tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63180064386852182972024-03-05T12:03:08.154-08:00Tiny Tyger, Baby Bear and MeLady Nymhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17721420961173930843noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318006438685218297.post-66382264147517154262016-01-31T04:09:00.002-08:002016-01-31T23:07:04.320-08:00Why I Struggle to Write Blog PostsI'm not a very prolific blogger. I very rarely write more than one blog post a week and, even then, I'm often 'late' posting it.<br />
<br />
Largely, this is because my days consist of a torrent of noise and demands from the cubs. Even if I am sat not really 'doing' anything, I'm unable to focus on something for more than a few seconds without an interruption from one of the boys (even when they're watching a film I have a constant barrage of: 'Mummy, who's that man? Is that the girl's daddy? My daddy doesn't have glasses! Why is she running? Is that her house? Where is it? Where's her mummy?'...etc.).<br />
<br />
However, I have another problem with getting blog posts written, which means I suspect I'd struggle even if my life wasn't constantly punctuated by having to separate the cubs when they fight, letting the dogs in, letting the dogs out, letting the dogs back in again, getting Tyger a drink, asking Bear if he'd like a drink to be told 'no', getting Bear a drink because actually he does want one after all...<br />
<br />
I find it really hard to settle on a topic for my blog post. And it's not because I can't think of one but because I think of too many. I think of a subject and it's <i>perfect</i> and interesting and I start to construct the post in my mind and it's going really well and maybe I even think of a couple of humorous asides to add...and then I think it's getting too long and I should focus down on one point...but then I realise other people might disagree with that point and I start to think about why so I can preempt them and rebut them before they can even make the point...but then I start agreeing with this opposite stance I'm trying to argue against and wonder if I should write about that instead and...it all becomes too complicated.<br />
<br />
Last week I tried to write a blog post about autistic 'shut downs' (as opposed to meltdowns). I was really interested and asked quite a lot of people I know in real life and online if they'd come across them or suffered from them and how they presented and everything. I wrote most of a post. It's still sitting there in my drafts but...I got stuck somehow.<br />
<br />
I didn't like the post. It seemed too...bitty. The structure was all wrong and there was no humour and I gave up and posted this list of <a href="http://tygerbearandme.blogspot.co.uk/2016/01/i-never-thought-id-say.html">funny things I've said to the cubs</a> in a panic instead.<br />
<br />
So, this week I thought I'd finish the post about shut downs.<br />
<br />
But I have this <i>block</i> about it now.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaifb_trsP3dK6sL-17XxTKirIBdmMlZZPUR6uUsQ5byIh7T7G6QnZLeFt2Bnb4MzY4bRG7JgxphJC1vmflHSawbkPovsqDKPOWP6lTLNR0adDe2Y28-dG0oOPFdt3rRinlpQwH06i2L7D/s1600/Procrastination+Pen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaifb_trsP3dK6sL-17XxTKirIBdmMlZZPUR6uUsQ5byIh7T7G6QnZLeFt2Bnb4MzY4bRG7JgxphJC1vmflHSawbkPovsqDKPOWP6lTLNR0adDe2Y28-dG0oOPFdt3rRinlpQwH06i2L7D/s320/Procrastination+Pen.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even my pen's against me.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I kept trying to get into it but ended up procrastinating and generally browsing online and saw this blog post has been doing the rounds: <a href="http://mustbethistalltoride.com/2016/01/14/she-divorced-me-because-i-left-dishes-by-the-sink/">She Divorced Me because I Left Dishes By the Sink</a> by Matt at <i>Must Be This Tall To Ride</i>. I suggest you read it but for anyone who hasn't/doesn't it's a post about how ostensibly his wife divorced him because he left dishes by the sink but actually it was a bigger issue of him refusing to accept that to <i>her</i> his repeated refusal to do something that took so little effort on his part but was important to her symbolised a complete lack of love and respect.<br />
<br />
I read it and liked it and immediately started to have ideas for a blog post of my own. I'll give you a <strike>heavily cut down</strike> inner dialogue of my thought process (I won't include all the interruptions involving the cubs but, needless to say, there were many):<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">I wonder why it is so often women
who get wound up by mess and clutter and why men - generally speaking - don't
seem to care or even<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>see</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>it. Maybe I could write about
why women feel this pressure? Yes!! I'm not naturally a clean or
tidy person at all but Wolf and I still have those same sorts of problems.
Why<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>do</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>I care? I do feel calmer in a
tidy environment and it does help reduce my anxiety but I guess it's largely to
do with 'what other people will think'.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
I'll write about that and how women are still looked down upon and seen as
failures if they don't keep on top of housework. It doesn't matter what
else they do or whether they're innately neat people. And women are
conditioned to judge themselves by how their house looks and if someone comes
round it will be the woman they consciously - or subconsciously - 'blame' if
it's not up to scratch. And there are assumptions made about how good a
wife or mother or just<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>person</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>she is based solely on whether
she's...dusted or hoovered or whatever. So, of course men don't
understand the big deal; they've never had the same pressure put on them.
It's acceptable - and even funny and endearing - for men to be messy.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
Actually, that's reminded me I wanted to write a post about how female Aspies
differ from male Aspies and how so many of our anxieties come from having been
conditioned by society to try to keep people happy...so we feel a constant
sense of guilt and are always trying to keep everyone happy despite knowing
we're not always socially intuitive. <i>That's</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>what I'll write about. I've been
wanting to write that post for a few weeks anyway.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
Maybe I can sort of include both the thing about keeping a clean house
and...no, it's getting too complicated!</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
No, I won't write about women on the autistic spectrum, anyway; I was going to
take a break from writing about ASD for a week or so.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
Okay, back to that post about the glass by the dishwasher...I could link to
it...but what if Wolf thinks this is a passive aggressive message to him by
posting something like that? Hmm...I wonder what he would think of the
post.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
I wonder if there's any equivalent thing I do...or don't do? Maybe DIY.
I could write about DIY and how I tend to just leave it to him without
thinking about it. Is that the norm and is it really equivalent?
Although, I have put up flatpack furniture. And there was that time
I put up a spice rack on our larder door.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
I liked that spice rack. It wasn't expensive but it did the job it was
supposed to do. I should have removed it from the door when we sold that
house; now, I'll have to buy a new spice rack and there's a good chance the
people who bought the house didn't even keep it. Poor spice rack.</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEips793btu2wJAJ2vca4udvchgnZ7at0neCsHPcRoKNk7k-9_kplyniKmVRPcJuT9zuljFCFa__M74koIeUPDfkxXcZVuy0NDE86YpnvyFY1pDVWqCGvoRHVkB8wgwkahfWtL-mhZZqJYNk/s1600/Sad+Spicerack.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><img border="0" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEips793btu2wJAJ2vca4udvchgnZ7at0neCsHPcRoKNk7k-9_kplyniKmVRPcJuT9zuljFCFa__M74koIeUPDfkxXcZVuy0NDE86YpnvyFY1pDVWqCGvoRHVkB8wgwkahfWtL-mhZZqJYNk/s320/Sad+Spicerack.png" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>'What did I do wrong? Did I not hold your spices?'</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">I don't want to write about that
glass by the dishwasher thing anymore. I've overthought it now and I
don't even know if I could add anything worth writing. Is it even okay to
write a blog post about a blog post?</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
What<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>can</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>I write about?</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
I'll write about<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>this</i>.
This right now. I'll write about how I talk myself into and out of
writing about a million different things before settling on one!</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
I could do an inner monologue type thing and...but is that a bit boring?
