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redleaf68

~ musings about autism, parenthood and whatever else is on my mind.

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Category Archives: anxiety

Miss Klaxon

30 Friday Mar 2018

Posted by redleaf68 in anxiety, ASD, autism, school, SEN, Uncategorized

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klaxon

As my husband will confirm, I tend to have vivid dreams which wake me up, sweating and sometimes gulping for air or shouting. Not a pretty sight, I am sure.

I have a few recurring dreams in my repertoire:

1. Maths O’level exam
I recognised nothing familiar when I turned the exam paper over and went into a panic. I did calm down eventually and produced enough correct answers to scrape through with a Pass grade.

2. Being late for university Finals exam only to realise that I had no idea which building I had to be in and also realising that I had not revised at all for a whole Paper. This one still haunts me at times of stress, 30 years later!

3. Miss Klaxon.

Let me explain. My son had the misfortune to have Miss Klaxon (not her real name, but with a foghorn voice, she would have been aptly named) as his teacher for one year, in primary school. I’m sure we can all remember some amazing and inspirational teachers as well as some nasty ones from our school days. We as children are at the mercy of our primary school teacher. If he or she doesn’t like me, it becomes a very long and miserable year for me. If I am scared of him or her, tough, as there is no alternative.

Miss Klaxon believed her way was the right way and Miss Klaxon decided pretty early in the school year who were her favourites (those who toed the line and offered to sharpen pencils or run errands and fawn over her) and who were clearly and consistently ‘trouble’ and needed to be brought into line. SonOne was diagnosed autistic two years later, and the signs were definitely already there, but she was refusing to acknowledge anything. This boy needed to ‘man up’ (yes, she actually said that) and grow a pair (she did not say that). For an already sensitive child, this was a death sentence and he learned quickly to be silent at school and try to keep under her radar.

Unfortunately the powers higher up were no use either in those days, and saw me as an over-anxious mother no doubt, or a trouble-maker. They kept insisting that the class teacher has observed nothing of note, nothing to cause any concern.

The reason Miss Klaxon figures in my list of recurring nightmares is this: towards the end of the school year, when we had nothing to lose, I requested a meeting. She phoned me in the morning saying that he was being ‘defiant’ and that he was insisting he had not done anything wrong in some altercation that was supposed to have taken place in the playground. So, I already knew that my son would be very agitated and upset by the time we saw him. My husband took the afternoon off work, teacher insisted SonOne was to be present at the meeting. We got ushered into the classroom and had to sit on the ridiculously small chairs while she sat on the normal-sized office chair. Intimidation tactics. Then started the most excruciating half an hour of my life. She proceeded to ask SonOne yes-or-no questions which were impossible for a young autistic boy to answer honestly under pressure. The questions kept being fired at him and he was getting close to tears. And here’s the thing. I did nothing. I was so stunned by this torture, I was waiting for it to end, and it felt as though it would never end. It felt like some awful film clip I was watching as a passive observer. SonOne was stuck between a rock and a hard place: if he told the truth it would displease the dragon he had to spend 6 hours of each day with. If he lied, he knew I would not be pleased. Poor kid.

Finally, I was able to speak up. I told her this was a disgraceful way to speak to a child and to put pressure on him. I told her I was pleased that my husband was also in the room, as was the student teacher, because it meant it was not just my word against hers. She did flinch a little bit at this, but was unrepentant on the whole. We were dismissed.

I didn’t send SonOne to school the following day or for the rest of the week, as he was in a heightened state of stress.

My nightmare, still, comes from my guilt of not standing up to her properly in that meeting, adult to adult. I didn’t confront her enough, I didn’t speak my mind enough. She was smug and confident enough to know that the management would support her side (they did).

A few years later, my son had another overbearing teacher with no empathy skills. Things were a bit different at school by this time, the management had changed hands, and there was a much more nurturing atmosphere. I complained, politely of course at first and through the correct channels, but my son still had to get through the school year with her. At least my complaints were set on record in writing.

Never again will I let his vulnerability be abused. I am his only advocate, I must speak up for his wellbeing, his rights and above all his sanity and happiness.

One would think that the main qualification for a primary school teacher should be to actually LIKE children, and to respect their diversity and individuality.

Welcome diversion

22 Wednesday Mar 2017

Posted by redleaf68 in anxiety, ASD, autism, rescue dog, school, Uncategorized

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I’m looking forward to getting a dog. I don’t know what sort of dog it will turn out to be yet, except that it will be a rescue. I don’t know what size, except that it has to fit comfortably into our house. I don’t know what colour or what markings it will have, except that it is to look kind and sweet, so that my children will feel a rush of love for it and have a bond from the start.

I have plans for this dog. It will be my companion during the day, it will get me out into the fresh air, it will no doubt make us many many new friends on our walks in all weather. It will sleep in my office when I am working, and probably on our bed at night. I have spent many a happy hour (yes, hour) window-shopping for leads, collars, harness, bed, toys… Who knew how much equipment is available for a little canine! Better said, for the little canine’s human of course. The preparation and gathering of  ‘stuff’ is part of the excitement for me.

