LJI Wk 16
My daughter found out she was pregnant while living in North Carolina. I was ecstatic for her, but nervous as well (any mother would be). The distance (540mi), and my recovering from a bad psychotic break, prevented me from seeing her during her time there.
Keeping in touch mostly through IM (since we both detest the phone), I'd do my motherly prying and ask too many questions. The few visits I did have with my kids and grandson, my grandmotherly intuition went into overdrive, and my questions became more pointed, much to my daughter's annoyance.
She knew the answer to the unspoken truth, and it wasn't easy to pretend for her husband's sake. However, by the length of the spaces in her quiet responses (the same type she had as a child), I understood she was worried herself, but not yet in need of a diagnosis -- nor was she ready to deal with her husband's derision.
The "Super-Dude" still wasn't talking at little over two, but just his speech being delayed seemed to be everyone's consensus. However the back of my neck tingled once more with grandmotherly intuition.
Autism - by the time of my grandson's birth - had a recognized genetic link, and I did not wish its roller coaster ride upon my daughter. It also didn't sit well that the trait was carried mostly by the mother, and it made me ill to think how my marine son-in-law could have a field day needling my beautiful brat-girl with this fun fact.
Yet, when I did see them I still made sure to point them in the direction of Autistm Spectrum Disorder -- not to unjustly antagonize my son-in-law's authority, but from genuine concern.
Usually, whatever I suggested was not received well by the 'Fatigued' ogre, but frankly, by now I didn't care what he thought. What mattered was my super-little dude's safety, and my son-in law's RESPONSIBILITY as A PARENT, was to acquire it. He preferred to wait and see.
Meanwhile, my grandson was running out of that magical space of time between one to six years, where Autistic children have the greatest ability to form new neural pathways, and rewire some of their brain. Grandma was not about to let the doors to those pathways close! Not if there was a possible way to communicate with him.
So I challenged my SON-in-LAW:
Have him tested by an independent scholastic psychiatrist for autism. If it turned out he wasn't on the spectrum- great! I'd never say another word about it. If he was, we would find out where to go from there.
Sure enough, when the super-dude was tested, Autistic he was. To my credit not once did I dig at my Marine Son in Law about it.
How did I know all these things? My son is Autistic, and I had to learn to advocate, and push, for his services. I learned how to deal with those who stared, shunned, or derided me because of my child's behaviour. Every bit of everyone's hard work was worth it.
Nicholas is an amazing young man. He tries to help his sister with the Super-Dude, and works two jobs to help his sister out.
I wanted a different outcome for my sweet daughter and my happy and oblivious grandbaby, because of the amount of labor, time and patience Autistic children require. Yet I believe the sweet moments are made all the more sweeter, for having labored with love for the outcome.
Such as hearing them call you mom for the first time... at five.
Since he has been diagnosed, my super dude has had speech, behavioral, occupational therapy and more, for five years now. He is verbal, affectionate, and a great kid to be around, though still obviously Autistic. I do wonder how much further we could have gotten if we had caught it earlier, but nothing good ever comes from thinking that way.
Please do not miss your child's eighteen month pediatric visit. This is when most cases of Autism are identified, and early intervention for Autistic children is crucial.
My daughter missed my Super-dude's eighteen month and two year appointments, because of relocating from North Carolina to Delaware and life taking over.
Don't let this happen to you, especially if you suspect any developmental issues. Schools are equipped with the skilled staff needed to help them -and you- break down their walls. You never know who is hiding inside them!
Two examples of this, are these poems, one by 10 year old Benjamin Girioux, and then a spoken word piece by my soon-to-be 28 year old son, Nicholas Martello.
If you choose to read them, they speak for themselves.
Ten year old Benjamin Giroux - I Am Odd
"I hear voices in the air
I see you don’t, and that’s not fair
I want to not feel blue
I am odd, I am new
I pretend that you are too
I feel like a boy in outer space
I touch the stars and feel out of place
I worry what others might think
I cry when people laugh, it makes me shrink
I am odd, I am new
I understand now that so are you
I say I, “feel like a castaway”
I dream of a day that that’s okay
I try to fit in
I hope that someday I do
I am odd, I am new."
*****And my 28 year old son, Nicholas Martello
Asperger's Why did you choose me?
ASD, why did you choose me;
Can you find the pieces that I cannot see;
Please just be patient with me;
'Cause I would never wish this to be your reality;
I know I haven’t written in a bit; I admit; please take a seat; please sit;
I didn’t quit the rap game; just sometimes I’m trapped in my own brain;
suffering from a disorder tied to disdain; so used to having to hide and tame;
cause why would a kid who rode the short bus even have a shot at fame.