Will anyone even want to read such ramblings? Isn't it a cop out to
write a blog post about not being able to choose a topic for a blog post?</span><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><br />
Ah, frack it. I'll just write the Goram thing before I end up without
anything at all.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
There you go. I probably do this with everything in my life, actually, and not just blog posts. <strike>No wonder I feel perpetually exhausted but never get anything done.</strike><br />
<br />
Please tell me I'm not the only over-thinker out there? (And also let me know if you'd actually quite like to read a post on any of the garbled half-thoughts above and I'll do my utmost to write one!)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Linked with:</i></div>
<br />
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Lady Nymhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17721420961173930843noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318006438685218297.post-91398705803088621152016-01-25T05:03:00.001-08:002016-01-25T22:47:09.618-08:00I Never Thought I'd Say...I've been struggling to compose my blog post this week so to take the pressure off I have decided to just post a list of some of the things I've found myself saying to the cubs over the last few months; things I'd never have thought I'd say before I had kids.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
1. Don’t stick the paint brush in your dinner.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2. None of the birds in our garden are actually elves.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
3. We don’t drill flies.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
4. It’s <i>not</i> magic, it’s you flinging yoghurt everywhere.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
5. Don’t lick your reflection in the TV.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
6. You’re not going to <i>draw</i> with your pens, are you? Just put
them in your toaster for fireworks!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
7. No, you don’t ‘check’ your brother’s toothbrush by licking
it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
8. Please don’t suck up the window condensation through a
straw.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
9. If you want to run away from home, next time run away to
your bedroom instead of the extension.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
10. Would everyone stop getting their hand stuck in a teapot?<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Linked with:</i></div>
<br /></div>
<div align="center"><a href="http://www.mummascribbles.com" title="Mummascribbles"><img src="http://i129.photobucket.com/albums/p238/loobielis/twinkly_tuesday_badge_2015.jpg" alt="Mummascribbles" style="border:none;" /></a></div>Lady Nymhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17721420961173930843noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318006438685218297.post-74545598408792437282016-01-17T01:26:00.001-08:002016-01-19T03:51:24.303-08:00Has Autism Increased?If you go on any parenting forums and read threads about ASD - and if you don't I can assure you I do it more than enough for both of us - you'll know it's only a matter of time until someone makes a comment about autism being more common 'these days'.<br />
<br />
Sometimes it's worded as an accusation and mentions the 'overdiagnosis' of autism or using ASD as 'an excuse for bad parenting'. Other times it's a genuine question about whether autism is more common these days (and, if so, why or, if not, why it <i>seems</i> more common) from someone who is curious.<br />
<br />
It's hard to give a definitive answer but I certainly have a good idea based on observation and reading up <strike>obsessively</strike> quite a bit on the subject. If there's one thing I'm good at it's prattling on about ASD so here we go.<br />
<br />
Firstly, no, the answer is <b><i>not in any way</i></b> connected to the Goram MMR vaccination.<br />
<br />
I think there are several interlinked reasons for the apparent rise in ASD.<br />
<br />
Professional understanding of ASD has increased to the point where many more people with Asperger's are being recognised and diagnosed now. That doesn't mean they didn't exist before; in fact, I wrote a post last week about <a href="http://tygerbearandme.blogspot.co.uk/2016/01/am-i-autistic-take-two.html">the realisation I'm probably on the spectrum.</a> Now, in times past (and even in my own childhood only a couple of decades ago) there's no way anyone would have thought I was autistic. A bit weird, yes. And with my slightly 'hippy/alternative' taste in clothes and green hair they probably still think I'm 'that odd mum with the unicorn hat'.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4H6DOLQGBIR9hqU5CTs2JjST_kfvOmNIr5fG6W1ZUJEKr3ryYp3p0qXjT5aGH_di7gUfMkEvM8zLprtudT2t9QsTK61WbLWKZmmQ_cFnZxkTvPCLWQTa8zIKYQ4aFC3jG3RneqA2ocZjY/s1600/Unicorn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4H6DOLQGBIR9hqU5CTs2JjST_kfvOmNIr5fG6W1ZUJEKr3ryYp3p0qXjT5aGH_di7gUfMkEvM8zLprtudT2t9QsTK61WbLWKZmmQ_cFnZxkTvPCLWQTa8zIKYQ4aFC3jG3RneqA2ocZjY/s320/Unicorn.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the one hand, I'm not so odd I bought the hat; Wolf bought it for me.<br />
On the other, he got it because I had an imaginary unicorn friend as a child...<br />
which is perhaps <i>slightly</i> odd.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Going back further, my dad is also very definitely autistic but we didn't understand that until relatively recently (the last few years). For a long time there were things about my dad that didn't seem to quite fit. He's a nice person and good husband and father...who sometimes comes out with the most bizarrely unthinking/insensitive remarks (a couple directed at me have been, 'are you really tired or is it just your makeup?' and, 'what's going on with your hair?').<br />
<br />
He has a professional job in a highly-paid position with lots of responsibility but if something disturbs his morning routine (having to clean up cat sick, his keys being in a different place etc.) he's completely thrown for the day.<br />
<br />
As a child I also remember him getting incredibly annoyed with me for being too loud but he would go about the house whistling and clapping himself even when people were trying to have conversations.<br />
<br />
So many 'inconsistencies' and 'quirks' in my dad's character make complete sense in the context of ASD. There is absolutely no way anyone would have thought to use the word 'autistic' to describe my dad when he was a child - it would have been laughable - but he would more than qualify for a diagnosis now.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCgVPCRr2l94DAW0OTtDFXOxQno3lRUT8sHOyyJAMb2XaISV04t5XYDFnfb0AdEMkZZw_cb3mVl1e1VtMvNRHCXbhM7-h7pI4LUoRzNBUC8UisR6f-sFH56Vmvp3UM_84kwF1zbARIaBMa/s1600/Cat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCgVPCRr2l94DAW0OTtDFXOxQno3lRUT8sHOyyJAMb2XaISV04t5XYDFnfb0AdEMkZZw_cb3mVl1e1VtMvNRHCXbhM7-h7pI4LUoRzNBUC8UisR6f-sFH56Vmvp3UM_84kwF1zbARIaBMa/s320/Cat.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even our cats are starting to look into it...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It's not just the Asperger's 'end of the spectrum' professionals understand better. More and more research is being done into ASD in general and children and adults with 'classic autism' are being given much more support. Families being given more assistance means there's a higher chance of autistic children attending mainstream schools and less need for them to be put into residential care homes (though, of course, some parents do still have to make this incredibly difficult decision). ASD is generally more visible as people see it less and less as something shameful and/or simply unknown.<br />
<br />
I had a friend at school whose brothers are autistic but it's only in more recent years I've learned this. At the time I didn't know why they didn't live with her and her parents full time. All I knew was they had 'something' that meant they needed extra help and support. I was completely ignorant and I didn't ask (which I probably should have done). I hope, even in the decade that's passed since then, awareness of ASD has grown to the point where teenagers now would be more likely to know what autism is and feel they could ask questions.<br />
<br />
The rise of the internet has helped massively. It gives people a place to talk about their ASD - or their kid's ASD - anonymously. Social media means stories about people on the spectrum are often shared and read quite widely. People on the spectrum often find text based communication much easier than face to face/spoken communication so you're probably more likely to have a long conversation with an autistic person on an internet forum than in 'the real world', too.<br />
<br />
All of this: the greater understanding, the higher rates of diagnosis, social media and the internet in general adds to the perception that ASD is more common than it used to be. But it's just that: a perception. The reality is autism has always been there but we wrote off autistic people as 'weird', 'eccentric', 'quirky', 'rude', 'stupid', 'naughty' and a whole host of other derogatory adjectives.<br />
<br />
I like to think that's all changing.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<div align="center"><a href="http://www.theanxiousdragonsblog.com" rel="nofollow" title="A Bit Of Everything"><img src="https://theanxiousdragonsblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/01/mhuilw1452002466.jpg" alt="A Bit Of Everything" style="border:none;" /></a></div>Lady Nymhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17721420961173930843noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318006438685218297.post-59513980438340082832016-01-10T06:54:00.003-08:002016-01-12T07:00:14.810-08:00Am I Autistic? Take TwoI don't like lying. <br />
<br />
With this in mind, I'm sorry if I have deceived you.<br />
<br />
I wrote a blog post titled <a href="http://tygerbearandme.blogspot.co.uk/2015/05/am-i-autistic.html">Am I Autistic?</a> over six months ago. My conclusion was I exhibited a lot of ASD traits/behaviours but no, I absolutely was <i>not </i>actually autistic.<br />
<br />
Huh.<br />
<br />
It seems <i>I</i> may have thought I wasn't autistic but others - specifically my parents and Wolf - are of a differing opinion. Not necessarily at the time of me writing the blog post but certainly more recently. We had a conversation about ASD a few weeks back (a pretty regular occurrence in this household) and it came up. Since then, I have read up a bit more on females with Asperger's and have even taken a pretty good online test...with the conclusion I probably am autistic.<br />
<br />
