist, did blood work and it showed she was not allergic to anything, but he suggested she may have food intolerances that might be contributing to her constipation issues.  It was this doctor who suggested we try the GFCF diet to see if it might help.

But as one commenter pointed out, in her country there isn’t anyone who will perform such tests.  She wrote, “If I had to do it all over again? I would have done it sooner to alleviate my daughter’s suffering.  For the first few years it was just dairy I removed from the diet.  I thought it too hard to cook gluten-free as well. When I finally adjusted the diet to gluten and dairy free at the age of 4 my daughter ‘s chronic painful distressing diarrhea ceased..”  In fact both her children have responded well to having their diet modified.   Hers is but one example of many who have benefited from implementing such a diet.

To another commenters point, even if they had been able to find such a doctor, their insurance would not cover such tests and they wouldn’t have been able to afford them.   For people like these, who either cannot afford to have such tests run or who cannot find a doctor to even perform these tests, what is the alternative?  What can those people do, other than read and learn all they can while hoping their decision helps themselves or their child.  As any of you know who read the various links to the many articles I posted yesterday on the diet, those articles are NOT all in agreement.  Some state that the diet has shown no positive change, while others suggest that in some cases the diet has helped.  So what is a person to do?

Which brings me to another terrific comment, in which she asked, “…maybe we should really think, do we have proper medical care?  Do we have good doctors? Are we listening to them? Are we skipping the doc and practicing our own medicine? Why are we not trusting our doctors?” By the way this same commenter left another longer and hilarious comment on yesterday’s post that is too long to reprint here, but is really relevant to not just this topic, but ALL topics related to parenting, who do we go to for advise, where do we get our information and why do so many of us no longer trust the medical professionals advising us and instead listen to other parents who are often not doctors or even have any medical training, but have found something that helps or doesn’t help them or their child?

I know it isn’t just me who has come to doubt almost everything I read about Autism.  I know a great many people who feel as I do –  we are almost constantly skeptical. And while some skepticism is a good thing, I don’t know that my past radical approach has proven to be so beneficial in the long run.  These days when I have questions regarding Autism, but particularly related to my daughter, there are a couple of things I do.

1)  I seek advice from a number of Autistics I know, am friends with and trust.  I ask them for both their personal experience and for any research they know of that might help me.

2) If it’s a medical issue related to autism and Emma I run it by my brother who is a bio-chemist and spent years working for a pharmaceutical company developing drug treatments and whose wife, also a bio-chemist who now runs a non-profit trying to make vaccines available to children in third world countries.

3) I get a second opinion either by getting referrals to researchers or people (preferably Autistic) in the field or I reach out to various neurologists I’ve met to get their views.

4) I read whatever I can find, sometimes sending particularly dense articles to my brother and/or my Autistic friends who are involved in whatever field of study it is.

5) Discuss with my husband, foisting said articles on him and try to hash out what we think and what we should do.  If we cannot agree, revisit steps 1, 2, 3 & 4.

I have no answers.

Emma – Summer 2004

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Another Topic of Controversy… No I am NOT Trying to Find Them, They Are Everywhere

Posted on October 15, 2012 | 88 Comments

Ever feel compelled to write about something that you’d just as soon not talk about?  I’m feeling that way about today’s post for a whole host of reasons which I’ll discuss.  But before I do, let me just say,  this is another one of those topics people feel strongly about.  I’m going to launch in anyway, because I’m either a glutton for punishment or I just can’t help myself or maybe, just maybe, this will strike a chord for others who may find it helpful, but please do remember I am not pretending to be an expert about any of this.  I am going to relate my story.  If it resonates with anyone else, great and if it doesn’t that’s fine too, but it is one of those topics that needs to be discussed.  So let’s do that.

THE DIET.

The gluten-free, casein-free diet was one of the first things I read about after receiving Emma’s diagnosis.  I have to add that when I read about it I had enormous misgivings that had nothing to do with Autism or my daughter.  You see, from the age of fifteen until my mid-thirties I had an eating disorder.  I compulsively over-ate, I sought comfort and solace in food, but I was also morbidly afraid of gaining weight so I would eat enormous amounts and then taught myself to vomit.  Somewhere along the way I became anorexic too and over the next two plus decades yo-yoed between my all time lowest weight of just under 110 pounds to over 160 pounds.  Food and my weight were nothing short of an obsession.  In truth, I was an addict.  For those of you who recognize the addiction analogy with food I don’t need to say more, but for those of you new to this idea, I’ll just say this, food was as addictive to me as heroin is to a junky, the only difference being I can’t ever just stop eating.  I have to “play in the pool of my addiction” as my fabulous husband likes to say.