If this dog is friendly and sweet, I intend to take it to old people’s homes to be a befriender, or to school to be a reading-helper dog. If this dog isn’t quite that friendly, as it will no doubt come with a past history we will never fully know the details of, then I will nurture it to confidence and help it feel loved and safe and take every small progress as a massive achievement.

For the last two years, since my son’s autism diagnosis, I have immersed myself in literature on autism, I have attended workshops and training sessions and watched YouTube videos, read blogs, humorous articles and serious books on the subject.

But now I am feeling saturated with information. I don’t want to read another article or another depressing blog or another update on funding cuts of support for the most needy. I want to concentrate on dog leads and quirky canines looking out from my computer screen. I want to look forward to my own dog, wondering which one will choose us.

And before my dog has even been found or before it has even arrived home, it turns out that this dog has already fulfilled its most important role, to distract me from problems and worries, and give me perspective and welcome comfort.

Same old, same old

24 Tuesday Jan 2017

Posted by redleaf68 in anxiety, ASD, autism, school, SEN, Uncategorized

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I realised today that my idea of normality must be very different to most people’s idea of normality. I don’t mean the unrealistic, daydream sort of normality you imagine while pregnant, when you know for certain that your child will never ever scare elderly people by zooming past them on their scooters, your child will eat nicely and chat politely in a restaurant, your child will be clever and musical and popular and sporty.

Reality usually turns out very differently. A good morning for us is one where the children get themselves ready for the day, as they have been doing every day for years. This expectation should not come as a surprise to them but somehow, on most days, it does.
A good morning is one where both boys get to school on time. Staff don’t bat an eyelid when SonOne is late any more, it has become normal. In fact, we all look surprised and relieved when he signs himself in with plenty of time to get to the classroom.

A good pickup from school is one where the teacher does not come out with SonOne to find me in the playground to have a ‘chat’. This generally means that something has ‘happened’ and only occasionally brings with it good news. A good pickup is one where I am not greeted with a murderous glare and a growl from him, rather than a hug and any snippet of news from the day, whether good, bad or neutral.

A good walk home is one where they are not hitting each other constantly, where they can actually tolerate each other’s existence for a brief 10-minute stroll and let each other speak.

It is amazing how I only really know for sure that this is not everyone’s experience, when a friend walks home with us. Usually the presence of a friend has a calming influence, and deflects the brothers’ attention from each other. It gives me a short breather too, in which to savour the afternoon winter sunshine, and remember that the boys are nice people beneath all the fighting and aggression.

On dark days the thought of ‘only ten more years to go’ keeps me going, for SonTwo.
For the other one? Well, let’s not think too much about that and hope for the best.

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Sleep, sweet sleep

21 Saturday Jan 2017

 

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Arthur is the master of sleep in our family. When he sleeps, his eyes are glued shut. He snores, he is heavy, and no vacuum cleaner or stomping about can rouse him. He is a professional. In the winter, he eats a big breakfast (a cat who is very much led by his stomach), he goes out, comes back, runs upstairs and settles on my bed or the sofa or the kids’ bed, basically anywhere he thinks he will be undisturbed. And there he lies, often until about 9pm when he thunders downstairs, sits in the living room looking groggy and a bit confused. He is greeted by a sarcastic but good-humoured ‘Good morning Arthur!’, fed and let outside. He returns and spends the night on my bed.

So one day ends, and the pattern is repeated the next.

I wish I could sleep as much! I used to be such a sleeper, relishing lie-ins at the weekend. In school holidays I was allowed a few days of sleeping as much as I needed, bliss.

Even in my adult days, my mum would never dare to phone me early at the weekends!

I have not become insomniac, far from it. I could sleep on top of a flagpole if necessary.

The Children are to blame of course! Both boys were light sleepers, easily woken by anything as babies. Its not an uncommon story of course, being ready to phone people at 8am for a chat, only to realise that maybe others have not been up since 5 watching Alphablocks and Mr Tumble when it is pitch black outside and may not welcome my call at that hour! Well, you do get to see some spectacular sunrises I suppose. I could never get used to it though. SonTwo is still a lark, an early riser, though it is 6am now rather than 5. He is fresh as a daisy and ready to chat, not quite realising that his mother is barely functioning. I can just about walk, rather than slide, downstairs. Coffee, toast, tv, another sunrise. Time to spend with just the two of us. My warm and cuddly little boy, he smells of sleep and of himself. I will never forget that scent.

SonOne also wakes early, though it is a matter of argument and debate every morning about who woke whom, at what time, and why he chose to ignore the clear request ‘Whatever time you wake up, DO NOT WAKE YOUR BROTHER’. Sharing a room really must end soon.