Wolf said he thought I knew. I didn't. I knew they joked about it but I didn't realise they were serious. Not that it's in any way autistic to not get when someone's joking...or anything...<br />
<br />
I've started to assess my behaviour in the way I do with Tyger and it's a little disconcerting.<br />
<br />
There are certain things it seems I do - and probably have done for years - that I was totally oblivious to. Apparently, I violently rub my face when stressed. I also bite my thumbs (not like some Shakespearean character trying to insult someone in a rival family but biting down on the knuckle absent-mindedly).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFOHG4uX8LrUR72Otdhssvw8EZdIdVg4wvnSZCspo3OGsp7CUr12VvVqEvmrCJITsYsf0iNhSh02QujHcdVQdPIzcXBnqCvZJwqAlmn59I9W_LhAWh1xfgJsrlTpAKYuubRvjt6be3f4il/s1600/Bite+Thumb+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFOHG4uX8LrUR72Otdhssvw8EZdIdVg4wvnSZCspo3OGsp7CUr12VvVqEvmrCJITsYsf0iNhSh02QujHcdVQdPIzcXBnqCvZJwqAlmn59I9W_LhAWh1xfgJsrlTpAKYuubRvjt6be3f4il/s320/Bite+Thumb+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Like this. Huh, looks like my teeth are off-centre...never noticed that before.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Having asked my parents what my most obviously autistic traits are they've said I'm obsessive, like routine and have always been a bit of a loner (and the close friends I have had have generally probably not been neurotypical themselves...and at least one of them reads this blog so...umm...not <i>you</i>, obviously...).<br />
<br />
I don't know what they're talking about. It's not like, when I was a teenager, I used to read through my <i>Friends</i> books listening to my <i>Friends</i> CD with my <i>Friends</i> poster staring down at me and test myself on my <i>Friends</i> knowledge using my <i>Friends</i> daily calendar in between each episode of <i>Friends</i>...when I'd always make sure I had a mug of milk (<i>Friends</i> mug, of course) on my <i>Friends</i> coaster with the same number of biscuits in plenty of time so I could always clap along with the theme tune...on a Friday night...at home...with my family. An obsessive, routine-driven loner! Pfft.<br />
<br />
<br />
This week I went to the first session of the 'EarlyBird' programme (a course for parents of young children with ASD). What better place to start analysing myself for autism than on a course all about autism with a load of parents of autistic children?<br />
<br />
First clue was how anxious I was about going. New place, new people, not knowing what to expect - it's a lot to stress about and stress I did. Queasiness and pressure on my head and face (somewhere between numbness and feeling like they were being squashed) seem to be pretty reliable signs of my anxiety. <br />
<br />
Actually, Wolf has said I'm at my most autistic (he probably worded it differently, to be fair) when preparing to go somewhere new for a specific time. I'm not sure exactly what I do!<br />
<br />
Once there, I coped pretty well with going in (desperately trying to remember the direction from which I entered the building so I'd know which way to go at the end because I could get lost in a phone box) and meeting everyone.<br />
<br />
I did almost have to leave the country and live as a hermit forever more after declaring the big hot water flask for tea and coffee was empty only to find out it needs pumping. I valiantly stayed and didn't even curl up into a ball in the corner!<br />
<br />
So, we began.<br />
<br />
The room where the course is held has those horrid tube lights.<br />
<br />
I have problems with light. There are days when it's not hugely bright out but I find myself squinting and struggling to look up at all (not <i>at</i> the sun but just up near the sky), whilst everyone else is unaffected. That's nothing compared to my problems with artificial lights, though, and certain colours of bulb that make everything seem either really saturated or unsaturated and I can't focus on anything properly. It comes up in my dreams a lot and I spend a lot of my time feeling like I've suddenly gone from darkness to bright light and my eyes haven't adjusted yet and those lights didn't help.<br />
<br />
There was constant noise, too: rain drumming on the roof, a video playing in the next room, people in the reception area. It made it hugely difficult for me to focus on the video we had to watch.<br />
<br />
And I noticed myself doing...things.<br />
<br />
People with autism often have a problem with 'proprioception', which is your ability to know where your body and limbs are in space without having to look. Sounds ridiculous, right? How can you <i>not</i> know that? That's what I thought until I realised at this course that I totally have problems with it. I was sat there struggling with the lights and the sound and realised I was doing all these little things to keep me 'grounded'. I was constantly rubbing my toes together, I had my legs crossed and was pressing the top leg into the bottom one really hard. And I was constantly pinching myself, digging my finger nails into my hand, pushing my fingers together or stretching them really far apart.<br />
<br />
What happened if I made myself stop doing all these things? I really did feel like my body was floating, like I couldn't really feel my limbs without concentrating really hard on them and on the feel of the fabric of my clothes touching them.<br />
<br />
I sat there listening to people talking about the sensory issues people on the spectrum have and <i>they were talking about me</i>.<br />
<br />
Not that anyone would have known to look at me: they couldn't see inside my shoes at what I was doing with my toes, couldn't tell how hard I was pressing on one leg with the other, and it's easy to push your thumb nail into your hand so nobody can see.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb3E86DlERf96slEKJ9Qrcmo5zSE1mXpXVTiFEiqBBD2iFB2LRlLnTQbvtXtX3KSSsyJwBFgMnhdqMHRygc1vMAzhKYB7f65wSc-fbDcXKiYbe6ruQsWOS3PrXKBrM5o7H8A01pjHsu4cI/s1600/Hands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb3E86DlERf96slEKJ9Qrcmo5zSE1mXpXVTiFEiqBBD2iFB2LRlLnTQbvtXtX3KSSsyJwBFgMnhdqMHRygc1vMAzhKYB7f65wSc-fbDcXKiYbe6ruQsWOS3PrXKBrM5o7H8A01pjHsu4cI/s320/Hands.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See, just normal hands with fingers interlocked.<br />
Except, I'm pressing the nail of that bottom thumb in my finger.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It was thought ASD was far more prevalent in boys than girls. However, the more we understand about autism the more evidence suggests girls actually present in a very different way and tend to be very good at 'masking' their ASD. When it comes to supposedly 'higher functioning' ASD, these girls' autism goes completely unnoticed until they reach puberty and then the combination of physical and emotional changes, the increased social pressure and the greater academic demands suddenly all combine to completely overwhelm them and that's the point at which - if they're lucky - they might get a diagnosis.<br />
<br />
If I have ASD I have always been <i>very</i> good at masking it. I have been so good at masking my autism, in fact, I've hidden it from myself.<br />
<br />
What now? What am I going to do with this information?<br />
<br />
I don't think I'll try to get a diagnosis. Not right now, anyway. I will need to start pushing to get Bear diagnosed soon and I don't think I can cope with both.<br />
<br />
What I <i>will</i> do is cut myself some slack.<br />
<br />
I have always thought I was a terrible friend because I find it really hard to reply to messages or initiate contact or meet up. I agonise over every 'hi, how are you' and response. I start messages and never finish them because it's just too much. Knowing there's a good chance I have a disorder that predominantly affects social interaction and communication makes me feel a little less guilty.<br />
<br />
I'm not an uncaring friend; I'm autistic.<br />
<br />
I have always suspected I'm a bad parent because at times I know I should be playing with the cubs and instead I am sat on my laptop. I think actually my ASD means I get so overloaded by the boys' constant noise (which is part of <i>their</i> ASD) that I retreat and the only thing that stops me breaking down and crying in the bathroom is focusing on my laptop for a while.<br />
<br />
I'm not an indifferent mum; I'm autistic.<br />
<br />
I always thought I was useless because I don't do things I know I need to do like sorting out various insurance or phoning the hospital about something. I knew I was physically and intellectually capable so didn't understand why I just couldn't bring myself to do these things until well after the point where they <i>needed</i> to be done. Now, I understand my problems with executive functioning and anxiety - both elements of ASD - are probably to blame.<br />
<br />
I'm not lazy; I'm autistic.<br />
<br />
Knowing I'm probably autistic is enough at the moment. It's a relief just knowing why I am the way I am.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<div align="center"><a href="http://www.theanxiousdragonsblog.com" rel="nofollow" title="A Bit Of Everything"><img src="https://theanxiousdragonsblog.files.wordpress.com/2016/01/mhuilw1452002466.jpg" alt="A Bit Of Everything" style="border:none;" /></a></div>Lady Nymhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17721420961173930843noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318006438685218297.post-36007489873999338472016-01-03T11:04:00.002-08:002016-01-04T22:28:34.293-08:00It Was the Best of Christmases, It Was the Worst of ChristmasesChristmas and New Year have been and gone and after a tumultuous lead up (since Christmas can be very overwhelming for kids on the spectrum as I wrote about <a href="http://tygerbearandme.blogspot.co.uk/2015/12/an-asd-christmas.html">here</a>), I thought I'd give a quick update on the last couple of weeks in the Nym household.<br />
<br />
Tyger's ASD means everything is either the best or the worst. There's no nuance, no grey, no in between. My sister has always been much the same. Any big events like Christmas, birthdays, performances, parties etc. are either euphoric successes or devastating failures.<br />
<br />
According to Tyger this was, 'the best Christmas ever.' It was only his fourth Christmas and I doubt he can remember any previous ones (perhaps for the best in the case of his first Christmas when he had an ear infection and slept through most of the day) so I can see how he reached his assessment. However, this doesn't mean that every moment in the day was amazing...or even good.<br />
<br />
Last year Tyger was completely absorbed by each present he got to the point where it was hard to get him interested in the next so other people opening presents wasn't a problem. This year was...different. He moaned constantly whenever someone else was opening a present and complained that he wanted a present. In a household of eight people who go in for Christmas in quite a big way, this meant a <i>lot</i> of presents and so a <i>lot</i> of time spent moaning.<br />