I’ve written about all of this ‘here‘ ‘here‘ and again ’here‘ for those of you interested in all the gritty details.

In my mid-thirties I found help from other food addicts who were no longer active in their addiction.  I was able to form a whole support team who held my hand, talked me off the ledge, who became my allies and eventually I was able to stop the cycle of binging, puking and self-hatred that went along with those behaviors.  By the time I gave birth to Emma I had more than five years of freedom from my food obsessions. (Which at the time seemed like a VERY long time!)  I had my wonderful support group in place and a road map of tools and behaviors to help guide me.  So when I began reading about “the GF/CF diet” and how critical it was to implement should Emma be one of those kids who responded to it, I had a lot of “feelings” about it.  There was no question whether or not I would put her on it, but I also knew I had to be careful because of my history and what it would inevitable kick up for me.  So I called in my supports, made sure I kept honest, made sure my “team” of recovered addicts knew what I was about to embark on and took a deep breath before plunging into that dark water, which I hoped might help my daughter.

I won’t describe in great detail what happened as I’ve written about the diet in detail, ‘here‘, ‘here‘, ‘here‘ and ‘here‘.  You can also go to the right hand side bar on this blog, type “diet” into the search box and you’ll be taken to everything I’ve written on the topic over the years.  The short version of all of this is – we saw little change.  Emma’s constipation was unaffected, there may have been a slight increase in eye contact, but not enough to warrant the trauma the diet was causing Emma, who continued to drop weight at a frightening rate.  I wrote about the trauma of the diet and it’s aftermath ‘here‘.  But I must add that her trauma was a significant and distressing piece to all of this.  It is one thing for an individual to decide they must stop eating something because they know it causes their bodies distress, or allergies that are clearly identifiable and another thing to put a non-speaking child on a highly restrictive diet that they cannot comment on and which is only deemed successful by a parent who is doing their best to watch for measurable changes.

As a new parent who is just embarking on all of this, what do you do?  It was overwhelming for me.  I remember vividly how frightened I was.  There was so much information, often conflicting and I remember feeling the stress and anxiety all that information caused.  I also remember feeling terrified that I was doing everything wrong, that I was harming my daughter, setting her up to have an eating disorder further down the road and since my eating disorder was all consuming and eventually caused me to contemplate suicide, this was no small concern.  I became convinced that there was a right and wrong way, that if it worked it was “right” and if it didn’t it was my fault because I had done it “wrong”.

I don’t feel particularly comfortable giving advice to other parents.  As I wrote in the first paragraph, this is one story and it happens to be mine.  It’s the only one I can tell, but that doesn’t mean it will be yours.  So here’s the only question I can answer – If I had to do it all over again (thankfully I do not!) would I have put Emma on the diet that first time?  The answer is – I would have sought out a reputable pediatric neurologist who could have given Emma the blood work necessary to tell us whether the diet was something she would benefit from.  I would have looked for scientific evidence giving me reason to put her on such a diet and without that evidence I would not have put her through it.  There are enough people, regardless of their neurology, who have benefitted enormously from modifying their diet.  There are too many anecdotal stories of significant change from those who do benefit to ignore it as just another bit of quackery.  BUT, and this a big but, no diet, in my opinion, is capable of changing an Autistic child/person into a non-Autistic child or person.  Or as Karla Fisher gave me permission to quote her said, “… it can and may seem like the autism goes away but it is important to remember that it does not. The EF (executive functioning) and SP (sensory processing) issues get reduced but the context difference will always be there so child will always need support.” *Parentheses are mine.

So let’s discuss and if you disagree, explain why, if you agree, please say so because I really love being agreed with! :)  And if you have some other thoughts about all of this go ahead and say what they are, because this topic is one that comes up all the time and it is confusing, complicated and for new parents can be the cause for tremendous anxiety and worry, not to mention the upset and trauma it can cause our children.

Emma – November, 2011 – after five weeks on the diet

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But I’m Her Mother…

Posted on June 13, 2012 | 7 Comments

“Mommy!  Mommy!  I need help.  Fix it!”  Emma cried out.  ”Have to go to nurse Mommy.  Mommy gonna fix ears.  Unplug.  Mommy unplug ears.”  Emma came to me and waited expectantly.  ”Ohhhh, sweetheart.  I know.  I know,”  Emma said as she stood in front of me, waiting for me to magically remove her pain.  I massaged her ears and glands and throat, I encouraged her to blow her nose.  I showed her how to yawn with the hope that something, anything might work.  But it almost never does.  ”Mommy!  Please help me!”

