Delay

Delay. Developmental delay.

Have you noticed that ASD's are medically described as a 'delay'. Yes, I'm repeating that word. I tend to do that when the delay is looking like a yawning chasm; when the race leaders are so far in front that I can hardly see them in the distance.

Delay. Delay. Something which can be overcome with time. Your flight is delayed - it'll get there, but not quite as soon as you'd hoped.

Not deficit - which has uglier implications of falling short, gone.

Delay. When I realise at the end of the day that I've been giving Speedy and Curly more responsibility than my eldest son Dreamer, and they've coped and Dreamer has not.

I have to say delay. I have to remind myself that those 12 year old skills today are so much better than the 8 year old level skills of last year.

There is progress.

I remind myself that after the rest of the world finishes their developmental process and arrives at the finishing line of adulthood, Dreamer can, and will, keep jogging along, getting back on track after regular distractions by the side of the road to get to the finish line.

It's just a longer journey.

(This blog post brought to you by: Year 12, Semester One report cards)

End of Semester Review

Six months ago, Dreamer was a bit of a mess. Dragged his feet out of bed each morning, off to school (usually late, because he'd get distracted and not have his shoes on when it was time to go), arrive home, fall on the bed, sleep. Nagged awake, nagged into the shower, he'd stay there through dinner time, and be out in time to microwave re-heat his food and eat alone. Sleep, rinse and repeat.

Ugh.

We found a nice psychiatrist, to help with his disability pension application, and she promptly diagnosed him (on top of his ADHD and Aspergers) with major depression and OCD, and talked him into trying an SSRI
(Zoloft).

He was rapt. He thought it was more than wonderful. He's only missed about two days since February, which is amazing considering he has the attention span of a goldfish.

He told me that the kids at school were rapt that he started talking back to them. His social life has improved ridiculously. Amazing what happens when you actually talk to people.

I've been enjoying the change so much, so happy to see him happy, and thrilled to have him going out and doing normal, teenage, social things. For the first time in his life.

I suppose I knew that we'd have to address the academic issue eventually, but no way was I going to slam down on his new social life to have him catch up on school work. One thing at a time...I wanted him to enjoy his new-found confidence and self-esteem first.

So this week is end of semester exam block, and I can see the reality-check hitting him over the head. He's probably an inch shorter each day when he gets home from school.

I don't know, maybe he thought that with everything going so well, he'd magically pass his exams, and his assignments would magically get done in 10 minutes.

Uhuh. I'll wait for the report card next month, but my feeling is that the marks will be better (as he's been more available for learning in class), but they won't be pass marks. I haven't actually seen him doing any assignment work or homework.

Current status:
Social life - big tick
Happy and confident teenager - tick (except for exam week).

Next priority:
Getting the OCD out of the house.
Maybe in the holidays I'll help him sort out his room, and possibly even throw away some of the junk thats so 'precious'. There are things lurking in the cupboard that have been there for eight years - paperclips, silver paper and other 'shiny things' that were the collectables of the day back in Grade Four.

We could symbolise some fresh starts. Change some habits. He has admitted that (since medication) he doesn't have to do things, but is doing them from habit. Some days he's fabulous, and others he slips back into old habits. 

We could also do some work on timetables. Previous attempts have been abject failures. That'd be something to do with the fact that you actually have to read them (not put them away under a stack of books), and keep track of time.

Next semester:
Academics. Making attempts on things that have been brick walls for so long that he's afraid to even try. It's going to take bucket-loads of encouragement. And reminders. And probably timetables.

Do you think I could get a 'My Frontal Lobe' app for his phone? Because mine is sorely over-taxed.

The Weirdo Gang

Dreamer collects strays.

Not dogs, not cats, (I will write about the dead possum another day), but humans. Being a gentle soul, Dreamer would offer friendship at school to anyone who seemed as out-of-place as he felt. He collected rocks, shiny things, and all the bully-bait.

He befriended the super-smart kid with the super-fast mouth that made the other kids feel inferior. He adopted the sensitive, gentle kid who was being bullied. He hung out with the kid with the second-hand clothes and uncoordinated gait, and the super-hyperactive ASD kid who drove Dreamer mad with his noise and movement but was welcome anyway. There were a few more who drifted in and out as their need or lack of friends dictated.