<br />
The whinging and whining culminated in Tyger opening a present from my sister (Colour Blind Sister, not Aspie Sister). Now, Colour Blind Sister wanted to get Tyger a toy till, which was an excellent present idea. Unfortunately, it was such an excellent present idea that the Wolf's parents wee already getting him one so CB Sister had to rethink.<br />
<br />
Tyger opened the present from her. It was a very cute, miniature wire shopping basket to go with said till. He was unimpressed. In fact he got extremely upset and angry and proclaimed he wanted a tiny shopping trolley like Aspie Sister and <i>not</i> a shopping basket. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWMSi9TpBQLgji5FHjTcz0-hRVyM_Yksdlk2scz7LgBCI2rrc09Dcg0hVHVfo5wEMOA-_POAvy7TBFLzJ-ePQ4G79897tD7PdBT1-4GF4IXsNnmyBtKJ_hhOlEFT2TFom3z64b_9l1D1JV/s1600/Baskets+and+Trolley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWMSi9TpBQLgji5FHjTcz0-hRVyM_Yksdlk2scz7LgBCI2rrc09Dcg0hVHVfo5wEMOA-_POAvy7TBFLzJ-ePQ4G79897tD7PdBT1-4GF4IXsNnmyBtKJ_hhOlEFT2TFom3z64b_9l1D1JV/s320/Baskets+and+Trolley.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The baskets and - clearly superior - tiny trolley.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Luckily, it turned out my mum had, in fact, bought Aspie Sister an identical basket (to go with the trolley) and quickly rummaged around the tree to give it to my sister so she and Tyger could be 'matching'. Bear also has one from CB Sister and they seem to have been accepted, now.<br />
<br />
All in all, Christmas was a success. Tyger immediately looked to see if the mince pie, sherry and carrot left for Father Christmas and the reindeer were gone before even glancing at his stocking, which was very sweet.<br />
<br />
Everyone in the house seemed happy with their presents. I suspect Tyger's tablet will see a lot of use and he loves his bike. The cubs have enough Duplo to rival the laundry basket mountain in quantity, which is pretty impressive.<br />
<br />
Wolf and I also got the cubs a 'Bilibo' each. Whilst they're great for all young kids, they came highly recommended in particular for kids with ASD on a forum I frequent. I daren't try to describe them because I've already had the piss royally taken out of me for my - apparently terrible - explanation when I first bought them. Instead, I'll include a photo.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQWggiQtA_1dMLCd-JY7B9qXgB65IaHI6Jd-CaO4Z677oxi6TxIKDZWcM6mXPGYcQvLk8ObFE6rJLF_kEaE089s4jtjvO8BPFPHK1v3khp4tU59kIDthiF1irtP-iiVSRG5WVRShikzzCN/s1600/Bilibos+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQWggiQtA_1dMLCd-JY7B9qXgB65IaHI6Jd-CaO4Z677oxi6TxIKDZWcM6mXPGYcQvLk8ObFE6rJLF_kEaE089s4jtjvO8BPFPHK1v3khp4tU59kIDthiF1irtP-iiVSRG5WVRShikzzCN/s320/Bilibos+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I told Wolf they were, 'like spheres with a rounded triangle cut out of them.'<br />
That's...ummm...sort of accurate right?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Bilibos (I promise I'm not on commission and I'm not popular enough yet to be asked to review products!) can be sat in and used for spinning and rocking. Tyger also likes to climb on his when it's upside down and jump off it. Apparently, they can also be used for games with balls and water.<br />
<br />
The reason they're recommended for autistic children is they're great sensory toys that can provide a physical outlet when the kids are becoming overloaded (and these ones have also been decorated by stickers, which provided a little peace for me for a few minutes so they've already been very useful). I did manage to avoid a meltdown a few days ago when Tyger was becoming fraught and I convinced him to let me spin him in his Bilibo. Beforehand he'd been following Bear around trying to wind him up. Afterwards he took Bear stacking blocks Bear had dropped. It may seem small but I was very relieved!<br />
<br />
Despite giving little to no inkling of what<i> I </i>wanted for Christmas (not because I thought it would be funny to leave everyone guessing but because I genuinely didn't know what I wanted) I was given some lovely presents. I'm at home with the cubs pretty much all day everyday, my one real hobby (this blog) doesn't require anything I don't already have (a laptop) and we're living with my parents at the moment so I can't really do much with ornaments or household items. As such, I'm kind of difficult to buy for right now but even so I got a lot of awesome clothes, a few Terry Pratchett and William Blake themed presents (Tyger's pseudonym on here is largely inspired by Blake's poem <i>The Tyger</i> and he's my favourite poet), three mugs (when you drink as much tea as I do these are extremely practical gifts likely to see far more use than most presents ever will) and - in the same vein - a big box of various teas of the world. I have made a dent in the latter.<br />
<br />
I don't know if Tyger will remember anything about this Christmas (I guess it's becoming increasingly likely any moment will be his first memory) and Baby Bear almost certainly won't but nonetheless I think this was an overall good Christmas. I guess our 'ASD Christmas' turned out okay.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXFGTKaiKTyns5kN7xh6ZaQ549WnZEcQjYCQ6e_kolo0Sa9zIt94yZE-B0iXtjkeS9PZUj2A10HsjmBswbl4gMzSrMOBWU17dI6RSAQrkAZ9mF7WhXhA8igpxmrNdaBCwXSxlbAqHLUGp8/s1600/Hat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXFGTKaiKTyns5kN7xh6ZaQ549WnZEcQjYCQ6e_kolo0Sa9zIt94yZE-B0iXtjkeS9PZUj2A10HsjmBswbl4gMzSrMOBWU17dI6RSAQrkAZ9mF7WhXhA8igpxmrNdaBCwXSxlbAqHLUGp8/s320/Hat.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I may or may not have bought this elf hat recently.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It is a pretty rough time of year on little kids, though. I mean awesome and completely worth it but it's coming to the end of term so they're tired out and Christmas is hyped up so much and so far in advance it can be difficult for them to have to wait.<br />
<br />
It's also pretty rough on people with ASD and I'd like to explain why.<br />
<br />
<br />
<u><b>1. Sensory Stimuli</b></u><br />
<br />
The chance of sensory overload (a problem for many people with ASD at the best of times) is greatly increased around Christmas. There are lights everywhere (often flashing), lots of bright colours and reflective surfaces. There's Christmas music playing, people getting excited and shouting, lots of crowds and parties. Even the smells are often different and overpowering (all the cinnamon and cloves and...just excuse me for a minute whilst I ask the Wolf to make some mulled wine) and there's new food and textures.<br />
<br />
If you don't really understand what sensory overload actually feels like, I'll try to explain from my own experience. I don't think I'm autistic but I'm <i>very</i> noise sensitive and whilst I don't think what I experience is as extreme as many autistic people it gives me a little insight.<br />
<br />
I struggle with noise when I'm trying to concentrate or when there are two sounds at once. For instance background noise (a song playing quietly) when I'm speaking on the phone, Tyger and Bear both shouting and banging, someone talking to me over the end credits of a film etc. It feels like it impacts my other senses. It feels like pressure on my head/face and/or like a blinding light being shone into my eyes. I can't think whilst it's happening and I feel extremely agitated, distracted and hostile all at the same time. It's really unpleasant.<br />
<br />
That gives you an idea of what a milder version involving only one sense might feel like. For people - especially children - with sensory issues, it's really rough.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmSffopyzurYTd_8IeaDrKfE93lhsMx0HsyVQqIw85FrlNMt_gO75nkYeYHiIDs2qUkw8sVArWM_ji5le3D5T9cRG-qw8z_y5LmoXQztsvxOcs8YQMJk9o50YsX67-kgYGp0QANTe5HYjj/s1600/Lights.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmSffopyzurYTd_8IeaDrKfE93lhsMx0HsyVQqIw85FrlNMt_gO75nkYeYHiIDs2qUkw8sVArWM_ji5le3D5T9cRG-qw8z_y5LmoXQztsvxOcs8YQMJk9o50YsX67-kgYGp0QANTe5HYjj/s320/Lights.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Imagine this searing into your eyes whilst you try to stay calm.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b><u>2. Change of Routine</u></b><br />
<br />
People on the spectrum tend to need a routine. A change to that routine can be hugely stressful. School and preschool routines are invariably disrupted by nativity play rehearsals, Christmas parties, visits from Santa, games, Christmas films. Weekends might be changed around to accommodate Christmas shopping or putting up decorations. Family and friends come to visit, bedtimes and mealtimes become more lax and Christmas day itself can be chaos.<br />
<br />
For kids on the spectrum, who have little control over their day to day routine as it is, this can feel very confusing. It induces anxiety and a feeling of spiraling out of control. They often rely on the predictability and sameness of their usual week so such massive changes to that can be devastating.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><u>3. Social Expectations</u></b><br />
<br />
A lot of people feel awkward when they have to open a present in front whoever bought it (I want to seem grateful but I don't want to overdo it so it seems false...was that smile natural...should I tell them I already have one of these?) but there are so many social expectations placed on someone on the spectrum at Christmas that most NT people don't give a second thought to.<br />
<br />
Not only are Christmas parties loud and bright and a change from normal routine but they also involve social interactions outside of the usual (dancing, games, buffet style food). Giving and receiving presents and cards also involves certain etiquette ASD kids might not be aware of (acting grateful if you receive a gift you don't like can seem like brain surgery to them). Then, there's the big bearded man in red. A lot of kids on the spectrum won't even sit on their parents' laps, let alone some stranger.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEz26tZ-uP65OWGZRDlsAO2MtefAJhZ5AWZ-I96OY8DtKW3-5VteBOM2wYkfBr-JAi4gHkgYPvUSwE0eTPQI9O3tOWjneWZWtRBSybgQUR010USwawwk6YKZ3bXeYui6hIQ-uDoTApLe_N/s1600/Santa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEz26tZ-uP65OWGZRDlsAO2MtefAJhZ5AWZ-I96OY8DtKW3-5VteBOM2wYkfBr-JAi4gHkgYPvUSwE0eTPQI9O3tOWjneWZWtRBSybgQUR010USwawwk6YKZ3bXeYui6hIQ-uDoTApLe_N/s320/Santa.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And let's face it: some depictions of Father Christmas<br />