I would if I could.  In a second.  But I can’t.  Nothing I do ever alleviates the pain.

Emma sat down next to me whimpering.  ”You have to call the doctor.  Go to new doctor.  But listen, that table is for babies.  You can’t sit on it.  That’s a baby’s table,” Emma said in reference to the metal table in the doctor’s office, just big enough for an infant.

The pain in Emma’s ears is an ongoing issue.  One that, I think, also scares her because the pain can be relentless.  I am left feeling impotent and helpless.  Last year Richard took her to a number of doctors and specialists.  There was her regular pediatrician, then the eyes, ears, nose and throat doctor several times and finally to yet another doctor, except that after examining her, they all said the same thing, “There’s nothing wrong with her.  She needs to stop pinching her nose and blowing.  Give her this antihistamine and see if that helps.”  And we were sent on our way.

When Emma was a toddler, she had chronic constipation.  I pursued any number of doctors and alternative “healers” with the hope that someone would be able to help her.  At the time, her constipation was my primary concern.  I remember going to a cranial-sacral therapist and pleading with him, “Help her with the constipation, just make her constipation better.”  I said the same thing to the QiGong Master and the homeopath and the GI specialist up at NY Presbyterian Hospital and her pediatrician and the developmental pediatrician, and the nutritionist, the DAN doctor, and, and.  We put her on the GFCF diet, we began giving her supplements, tinctures, omega 3 fish oils, epsom salt baths, but nothing we did helped.  Nothing.  After three years of hell, we fly up to Boston to see a  famous, GI Specialist.  It took me more than 6 months to secure an appointment.  She was given a colonoscopy and endoscopy.  The results showed scarring, inflammations, ulcerations, and I remember thinking – She’s five-years old.  How is this even possible?  And yet, it was.

We left Boston with photographs of her inflamed GI tract and a bottle of Miralax, something we’d tried many times in the past with no positive outcome.  It’s amazing what you’ll do when your child is suffering and in pain.  It’s amazing the things you will try, over and over, hoping that this time whatever it is will work, the leaps in logic you will take, the faith you will put in dubious practitioners all with the hope that maybe, just maybe one of them will do something to help your child.  As we flew home, I sat next to Emma and as the plane gained altitude I felt despair flood my body.  Despair that anyone would ever be able to do anything to help her.

Once more we were on our own to figure it out.  Eventually I came up with a “treatment” that did work.  I’m not going to write all about it now, but have provided links throughout this piece for older posts on all these subjects.

As with Emma’s constipation, something that I despaired would never change, and yet it did, her ears, over time will, most likely change too or her tolerance and ability to cope with the discomfort will increase.  Because of Emma’s ongoing issues with her ears, I am hyper-aware of my sensitivity to the changing air pressure.  Yesterday as I made my way home my ears were hurting, a kind of throbbing pain, a pressure in them that felt as though my ear drums might burst.  It was all I could do to get on the subway and head home.  Have I always been sensitive to the air pressure, but have learned how to block it out?  My guess is yes.  By the time I got home I was freezing cold, my skin ached and my ears felt as though any noise was too much.  Is this a version of what Emma experiences?  I can’t know that, but I know she’s in pain.  And I know that other than call the doctor and have her go in to see him, there aren’t many other things I can do.  But this feels wrong.  I should be able to make it better.  I’m her mother.  I’m suppose to be able to help her.  That’s my job.  That’s what Moms do.  Right?

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How I Made a Mistake and Was Given The Opportunity to Say I’m Sorry

Posted on June 5, 2012 | 58 Comments

“You put the toast in the basement.  That made me sad.”  Emma stared at me expectantly.

I drew in a breath.  My chest felt tight.  I knew exactly what she was referring to.  We’ve had similar conversations, but she’s never said it so directly.

This past fall in one last gasp of determined insanity I decided that I hadn’t done the gluten-free/casein free diet “right” when we put her on it a month after she was diagnosed and still two-years old.  So this fall, I took Emma to a naturopath, who’d been recommended to me, and after a number of “tests” he mapped out an even more restrictive diet than the standard GF/CF.   You can click on the links I’ve provided for more about all of this.  On the first day of the diet I cleared the house of all the foods Emma loved, but could no longer eat, according to the new diet.  Except I forgot to remove her favorite bread.