Autism Spectrum Disorder; ASD, is a division of who you are cognitively,
and it grinds and quarters; your 5 senses into lines and borders;
Certain smells will be so sickening I can’t even chime in to order.
certain foods cause their aromas are like war crimes and mortars; 9p
going off in my nostrils, sending chills down my spine and shoulders
twisting my stomach and binding my mind like hostages in Columbine.
My sense of taste can make glue and paste taste like a shit filled pastry,
simply because taste buds enhance bitter and sweets;
sweetly bitter; bitterly sweet sweetly sweeps me away senselessly,
and touching certain textures fill me with manxiety;
pain is intensified and can bring me to knees; but please don’t baby me,
'cause I suck it up and enjoy the pain; just like I enjoy the feeling of falling rain;
physical stimulation positive or negative makes me positive I still exist;
even when I feel negative consequences it brings me back to my senses;
Grounds me; and I get a moment to ponder deeply -
ASD why did you choose me;
Can you find the pieces that I cannot see;
Please just be patient with me;
'Cause I would never wish this to be your reality;
And Christ vision and sight are the two senses that tend to bite the hardest at my neurological might; bright lights
easily irritate me, makes me want to box and fight
my fucking brain 'til it gets in right;
and sound, comes in mounds, of broken compounds of information;
constantly losing signals like a deserted desert radio station;
if I ask you to repeat yourself just know I was trying to pay attention;
it's hard to focus when your mind is blind, yet sees all at the same time.
It's why I hate chaos, but love rhythm and repetition;
but that doesn’t make me a simpleton, because I like simple sins;
Are you listening to these rhythmically and verbally converted bars, G?
Did you know when I spit these, this the only time I feel like society accepts me?
And yet ironically the only time I accept my disability; and accept me for me.
because commonly you treat me like I am basically a handicapped mentality, so kids with disabilities become failed members of society.
Because society decided to fail them and me;
so socially I forced myself to be you, so I could be publicly acceptable because I am tired of your not accepting me for me; we live in a constant nightmare; that you get to be awake to see;
I am not malfunctioning machinery made maliciously
just to be sensory overloaded, and efficiently always reaching max capacity.
I am maximizing my ability to hyper-focus verbally, with vicious ferocity;
'cause I am sick of this stigma limiting me, from confidently; accepting me for me; accepting this will always be my reality.
ASD just had to choose me;
Maybe we can find the pieces I cannot see,
Please just be patient with me;
Be patient with me and my Reality."
Keeping in touch mostly through IM (since we both detest the phone), I'd do my motherly prying and ask too many questions. The few visits I did have with my kids and grandson, my grandmotherly intuition went into overdrive, and my questions became more pointed, much to my daughter's annoyance.
She knew the answer to the unspoken truth, and it wasn't easy to pretend for her husband's sake. However, by the length of the spaces in her quiet responses (the same type she had as a child), I understood she was worried herself, but not yet in need of a diagnosis -- nor was she ready to deal with her husband's derision.
The "Super-Dude" still wasn't talking at little over two, but just his speech being delayed seemed to be everyone's consensus. However the back of my neck tingled once more with grandmotherly intuition.
Autism - by the time of my grandson's birth - had a recognized genetic link, and I did not wish its roller coaster ride upon my daughter. It also didn't sit well that the trait was carried mostly by the mother, and it made me ill to think how my marine son-in-law could have a field day needling my beautiful brat-girl with this fun fact.
Yet, when I did see them I still made sure to point them in the direction of Autistm Spectrum Disorder -- not to unjustly antagonize my son-in-law's authority, but from genuine concern.
Usually, whatever I suggested was not received well by the 'Fatigued' ogre, but frankly, by now I didn't care what he thought. What mattered was my super-little dude's safety, and my son-in law's RESPONSIBILITY as A PARENT, was to acquire it. He preferred to wait and see.
Meanwhile, my grandson was running out of that magical space of time between one to six years, where Autistic children have the greatest ability to form new neural pathways, and rewire some of their brain. Grandma was not about to let the doors to those pathways close! Not if there was a possible way to communicate with him.
So I challenged my SON-in-LAW:
Have him tested by an independent scholastic psychiatrist for autism. If it turned out he wasn't on the spectrum- great! I'd never say another word about it. If he was, we would find out where to go from there.
Sure enough, when the super-dude was tested, Autistic he was. To my credit not once did I dig at my Marine Son in Law about it.
How did I know all these things? My son is Autistic, and I had to learn to advocate, and push, for his services. I learned how to deal with those who stared, shunned, or derided me because of my child's behaviour. Every bit of everyone's hard work was worth it.
Nicholas is an amazing young man. He tries to help his sister with the Super-Dude, and works two jobs to help his sister out.