can be pretty creepy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And the sheer quantity of socialisation expected is overwhelming. Whether it's relatives visiting, carol singers calling round, nativity plays, Christmas fairs...there's people everywhere. People talking and expecting eye contact and gratitude. It's extremely draining.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><u>4. Waiting</u></b><br />
<br />
Ah, childhood. Remember when summer holidays seemed to stretch out before you like an eternity? A week seemed like a month and a year might as well have been infinite. That sense of time is great when you're doing something you enjoy as a child but when you have to wait for something? It's agony! I already mentioned my advent calendar to count down to December - I always felt like I was waiting for Christmas for years (now it seems I blink on Boxing day and another Christmas is imminently looming).<br />
<br />
Well, children with ASD struggle with waiting even more. Autistic children often find it really hard to fill their time. It's not unusual for them to find 'playing' quite a difficult thing to do and so they get bored very easily. Add to this the obsessive nature of many kids on the spectrum and the fact they're not good at judging time that's passed and when future points might be reached and waiting for Christmas becomes a nightmare.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I started writing this post before Tyger had a huge - and public - meltdown after his preschool nativity play. It's one of those occasions where hindsight's a wonderful thing. I'd put him down for both the Christmas party and nativity because I didn't want him to be left out but I knew it might be tough.<br />
<br />
Tyger seemed to cope pretty well until right near the end of the play. He asked to get down from the stage. The preschool had made it very clear this was supposed to be fun for the children and they weren't precious about everything being perfect at the expense of the kids' comfort. Whether the children joined in, wore costumes, stayed on stage, took a parent on stage with them were all down to the children and what they needed so I knew nobody would mind me stepping forward and getting Tyger (he'd asked to get down several times by that point).<br />
<br />
Now, what I <i>should</i> have done is take him away completely for some space and some quiet (I even had his ear defenders with me and should have offered him those). But, I wasn't sure if he wanted to join in with the remaining songs and would be upset to be taken away completely and there were a lot of parents filming the play and I didn't want to get in their way anymore than I had. So, I sat with him on my lap in the aisle. He <i>seemed</i> okay.<br />
<br />
Then came the raffle. At that point I <i>really</i> should have left but I had a strip of tickets. I think Tyger thought they were handing out presents for everyone. I tried to explain about raffles and prizes but this prompted him to say he couldn't wait for his 'surprise'. When it ended and we left sans prize (or 'surprise') he started crying...and crying...and shouting. We got to the car and he refused to get in.<br />
<br />
All the other parents traipsed by with their tired but happy children and Tyger cried and wailed and begged me to take him back for his surprise. I tried to soothe him, I tried being stern, I tried bribery. But a meltdown is not so easily stemmed.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgftNf0eC-ekpfy2I5e33FaaYskjyBQh8powP0lKPRMSkTItHcRyVVp47l-7MFqPoGL74JfSO4aqr4hoU4JuXXtSIwP6P6wzN-V0zb09c3va-2heDAPkytVz-tXLbxPjsvwFr6-I2-XAvNP/s1600/Cakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgftNf0eC-ekpfy2I5e33FaaYskjyBQh8powP0lKPRMSkTItHcRyVVp47l-7MFqPoGL74JfSO4aqr4hoU4JuXXtSIwP6P6wzN-V0zb09c3va-2heDAPkytVz-tXLbxPjsvwFr6-I2-XAvNP/s320/Cakes.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cakes! You can have all the cakes!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I managed to force him into his car seat. Once home, he refused to get out of the car but - again - I just about managed to force him. He carried on crying for sometime and I knew the meltdown was starting to ebb when he sobbed, 'Mummy, I can't calm down.' That's always a sure sign he's ready to stop but doesn't know how.<br />
<br />
I blew in his face. That may sound stupid but when he was younger and had a meltdown he'd hold his breath and I was advised to blow in his face to make him breathe again. He remembers that and sees it as a way for me to 'stop' him these days. It only works once he's ready and I always ask his permission.<br />
<br />
It was like a switch and he was okay. It was all out. The build up of all the noise and lights and people, the strange feel of the costume and the disruption to routine, the anxiety and the frustration and even the excitement and the joy. It had been let out and he was tired but calm.<br />
<br />
I love Christmas. I love the over the top, gaudy, brightness. I wouldn't ask anyone to give any of that up.<br />
<br />
What I would ask, though, is that you reserve judgement. When you're out Christmas shopping and a child is throwing a tantrum about their parents not buying them something, please don't tut and roll your eyes. Perhaps they're some 'spoiled brat' or perhaps they're a child who is tired and overloaded and just can't cope with the crowds and the lights and the noise (autistic or not).<br />
<br />
If there's a child at a Christmas party who's hanging back from the merriment, don't immediately try to jolly them into joining everyone else (as well meant as that may be). First, maybe check if they need a moment away from the noise to calm down.<br />
<br />
If you're holding a little Christmas get together and your neighbour's niece is refusing the buffet you've laid out she might not be rude. Maybe she's struggling with everything and she can't handle the thought of strange flavours and textures on top of everything else. Offer to put a round of toast on for her or see if she'd have a couple of crackers instead of getting annoyed.<br />
<br />
For many autistic people it's the build up of lots of little things that culminates in a meltdown. A couple of small kindnesses can mean the difference between hours of crying and shaking and a happy memory.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<div align="center"><a href="http://helloarchie.blue/category/marvellous-mondays" title="Hello Archie - UK Parenting and Lifestyle Blog"><img src="http://www.kaye.at/img/marvmondays-badge.png" height="118" width="284" border="0" alt="Marvellous Mondays badge by Hello Archie" /></a></div>Lady Nymhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17721420961173930843noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318006438685218297.post-22564769642389928512015-12-14T22:44:00.000-08:002015-12-17T23:30:41.652-08:00How I Met Your FatherIf you're looking for a post about ASD or depression (or people being hit by buses) I'm afraid you'll be disappointed for once. This week was the anniversary of when the Wolf and I first started going out. We went on our first date 12 years ago. So I thought I'd write a nice little post about how we first got together. It's almost Christmas, after all!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1zA8XKcKdaZIjVt7mGg0JHXDLG9tUYoeOrr3afzq8M9X2JI5zWTK2G3TfddLrbP0IQc_gWamhOivqeEzZIAqmQsRw57eYSxjtj2iphZclAX5Q4lCgXa79lez6YIFRvkTTHu8QYzupm31p/s1600/Me%252C+Tyger+%2526+the+Wolf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1zA8XKcKdaZIjVt7mGg0JHXDLG9tUYoeOrr3afzq8M9X2JI5zWTK2G3TfddLrbP0IQc_gWamhOivqeEzZIAqmQsRw57eYSxjtj2iphZclAX5Q4lCgXa79lez6YIFRvkTTHu8QYzupm31p/s320/Me%252C+Tyger+%2526+the+Wolf.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me (pregnant with Bear), Tyger and the Wolf.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
The Wolf and I met at high school. <br />
<br />
We were in the same geography class when we were around 13/14, which is sweet right?<br />
<br />
I know what you're wondering. Did we make puppy dog eyes at each other across the room? Send each other love notes? Or, in typical teen film style, hate each other with a passion until a set of unlikely circumstances threw us together and made us realise our passion was actually love?<br />
<br />
No, none of those. In fact, I had no idea we were in the same class until after we started going out a few years later and he told me.<br />
<br />
However, I did mention him in my diary mere months before our first date. We were both at a meeting for some group or other and I wrote a list of all the people who attended in my diary (this was before I wanted to be a writer, okay?) and after all the names of everyone I knew there was one person left: 'some other guy I don't know the name of.' <br />
<br />
That would be the Wolf.<br />
<br />
Fast forward to the beginning of December. Both the Wolf and I were in 6th year (in Scotland so I was 16 and he was 17) and spent most of our free periods in the common room. The common room was a luxury afforded only to the sixth year pupils - though, we under constant threat of being permanently locked out due to a small number of twats who kept vandalising the place - and was a room with lots of sofas, tables and a small, grubby kitchenette (to be fair, it probably wasn't grubby before we started using it).<br />
<br />
One of the main pastimes in the common room was playing card games. Not for me. I read books and chatted...in the corner away from the cool kids. Until one day when the Wolf and his friends were organising a game of 'spoons'.<br />
<br />
Now, for anyone who doesn't know what spoons is: it's a bit like musical chairs in card game form...if you replace the chairs with spoons.<br />
<br />
Basically, there are some spoons in the middle of the table but one fewer than there are players. You have to get four of a kind with the cards and when you do, you grab a spoon. At that point everyone else also grabs a spoon and the player with no spoon is out. A spoon is removed so there's still one fewer than players and the whole thing is repeated until there are two players competing for one spoon. At that point, if you're a teenager playing the game in a common room, the spoon is hidden by one of the players already 'out' in one of the lockers outside the common room door and then a selection of sofas and cushions are placed against the door/in the way like an obstacle course and sometimes people stand guard with additional cushions that are used as rams and the game resumes.<br />
<br />
The spoons from the kitchenette also all disappeared pretty quickly so knives, forks and cork screws were used in their place.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtA7gCWiHeCi6bYJGL-eAmKc8Hb6BXXYoptxXp3enU1ukHATHbtZmNsjTPyb9tlEwRBkjRUgOmeEZLwmoowBLDJpYG6aIdJFxCgmWkvhyphenhyphenbFt-oz3kCTzqDWTL5Kcz5kgtxnhI37-erEbrl/s1600/Spoons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtA7gCWiHeCi6bYJGL-eAmKc8Hb6BXXYoptxXp3enU1ukHATHbtZmNsjTPyb9tlEwRBkjRUgOmeEZLwmoowBLDJpYG6aIdJFxCgmWkvhyphenhyphenbFt-oz3kCTzqDWTL5Kcz5kgtxnhI37-erEbrl/s320/Spoons.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Which selection would you like to thrust your hand into?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So, the Wolf saw the need for more players as an opportunity to sweep me off my feet because everyone knows scary games involving hand injuries are the the best means of instigating a relationship.<br />