That morning she saw the bread and attacked it with the vigor of a rabid dog.   I whisked it away and hurried down to the basement with it, where I threw it into one of the large garbage bins, while Emma screamed and clawed at the door in an attempt to follow me.  I had it in my mind that it would all be worth it if the diet worked.   Which, to me, meant that she would suddenly begin to speak in beautifully articulated sentences, would be able to concentrate, would be able to comprehend what she read and would eat a wider range of nutritious foods.   Only the diet didn’t “work.”  Just as the GF/CF diet we’d put her on six years before, didn’t work.

Emma after 6 weeks on the diet

In many ways, that diet was a turning point for me.  After a couple of months on it and no change other than a significant weight loss, I reintroduced Emma to all her old foods, the foods she loves, the textures and smells she was familiar with and she was in bliss.  But Emma remembered those seven weeks when I had taken everything away from her.  The trauma she felt as a result of my actions was something I have been aware of.  I have, on several occasions, told her how sorry I am for what I did.  I have spoken at length to her about it, but in all those conversations, Emma has contributed very little until last night.  Now it was clear she needed to express herself.

When I started making decisions about treatments for Emma, many of them Richard did not agree with and he, thankfully, said, “No.  We are not going to chelate.”  Or “No.  We are not going to subject her to B-12 shots.”  Or “No.  We are not going to take her for another hyperbaric chamber treatment.”  There have been a number of things, that in my desperation to be a “great Mom” I would have tried had my wise husband not stopped me.  These are not moments I am proud of.  I have made a lot of mistakes.  This last diet was just one in a long line of bad ideas.  I know I will have more.  I understand it is human nature, but I also will be damned if I’m going to try to gloss over the choices I made that hurt Emma.

I promised myself long ago that when I became aware of a mistake, I would try to make immediate amends.  I don’t mean a quick, “Oops, sorry about that.”  I mean an amends.  Which is different from an apology.  An apology is what you say to someone you bump into by mistake on the subway.  An amends is when you seek to change your behavior so that you might at least have the chance of not repeating that mistake.  I try to do that consistently with both Nic and Emma.  I am sad to say, I have had to make a great many amends over the course of their short lives and some I’ve had to say over and over because I just can’t seem to get it right.  So when Emma said to me, “You put it in the basement.  You made me sad.”  I knew what I had to do.  I knew I had to listen to her.  I knew I had to resist the urge to make it better.  I knew I had to be present, no matter how much it might hurt to hear the things she would say, I owed it to her.  I had to give her that, at least, I needed to give her that.

I put my hand on her arm.  ”Tell me, Em.  I promise to listen.”

Emma nodded her head.  ”Never, ever.  You put the toast in the basement.  Mommy no!  Ahhhhh.  Mommy please!”  She pretended to grab at the bread and then she made a muffled screaming noise.  She got up off her bed and twirled her string.  She looked over at me.  ”You made me so sad.  Emma’s crying.”

I nodded.  ”Emma.  I’m so sorry I did that.  I made a terrible mistake.”

Emma looked at me.  She put her hand on her chest and she said the following words that broke my heart.  She said,  ”You have to say you’re sorry to Mommy.”

I thought about all those Autists who talk about their awful childhoods and  how they were made to feel broken, not good enough and that it was somehow their fault for the terrible ways they were treated.   I thought of how those feelings about themselves continue to bleed into their lives today.  I thought about how they felt they needed to apologize for who they were and how so many of them believed these lies and some continue to.

“Oh God, Em!  No.  No.  You did nothing.  It was not your fault. I was wrong.”  I put my hand out to her.  ”I should never have done that.   I am so, so sorry.”

Emma came over to me and sat down.  She put her hand on my shoulder and leaned her head into me and said in a quiet voice, “Mommy says I’m sorry.  No more bread in the basement.”  She paused and then said, “But next time just one?”

“No Emma.  Not one.  Not any.  I will never do that to you again.”

“Not one.  Zero.”  Emma smiled.

“That’s right.  Zero.”

“Not one, not two, not three…”  Emma counted up to one hundred.   When she got to a hundred, she smiled and made a zero shape with her hand.  ”Not one hundred, only zero.”

I smiled.  ”Yes, Em.  Only zero.”

Emma nodded and then she said, “Mommy lie with Emma and read stories.”

“Okay,” I said.  As we snuggled under her blankets together I said, “Who’s the most amazing girl in the whole world?”

“I am,” she said with a smile.

 The Depiction of Autism and Why it Matters on Huffington Post

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