I wanted a different outcome for my sweet daughter and my happy and oblivious grandbaby, because of the amount of labor, time and patience Autistic children require. Yet I believe the sweet moments are made all the more sweeter, for having labored with love for the outcome.
Such as hearing them call you mom for the first time... at five.
Since he has been diagnosed, my super dude has had speech, behavioral, occupational therapy and more, for five years now. He is verbal, affectionate, and a great kid to be around, though still obviously Autistic. I do wonder how much further we could have gotten if we had caught it earlier, but nothing good ever comes from thinking that way.
Please do not miss your child's eighteen month pediatric visit. This is when most cases of Autism are identified, and early intervention for Autistic children is crucial.
My daughter missed my Super-dude's eighteen month and two year appointments, because of relocating from North Carolina to Delaware and life taking over.
Don't let this happen to you, especially if you suspect any developmental issues. Schools are equipped with the skilled staff needed to help them -and you- break down their walls. You never know who is hiding inside them!
Two examples of this, are these poems, one by 10 year old Benjamin Girioux, and then a spoken word piece by my soon-to-be 28 year old son, Nicholas Martello.
If you choose to read them, they speak for themselves.
Ten year old Benjamin Giroux - I Am Odd
"I hear voices in the air
I see you don’t, and that’s not fair
I want to not feel blue
I am odd, I am new
I pretend that you are too
I feel like a boy in outer space
I touch the stars and feel out of place
I worry what others might think
I cry when people laugh, it makes me shrink
I am odd, I am new
I understand now that so are you
I say I, “feel like a castaway”
I dream of a day that that’s okay
I try to fit in
I hope that someday I do
I am odd, I am new."
*****And my 28 year old son, Nicholas Martello
Asperger's Why did you choose me?
ASD, why did you choose me;
Can you find the pieces that I cannot see;
Please just be patient with me;
'Cause I would never wish this to be your reality;
I know I haven’t written in a bit; I admit; please take a seat; please sit;
I didn’t quit the rap game; just sometimes I’m trapped in my own brain;
suffering from a disorder tied to disdain; so used to having to hide and tame;
cause why would a kid who rode the short bus even have a shot at fame.
Autism Spectrum Disorder; ASD, is a division of who you are cognitively,
and it grinds and quarters; your 5 senses into lines and borders;
Certain smells will be so sickening I can’t even chime in to order.
certain foods cause their aromas are like war crimes and mortars; 9p
going off in my nostrils, sending chills down my spine and shoulders
twisting my stomach and binding my mind like hostages in Columbine.
My sense of taste can make glue and paste taste like a shit filled pastry,
simply because taste buds enhance bitter and sweets;
sweetly bitter; bitterly sweet sweetly sweeps me away senselessly,
and touching certain textures fill me with manxiety;
pain is intensified and can bring me to knees; but please don’t baby me,
'cause I suck it up and enjoy the pain; just like I enjoy the feeling of falling rain;
physical stimulation positive or negative makes me positive I still exist;
even when I feel negative consequences it brings me back to my senses;
Grounds me; and I get a moment to ponder deeply -
ASD why did you choose me;
Can you find the pieces that I cannot see;
Please just be patient with me;
'Cause I would never wish this to be your reality;
And Christ vision and sight are the two senses that tend to bite the hardest at my neurological might; bright lights
easily irritate me, makes me want to box and fight
my fucking brain 'til it gets in right;
and sound, comes in mounds, of broken compounds of information;
constantly losing signals like a deserted desert radio station;
if I ask you to repeat yourself just know I was trying to pay attention;
it's hard to focus when your mind is blind, yet sees all at the same time.
It's why I hate chaos, but love rhythm and repetition;
but that doesn’t make me a simpleton, because I like simple sins;
Are you listening to these rhythmically and verbally converted bars, G?
Did you know when I spit these, this the only time I feel like society accepts me?
And yet ironically the only time I accept my disability; and accept me for me.
because commonly you treat me like I am basically a handicapped mentality, so kids with disabilities become failed members of society.
Because society decided to fail them and me;
so socially I forced myself to be you, so I could be publicly acceptable because I am tired of your not accepting me for me; we live in a constant nightmare; that you get to be awake to see;
I am not malfunctioning machinery made maliciously
just to be sensory overloaded, and efficiently always reaching max capacity.
I am maximizing my ability to hyper-focus verbally, with vicious ferocity;
'cause I am sick of this stigma limiting me, from confidently; accepting me for me; accepting this will always be my reality.
ASD just had to choose me;
Maybe we can find the pieces I cannot see,
Please just be patient with me;
Be patient with me and my Reality."