<br />
Actually, it <i>was</i> sort of romantic. The first round we played the Wolf grabbed two spoons and passed me one so I'd stay in the game. He was probably stuck with me for life from that moment, really.<br />
<br />
We played more cards through the day and even walked down into town to get a chocolate bar together (risque stuff).<br />
<br />
That was Monday. We tried to flirt through the next week but unfortunately the common room was off limits one day (see twat-vandals above) and the week finished with a driving safety day (culminating in a horrific video I blame for my continuing lack of enthusiasm over learning to drive).<br />
<br />
We did manage to play cards again but this time he did not help me. He <i>pretended</i> to help me and then royally fracked me over. It meant I didn't go into our relationship blind: when it comes to cards or board games the Wolf is not to be trusted. I'd trust him with my life and even my books but I would never trust him to move the number of squares he's rolled or put the correct card down.<br />
<br />
Going home on the Friday I cursed myself for not asking for the Wolf's number and resigned myself to a weekend spent agonising and analysing until Monday finally came round again.<br />
<br />
But, as I got off the bus and started to walk home, I received a text from the Wolf saying he'd asked a mutual friend for my number and hoped that was okay.<br />
<br />
It was okay.<br />
<br />
He told me he'd been trying to oganise a trip to the cinema with a bunch of people but nobody seemed to be free or interested and was I up for it? As naive as I was, even I saw through this subterfuge and realised it would be a date. I replied with an affirmative and he asked what I wanted to see. I suggested <i>The Matrix Reloaded</i> but I don't think a Sci-Fi action film was really the tone the Wolf was trying to set so we settled on <i>Love Actually</i> on the Sunday.<br />
<br />
It was my first date. Other than a few kisses at parties my relationship history up to that point had included a boyfriend when I was four (who made me a heart-shaped Valentine's card...which opened on the right instead of the left - even at that age this irked me) and another 'boyfriend' a few months before going out with the Wolf who was terrified of girls and unceremoniously dumped me via text message four weeks after we started going out (two of those weeks were a school holiday during which we didn't see each other at all...).<br />
<br />
So, come Sunday we got the bus together into the nearest city. We had quite a lot in common in terms of taste in music, books we liked, TV and films we enjoyed (although, when I told my mum this she skeptically queried whether he <i>really</i> liked any of these things).<br />
<br />
During the film the Wolf tentatively took my hand. We had our first kiss. We watch <i>Love Actually </i>every year on the 'anniversary' of that first date. Hi, I'm Lady Nym and I enjoy Richard Curtis films.<br />
<br />
After the film we went for food. I opted for the incredibly sophisticated and romantic food court in the shopping centre (I'm a fussy veggie and I knew I could have a baked potato with cheese there). I was glad of our less than grand surroundings when I misjudged the placement of my knife and catapulted both it and a load of cheese onto the floor. I may have known about the Wolf's card game manipulation and deceit from early days but he knew about my fussiness and clumsiness. We both entered the relationship with our eyes wide open to each other's faults.<br />
<br />
We walked along holding hands and bumped into a girl in our year at school. The look of shock and confusion on her face was to be mimicked by many when we went back to school. The Wolf and I were not in the same circle of friends. He was a pretty quiet guy who - up until a recent haircut - had hidden behind his long hair and hats. I was the 'cello playing, English vegetarian who never quite fitted in. It surprised everyone when we turned up to school one week holding hands and kissing.<br />
<br />
Bizarrely, we became almost a celebrity couple within our year group. I think the experience set me up well for having autistic children because we had 'get a room' shouted at us so often it was good practise for the repetitive nature of kids with ASD.<br />
<br />
The Wolf bought me a lovely silver and amethyst ring for that Christmas, which I still wear every day.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6U5BRF3GSBhyyxfn0vqcr0KPiC6PW81qp7u2UPgpSew9145rCIZfd7SVObxm0qQOCipzXZzvXWg-lPxk-Lk6-Py_-Kue6s9TivPXa5gR_VuKxZECZ0fDoh_K_64cFLFSyHiDslub3vPDy/s1600/Ring.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6U5BRF3GSBhyyxfn0vqcr0KPiC6PW81qp7u2UPgpSew9145rCIZfd7SVObxm0qQOCipzXZzvXWg-lPxk-Lk6-Py_-Kue6s9TivPXa5gR_VuKxZECZ0fDoh_K_64cFLFSyHiDslub3vPDy/s320/Ring.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turns out I really struggle to take photos with my left hand.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And to the guy in our year who obviously fancied himself as a bit of a poet and said it would never last because the 'flame was burning too brightly'...we're still going 12 years later.<br />
<br />
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Lady Nymhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17721420961173930843noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318006438685218297.post-85914487740516138232015-12-06T09:40:00.001-08:002015-12-11T02:50:27.460-08:00Who's More Autistic?I wrote about my growing certainty Bear has ASD in a post a few weeks ago (<a href="http://tygerbearandme.blogspot.co.uk/2015/11/what-if-there-was-cure-for-autism.html">What If There Was a Cure For Autism?</a>). It has thrown up some interesting considerations for me. The cubs are brothers with not even two years between them and both have ASD/Asperger's but there are some significant differences in how their ASD presents. <br />
<br />
Tyger doesn't 'appear' to be autistic to the untrained eye. His language has always been ahead for his age and whilst that's not actually uncommon for kids with Asperger's, a lot of people still only know about non-verbal ASD kids or, at least, those with a language delay.<br />
<br />
Bear, on the other hand, is clearly very bright but struggles with his language. He's come on leaps and bounds in the last week or two but still struggles to enunciate and often resorts to grunting, a string of vowel sounds and calling everyone 'Daddoo' or 'Daddy' (though, he has attempted other names - including Mummy!).<br />
<br />
Tyger holds in a lot of his more autistic traits whilst around anyone he doesn't live with and a lot of his autistic behaviours are slightly a-typical. He does his 'verbal stimming' but very few people would actually realise this was an autistic thing, even if they were vaguely aware it was a bit 'off'.<br />
<br />
Bear's ASD behaviours are both more visible and typical. He flaps his hands a lot when he's excited or frustrated and he walks around on tiptoes a lot of the time. He licks the wall, stove and flagstones and scratches and hits his own face when upset.<br />
<br />
Basically, Bear currently <i>looks</i> 'more autistic'.<br />
<br />
So, what does this mean? Will Bear have a harder life ahead of him? Is his ASD more 'severe'?<br />
<br />
I actually suspect it might put him at a slight advantage. Getting Tyger a diagnosis proved to be a challenge because, whilst the medical professionals recognised his autistic behaviours, other people involved in his care (who were consulted in his diagnosis) didn't see any ASD behaviours from him. Bear has an older brother with a diagnosis alongside his more 'classic' autistic behaviours so will hopefully get that piece of paper more easily.<br />
<br />
But it's not just the diagnosis I suspect might be easier.<br />
<br />
Tyger is highly anxious and that's why he 'masks' his ASD when around anyone outwith the family (because he desperately wants to fit in). He moderates his own behaviour outside the house but it's very tiring for him and often means he's exhausted by the time he gets home and more likely to have a meltdown.<br />
<br />
Bear only seems to show anxiety when something in his usual routine or placement of things/people is off (and, even then, it's often anger more than anxiety!). I hope as he gets older he'll actually be able to cope quite well as long as he has a good routine in place. I don't think - though, it's obviously early days yet - he'll be as likely to hold everything in as Tyger. If he's able and willing to do whatever he needs to in order to help stop him becoming overloaded (like the hand flapping or any other stimming) he might find things easier than Tyger.<br />
<br />
It's interesting to think about what people consider to be more or less 'severely autistic' and how that translates when it comes to the quality of life the person with ASD actually leads.<br />
<br />
The temptation is to think of ASD as a linear scale. I mean, the 'spectrum' in autism spectrum disorder brings to mind a rainbow and the use of 'high functioning' and 'low functioning' (which many people find offensive, anyway) suggests it's as simple as starting at red and working through to violet. Perhaps red is a non-verbal child who spends their day doing one repetitive activity in between meltdowns with lots of stimming and no eye contact. That makes violet the slightly quirky but highly intelligent individual who is able to progress in a prestigious career and live totally independently. Then all the other colours progress through from one to the other.<br />
<br />
The truth is, it's not as simple as that. That non-verbal child might start talking at the age of seven and end up living alone whilst holding down a job. The employable aspie might have meltdowns nightly from the stress of their job and self harm from the anxiety it causes them. Who, in this scenario, is 'more' autistic? And who has the better quality of life?<br />
<br />
Of course, those are extreme examples but not unheard of. A very common scenario is for autistic school children to have what's known as 'spiky profiles'. This means they excel in some subjects and areas whilst being far behind average in others. In other words, they are unpredictable and hard to fit into a box.<br />
<br />
Many non-verbal children do end up communicating. Some start talking, others use picture cards, some use sign language and some find they can type (sometimes incredibly eloquently). Many apparently 'high functioning' autistic people are never able to live independently, struggle with seemingly simple tasks and have a host of mental health illnesses almost certainly linked to their ASD.<br />