SonOne is a lot like me. Definitely owls, he and I are. He takes forever to warm up to the day too. In my case it takes coffee, toast, breakfast tv or something unchallenging on catchup. Only after all this can I consider to get ready for the day. SonOne comes downstairs in varying degrees of stress and grumpiness and unwillingness to join the day. Sometimes my effort at a cheery ‘Morning, darling boy!’ is met with a growl and a ‘You just ruined my day’. Ah well, turn the other cheek, he didn’t mean it, surely. He puts headphones on, cuddles under his yellow, supersoft blanket and eventually manages to poke his hand out and grab some toast to eat in his yellow cocoon. Slowly, slowly, toasted bagel and time work their magic.

Sweet, sweet sleep. Restorative and essential. No wonder Arthur is so handsome: beauty sleep is top of his priorities. I really should take a leaf out of his book.

 

Posted by redleaf68 | Filed under anxiety, cat, Uncategorized

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spot on

16 Monday Jan 2017

takingawaysupport

Posted by redleaf68 | Filed under anxiety, ASD, autism, school, SEN, Uncategorized

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How high are you functioning?

05 Thursday Jan 2017

Posted by redleaf68 in anxiety, ASD, autism, school, SEN, Uncategorized

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Do you know any autistic people? What are they like?

This is of course a trick question. Try to answer the question ‘What is a non-autistic person like?’ and you will see the problem. How can anyone possibly generalise about so many people in a simplistic way? And yet, this is what happens all the time.

People say ‘If he’s at mainstream school, he can’t be very autistic’, or ‘He is performing/running/acting/swimming, he must be high-functioning, that’s not too bad’, or ‘At least he is verbal’.

To make this out to be some sort of a disability competition is patronising to the individual and undermines their struggles and experiences. It is not a competition to see who is ‘more autistic’ than someone else. The autistic spectrum is correctly termed a spectrum, in that it covers a massive range of abilities, presentations and experiences.

The saying goes ‘If you have met one autistic person, you have met one autistic person’.

If a child or young person attends mainstream school and is not significantly behind in academic work, then technically he may be termed ‘high-functioning’. No-one would expect a non-autistic person to be good at baking and swimming and maths and piano just because they are non-autistic. Similarly, an autistic person may get through the school day having enjoyed maths and ICT (subjects of special interest), but not coped with music (too loud) or PE (too chaotic) or lunch (smelly and busy), and there is always, always a price to be paid at the end of the school day for having coped with six or more hours in a stressful environment.

Many autistic children are very good at masking, ie picking up behaviours from those around them, to appear to fit in better than is actually the case. Their face may look calm or impassive, but inside there is a tsunami of feeling going on. These children spend so much effort in trying to fit in and not stand out or commit some sort of social faux pas all day that, once home, the parent or younger sibling tends to bear the brunt of the day’s stress. The release of tension comes usually sharp and loud, can be physical or verbal, and although obviously hurtful to the family it is directed at, is usually not deliberately intended to hurt. Home is the safe place where emotions don’t have to be smothered.

The analogy often used to illustrate this is that of a fizzy bottle, being shaken up ever so slightly every time something causes stress, so that by the end of the day, there is no other option than for the bottle to reach capacity and explode.

T-time

03 Tuesday Jan 2017

Posted by redleaf68 in anxiety, ASD, autism, school, SEN

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anxiety, school

It’s T-time again.
No, not time for a cuppa.

T is for Transition. For an autistic child, transition happens so often and is so painful. Experience is forgotten as sheer terror grips him, and all those past events which were successfully negotiated now count for nothing.

Transition can be on Saturday morning, a change of routine from the weekdays.

Transition can be on Sunday evening, the dreaded return to school.

Transition can happen on the eve of a holiday, or on the eve of the return trip.

Transition is bad enough at the end of the school year, and as if things couldn’t get more stressful, transition is at its worst in the lead up to the new school year. So many unknowns. You just can’t prepare for every eventuality.

In January, we have the transition from holidays into spring term. People will be asking ‘How was Christmas?’, ‘How was your birthday?’, ‘Ready and raring to go?’ and saying ‘You’ve grown, young man’, and ‘Nice to see you again’. All these things are usually said in passing, not really requiring an actual answer. So, why ask them, an autistic person may be justified in asking? Welcome to social conventions. It is a minefield. Most of us pick up the rules by observation and practise as we grow up, we adapt to expectations fairly easily, we learn to fit in with our ‘correct’ and quick responses. It doesn’t come as easily to everyone though.

It is usually only when we try to learn a new language that we realise how complicated our own one is. And so it is watching an autistic child try to learn responses, recall them fast enough, remember to smile or use a correct facial expression depending on the situation. If you sat down to draw some sort of fancy diagram of all the phrases which might crop up in a simple conversation exchange, you would be hard-pressed to make it clear. The problem is of course that the other person isn’t reciting from a script, so you can very well learn a whole range of suitable responses, but none of them may be quite apt in that moment in the real world.

So, tomorrow I will put out the bags and sports kits after he is in bed, I will not mention school all day.

Tomorrow he will be buried in his iPad with headphones on. He will eat popcorn and toast and not be challenged in any way.

This way he will (I hope) preserve some energy for the ordeal which is the morning of the first day back at school.

 

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