By the time year 7 rolled around, they were half-a-dozen strong, and they called themselves the Weirdo Gang. The larger used their strength, the smaller used their wit, and together they were untouchable.

When I asked Dreamer if he had any problems with bullies at school, he'd tell me "No, nobody bothers the Weirdo Gang." They had safety in numbers, and I loved those kids.

I did not choose a high school based on recommendations of the best Special Education Unit, but on where the Weirdo Gang were going. Even so, numbers were thinned to three for Year 8.  Motor-mouth drifted away to another group, then the gentle kid moved away from town.

By this time, though, Dreamer had found the Library Kids, and they had adopted him.

Do all schools have Library Kids? It seems to be a bit of a given - if you like books more than 'footy on the oval', and realise that libraries are open and staffed during lunch breaks, then you quickly discover that you can sit outside the library, and duck inside if bullies are lurking with intent. I know these things because I was a Library Kid too.

Gangs and cliques and school... workplaces... everywhere.

It's survival of the fittest and strength in numbers, but you can't beat a gang of weirdos.

Communicating in Cars

Overheard in the car on the way to school this morning:

Speedy: Like, they had to do an essay on How to Kill a Mockingbird.
Dreamer: (deadpan) Wouldn't you just strangle it?

(Note: Speedy has not read To Kill a Mockingbird, and has mis-heard the title. Dreamer was being his usual literal self. He is getting much better at recognising when he is being literal, and turning it into a joke. Speedy has been working on improving his marks in English with a view to moving to the advanced class. He needs to get A's and is almost there-. He was telling me why he has changed his mind about doing advanced English).

I shouldn't really drive Speedy and Dreamer to school. They have legs that work. They could do with the exercise. School is only about 1.5kms away.

Dreamer, though, absolutely insists on carrying everything he might possibly, even conceivably need - a folder with a notebook for each class, previous notebook for each class just in case he needs to refer back to something they studied last term, text book for each class (whopping big Physics, Chemistry, Maths texts), lunch box, drink bottle, at least two novels, and a Nintendo DS.

I've tried. I've tried to the n-th degree, where n = ASD. "Dreamy, do you really need two novels? Wouldn't one be enough?".
"But Mum, I might finish one, and then I'd need a spare"
"You're only half way through the first one. You won't finish that today. Leave one at home. Please?"

And so, his backpack weighs in daily at around 15kgs, and I take pity and make a deal. I drive them to school, and they walk home.

They say that taxi drivers and hairdressers hear more secrets. Mum's taxi drivers do too. I'm delighted to say that my ASD son becomes positively verbose in the back seat of a car.

I can ask leading questions, and actually get thoughtful answers instead of the usual "dunno" or "maybe". If there are two or more kids in the car, I can just keep my mouth shut and eavesdrop. If I want to find out what's really going on in their lives, how they are feeling, or what's upsetting them, all I have to do is offer to drive them somewhere.

Why don't they realise I am there?  Why aren't the usual rules of censoring disclosure in conversation applied? Does it have anything to do with the speaker not facing the listener?

Is it like an ostrich putting it's head in the sand to avoid enemies- if you can't see someone's face, then you aren't talking to them, and they can't hear you?

Uncertainty

As the mornings get ever so slightly chilly, it's time for Dreamer to wear for the first time his Senior jersey.

Each year, the school seniors are allowed to wear a personalised jersey instead of the regular school jumper. It's a rugby jersey, the number on the back representing their graduation year, and each student gets to choose what to have printed in the 'player name' area.

Most students have their name, or nickname, and raps are given for the level of cleverness or witticism of their chosen words.

I wonder what raps Dreamer will get for his choice, or if more than a couple of his classmates will even begin to understand. He had 20 letters to use on his jersey, and he chose just one word to represent who he is.

His jersey says UNCERTAINTY.

When the jersey arrived, I asked him why he chose that word.
He told me about the Uncertainty principle. The boy loves his physics! And he explained that life was uncertain, and that he was uncertain most of the time, and that it was a word that worked on many levels.


I can only marvel at the insight of this sixteen year old.
I hope he wears his jersey proudly.