<br />
Many people on the spectrum tick boxes at either end of the scale or simply a range in between.<br />
<br />
I'm not saying there is no point in terms like high and low functioning ASD (though, I am more comfortable using 'Asperger's' and 'classic autism' as these seem to be far less offensive terms). Nor am I even saying everyone with ASD has the same severity of autism. I'm simply pointing out it's not black and white (of course not - it's a spectrum!) and that trying to determine 'how autistic' people are is not important.<br />
<br />
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Lady Nymhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17721420961173930843noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318006438685218297.post-8205458803644504272015-11-29T08:52:00.001-08:002015-12-01T01:17:37.380-08:00Anonymity (Or Lack Thereof)In my last blog post (about murderous minibus drivers trying to kill off the Wolf - <a href="http://tygerbearandme.blogspot.co.uk/2015/11/hit-by-busliterally-okay-minibus.html">here</a>) I promised a post about an incident from the beginning of the week. However, something has come up that's made me rethink.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have been recognised out in the real world. Maybe the green hair wasn't great for anonymity after all...</div>
<div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj05-D6ZkvEmVk0Oid0nJaklKrOIDNARhBeMP8U4ueVK7PXqFoYs04_mWpFTA5JOP1rZcF2tV0gRraEqqnBP7nXz3DpJb96VMx05p0msXjc_FI3awvgRCq-4n5h6W2FkGpfOprAra0MbgM_/s1600/Roots.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj05-D6ZkvEmVk0Oid0nJaklKrOIDNARhBeMP8U4ueVK7PXqFoYs04_mWpFTA5JOP1rZcF2tV0gRraEqqnBP7nXz3DpJb96VMx05p0msXjc_FI3awvgRCq-4n5h6W2FkGpfOprAra0MbgM_/s320/Roots.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Though, my blog profile photo doesn't include the long dark roots.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
In all seriousness, I genuinely - and probably naively - didn't see this coming. I just don't have that much contact with people in 'the real world' except the postman (maybe it was the postie!). Whilst my blog is gradually getting more views and I had a 'blog of the day' on Mumsnet Bloggers Network recently, which got considerably more view than most of my other posts, we're still very much talking hundreds and not thousands of views per post.<br />
<br />
Really and truly, up until I was 'outed', I still felt a lot like I was shouting into the ether when I wrote a blog post and, actually, that was okay because it gave me a certain level of freedom. I mean, I've always been a little cautious. I've never mentioned my own name or the names of the kids or my husband or anyone I know (even the postie...come to think of it, I don't know the postman's name). I've never mentioned place names. I haven't even included photos that show our faces.<br />
<br />
But, our hair...now, that's hard to disguise. As I said, I currently have green hair. It's a little distinctive. And Tyger has very long hair, which wouldn't be particularly identifying if he were a girl but as a three year old boy it is unthinkable he should have such long hair. In fact, an architect was here just the other day to talk to my parents and Tyger was - as usual - completely naked. The architect talked about 'she' and 'her' and the 'little girl' with every reference to Tyger despite the very obvious clue he was not, in fact, a little girl. This happens a lot. Apparently, long hair trumps a penis (there's a phrase I never thought I'd type).<br />
<br />
The recognisable hair combined with the content of this blog means it was always possible someone I knew would identify me but I suppose I always assumed if it happened it would be at some vague future point and along the lines of, 'Wait, did you write that thing about autism? Huh, I read that!' I certainly didn't expect to be accused of libel (yup - there's no threat of legal action or anything but the word was used). I didn't think I was interesting enough for such things. I also wonder how much of the 'someone told me someone told them you wrote X about...' nonsense comes from a place of genuine concern and how much comes from a desire to create some drama and be involved in the resulting furor.<br />
<br />
Personally, I hate 'drama'. The thought of a planned confrontation has me sleepless and feeling ill beforehand. The possibility of people getting angry or - much, much worse - upset because of something I've done or said (or written) can leave me with a big ball of anxiety in my gut, numbness in my extremities and fuzziness in my vision. I'll obsess over it for hours or even days.<br />
<br />
I try, very hard, to think of people as human beings with real lives and feelings when I write anything on the internet. It's common knowledge the anonymity of writing something online turns people into nasty, cruel parodies of themselves. I imagine most people have experienced it, even if just from the sidelines. I've certainly seen more than one instance of someone being unnecessarily nasty on a forum and it's clear if the keyboard warrior was actually presented with the victim - with their distress written across their face and voice catching and all the actual queues we pick up on when we see people in the flesh - the attacker would feel terrible.<br />
<br />
Actually, when someone's right there in front of us, we're a pretty empathetic bunch.<br />
<br />
I try to bear the same things in mind when writing about people I've met but it's all a little different. Both the moral and legal implications of writing about someone you have actually spoken to face to face are hard to tease out. There's always a chance they will see what you've written. Should you avoid ever referencing anything that might be problematic if read by certain people? Is it different to talking to your friends and family about things that have happened to you? There's still a chance it will get back to someone in that case. Should we all cease talking about other people completely, even if we need advice or need to vent?<br />
<br />
We teach our kids about internet safety. Okay, the only internet safety I've taught Tyger so far is not to put the laptop cable in his mouth but as he gets older I'll need to talk to him about being careful about what he says and not giving away identifying information. What about us adults?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6MxUj8eKagzNk3HOI95p7WF287Xfozuuo0YyAcfaW2j9ag8nNleJiDqdVFDEsZrLAbG_0QzIh0d1MT7QOOhz2bKZDSEsTmYN1Tv38i7xqZf7Y3cFgCX6dvjSNFhCUgjy5Nzai5FE-tZg_/s1600/Cable.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6MxUj8eKagzNk3HOI95p7WF287Xfozuuo0YyAcfaW2j9ag8nNleJiDqdVFDEsZrLAbG_0QzIh0d1MT7QOOhz2bKZDSEsTmYN1Tv38i7xqZf7Y3cFgCX6dvjSNFhCUgjy5Nzai5FE-tZg_/s320/Cable.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Does this look tasty to you because apparently to toddlers and<br />
preschoolers it's indistinguishable from a lollipop.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This blog, certain forums, Facebook groups, Twitter: I have had some excellent support, advice, help and - not insignificantly - enjoyment from all of them. Sharing personal details, experiences and problems has been an important part of that. Sometimes it's necessary in order to give a full picture when you need advice. Sometimes you want to tell people about your own experiences so they can learn from them or just so they're aware they're not alone.<br />
<br />
Should people in a position of authority and responsibility never be spoken about or mentioned in person or online? Is that a realistic expectation?<br />
<br />
What about when someone wants advice about a doctor's appointment? Or when a parent is trying to work through an incident their child had with a teacher? In a world where we conduct a large number of our interactions online can doctors, nurses, social workers, teachers, nursery nurses, advisers, politicians etc. etc. really demand to never have them, their actions or their place of work discussed on the internet?<br />
<br />
I don't have the answer. I don't know when - or if - I will have the answer. For the time being, at least, I need to have a serious think about how much I should censor my online content.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<div align="center"><a href="http://www.mummascribbles.com" title="Mummascribbles"><img src="http://i129.photobucket.com/albums/p238/loobielis/twinkly_tuesday_badge_2015.jpg" alt="Mummascribbles" style="border:none;" /></a></div>Lady Nymhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17721420961173930843noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318006438685218297.post-70606311038003587352015-11-26T13:29:00.001-08:002015-11-30T01:39:47.927-08:00Hit by a Bus...Literally (Okay, 'Minibus')This last week has been an eventful and stressful week, which has left me with the question of whether to write about all that's happened as my blog post (and so work myself up even more about it and worry about what people might think or say and try to fit it all in without the post being some ridiculous length) or put it to one side and write about something else (which I wouldn't really be focused on and wouldn't do justice). Instead of get myself into a tizz, I'm going to split the week into its two main events and - unusually for me - write a mid-week blog post as well as my normal weekend entry.<br />
<br />
I'll start with the second awful thing that's happened because most of my favourite novels are non-linear (and, more importantly, this one is less relevant to my usual blog posts so is more fitting for a mid-week slot - hopefully the Wolf can forgive me).<br />
<br />
So...<br />
<br />
The Wolf cycles to and from the train station on his way to work.<br />
<br />
On Tuesday he was hit by a minibus.<br />
<br />
The phone rang before 7.30am. The phone does not normally ring before 9am and certainly not before 8. A 7.20am phone call is immediately a worrying thing to answer, made more worrying when the first thing you hear is your husband telling you not to worry. Worry, worry, worry.<br />
<br />
The Wolf explained he was hit by a bus (yeah, Goram 'bus' at this point and not 'minibus') and was waiting for an ambulance but he was 'okay'. He didn't sound okay and I was suspicious he might be minimising so as not to cause me too much...what was that word again?<br />
<br />
I told my mum and set about getting dressed, getting the boys dressed, getting their teeth cleaned and all that jazz. I didn't know what would happen. I didn't know if the Wolf would have to go to hospital or we'd go and find him or what but I figured making sure we were ready for...whatever was the best course of action (and I needed action to stop me thinking too much).<br />
<br />
My mum took my sister to the school bus and found the Wolf really hadn't got very far before the accident and so she was able to hop in the ambulance and send me a photo to alleviate my concern he was more badly injured than he'd claimed on the phone.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYqa2BAz_1bK4IvW_uychN9-Sqvyg9VzpxNdGwORRKDu4kOiBAmd3xGQl2B0vdai3yNZRNXOEnJucXVH5L_vi3CEbYR9iMeyyw3owvJ8z-kz0qJwFllq1Flukm6gteQQaU4ZwTpzTQobIY/s1600/The+Wolf+in+Ambulance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYqa2BAz_1bK4IvW_uychN9-Sqvyg9VzpxNdGwORRKDu4kOiBAmd3xGQl2B0vdai3yNZRNXOEnJucXVH5L_vi3CEbYR9iMeyyw3owvJ8z-kz0qJwFllq1Flukm6gteQQaU4ZwTpzTQobIY/s320/The+Wolf+in+Ambulance.jpg" width="187" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I never doubted him! *Ahem*</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The lovely paramedics drove him back to the house since it was so close by and Tyger got to go in the ambulance (which made up for the fact he was bitterly disappointed we're weren't going to the hospital, which he thought would be 'funner' than staying at home).<br />
<br />
The Wolf is okay. I mean, really, really sore and stiff but no broken bones as far as the paramedics could tell and no blow to the head or anything. Luckily, he was wearing a huge backpack full of stuff for the gym because without that his back would almost certainly be broken.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_XhBgpx3cAEcIor7XZdc-PSMkkL5Dy_GZXi2vCrwdpoMvIBjZnuQsaZR5tpMzmLBkGvb2I0IZNb9jHjiYW4nbc90lljZMNyIt1av4uze-BMgxvI-Pvm1PgcvX1lBfajUnWnjESBaMB3zQ/s1600/Water+Bottle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_XhBgpx3cAEcIor7XZdc-PSMkkL5Dy_GZXi2vCrwdpoMvIBjZnuQsaZR5tpMzmLBkGvb2I0IZNb9jHjiYW4nbc90lljZMNyIt1av4uze-BMgxvI-Pvm1PgcvX1lBfajUnWnjESBaMB3zQ/s320/Water+Bottle.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a very sturdy, metal water bottle that was in his bag.<br />
It didn't fare well.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The minibus driver just 'didn't see him'. On a long, straight bit of road. With hi-viz gear on. And lights...<br />
<br />
The police are making the minibus driver take a test for elderly drivers involved in traffic accidents. If he fails, his licence will be revoked.<br />
<br />
Tyger has a different suggestion. He is adamant the minibus driver should be thrown in the bin and has told the Wolf to do so if their paths cross again. Tyger is actually quite worried - there's that word again - about the whole thing and has told the Wolf not to go back to work in case the minibus 'gets' him. It's been fine this week because the Wolf took a couple of days off and is now working from home for the rest of the week. Next week, though...we'll see how Tyger copes with that.<br />
<br />
So, that was a shock for everyone, not helped by the fact we were already stressed from the previous day. But that's for the weekend's blog post!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<i>Linked with:</i></div>
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<a href="http://mummyandmonkeys.com/category/Pick-n-Mix" rel="nofollow" title="Mummy and Monkeys"><img alt="Mummy and Monkeys" src="http://i1289.photobucket.com/albums/b505/eilidh84/Pick%20and%20Mix%20Fridays_zpseqqkd1e1.png" style="border: none;" /></a><br />
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<div align="center"><a href="http://www.myrandommusings.co.uk/blog-page_9/" rel="nofollow" title="My Random Musings"><img src="http://www.myrandommusings.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2015/06/Anything-Goes-linky-badge15.jpg" alt="My Random Musings" style="border:none;" /></a></div>Lady Nymhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17721420961173930843noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318006438685218297.post-47653540812922268182015-11-22T03:02:00.004-08:002015-11-27T02:19:40.510-08:00I Don't Want to Talk About ItA fortnight ago I wrote about <a href="http://tygerbearandme.blogspot.co.uk/2015/11/me-my-mental-health-and-i.html">my experience of depression and diagnosis of it</a>. The post was quite well received and some interest was shown in a follow-up about treatment. I like to indulge my adoring public so you have only yourselves to blame for the following!<br />
<br />
Once I was diagnosed the question of treatment came up. My GP didn't want to put a teenager straight on antidepressants so he referred me for 'talking therapy'. Now, I can talk. I can talk and talk and talk. I can even talk about personal and embarrassing stuff like the time I threw up in a bin at school, or the fact I thought 'fatigue' was pronounced 'fat-ee-goo' when I was at Uni doing an <i>English degree</i>, or about how my right boob is considerably bigger than my left. I'm not so good at really discussing private thoughts and feelings. I'm <i>British</i>; I don't really do all those icky emotions.<br />
<br />
However, the Wolf emphatically pointed out there would be no point in me going if I wasn't going to be completely open and honest so I answered all questions truthfully and in detail: thoughts I obsessed over, personal admissions and - indeed - all the icky emotions. <br />
<br />
The whole time I was talking the therapist seemed...disinterested. Perhaps I'd watched too much TV but I expected him to pick out something I'd mentioned and focus on discussing it. Or, perhaps, he'd just show some amazing insight into my psyche from all I'd told him and so be able to cure my depression. Or we'd strike up an unlikely but humorous friendship and both end up learning something about ourselves. Unrealistic, perhaps, but it <i>was</i> called <i>talking therapy</i>. I was expecting there to be an emphasis on the...you know...talking!<br />
<br />
It's not like there was anything shocking in all I'd told him; I'm fortunate enough to have had a relatively uneventful life free of abuse or hardship. Still, I wanted some acknowledgement that I had spoken, that I was an individual. Instead, he showed me a booklet I was to fill in and sent me on my way. It was obvious I could have told this guy absolutely anything and his response (handing over the booklet) would have been the same. So why had I even bothered?<br />
<br />
The booklet was a CBT (cognitive behavioural therapy) self-help style book to be filled in. I know more about CBT these days and have heard some really good things about it. Back then, I knew about Pavlov's dogs and that was about it. Really, it shouldn't have mattered how much I knew because my therapist should have given me all sufficient information and built up some sort of rapport with me so I placed a little trust in him. The actual information he did give me coupled with his general attitude just meant I felt dismissed and patronised.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-ZZb34YGYlU1blLx4BNwSKsVi8S1E_tm9I3zQpaUVZxFbeTKDd3NCsofINIkzsr-PfO6mPQRJ_9PQakKnljegB_4NNfDufFzoakPAQWC2ZT6kZgMZelZ5KDqa3G7qjRhqDuY2n5xdZ2k/s1600/Kids+Book+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO-ZZb34YGYlU1blLx4BNwSKsVi8S1E_tm9I3zQpaUVZxFbeTKDd3NCsofINIkzsr-PfO6mPQRJ_9PQakKnljegB_4NNfDufFzoakPAQWC2ZT6kZgMZelZ5KDqa3G7qjRhqDuY2n5xdZ2k/s320/Kids+Book+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Of course, these days I'm used to that.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The booklet itself was very basic and seemed to me to be condescending. I'd researched depression pretty thoroughly before going to the doctor in the first place because the last thing I wanted was to be told I was talking nonsense. The booklet just seemed to reiterate everything I'd already read and offered very little I couldn't have found on Wikipedia. It was literally along the lines of, 'when you start to feel sad, try to think of happy things.' I thought, 'If it was that smegging easy nobody would ever have depression in the first place!'<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFUnv_nwG4Ig4HVot8kA4j0PDhAKZXklX-fv2y25AU_nOwl5MDyZJydlFT2mvhtlr9Fvii2CSRsSqdmpjvD5rahbDpykFqh_zaifBGE5t-zHw9PRIggXVtO2V67u-jPOgGImqrLvjfl4pw/s1600/Kids+Book+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFUnv_nwG4Ig4HVot8kA4j0PDhAKZXklX-fv2y25AU_nOwl5MDyZJydlFT2mvhtlr9Fvii2CSRsSqdmpjvD5rahbDpykFqh_zaifBGE5t-zHw9PRIggXVtO2V67u-jPOgGImqrLvjfl4pw/s320/Kids+Book+5.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thanks for that.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Next appointment, I told the therapist all this. I thought he could suggest an alternate approach or even just talk through the merits of the book. Perhaps there was a different book? He told me it had to be simplistic to be understood by anyone who might need it and that was that. I was to carry on with the book and he'd see me next week.<br />
<br />
The third appointment I told him I felt much better and didn't think I needed to come back. He accepted this, no questions asked, and I went home feeling utterly hopeless.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifdya4mBRM5LWfRkLwK4aGYGOw_QVpEU7uuHojSRmeo0oPyRd6-0WrT9Tux_UmSXx7s6E7k_viQCdk7PgYRfz2VqoJDqq6fZWXh0OYJPszn0aRDF6u4NBE14g4rGCw8jQmJEkmdpqwiLj1/s1600/Kids+Book+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifdya4mBRM5LWfRkLwK4aGYGOw_QVpEU7uuHojSRmeo0oPyRd6-0WrT9Tux_UmSXx7s6E7k_viQCdk7PgYRfz2VqoJDqq6fZWXh0OYJPszn0aRDF6u4NBE14g4rGCw8jQmJEkmdpqwiLj1/s320/Kids+Book+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Actually, this kid's book is a little weird.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Months later we moved into a new flat and changed GPs so I decided to try the new doctor and confess my depression hadn't gone away. The GP I saw suggested antidepressants almost straight away. Again, I was relieved I was again being taken seriously...until she she told me she could only prescribe me a week's worth at a time because it probably wasn't wise for someone in my mental state, 'to have lots of pills lying around.' Then I wondered if she was taking it a little <i>too</i> seriously and I wasn't sure whether I should tell her my suicide 'plan' - for want of a better word - had never involved an overdose...<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzazuyWpxEljKWCM0Ci-u5gYWMUPYQkKWo7rKh3oeEk6sZiWy8u9sLuDHhO47gc2c9DrLRFDg1TjXBFCNDG2BwqKZRg4L2H7ZyKGxihyQBSrQc-FA8Siu3GbSBbp9abaax8lDNdS_zOG2z/s1600/Kids+Book+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzazuyWpxEljKWCM0Ci-u5gYWMUPYQkKWo7rKh3oeEk6sZiWy8u9sLuDHhO47gc2c9DrLRFDg1TjXBFCNDG2BwqKZRg4L2H7ZyKGxihyQBSrQc-FA8Siu3GbSBbp9abaax8lDNdS_zOG2z/s320/Kids+Book+7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wouldn't electrocute myself either but, seriously, this book is odd...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Depression can make you paranoid. I was convinced, to start with, the GP had given me a placebo (though, why she would be so worried about all those pills 'lying around' if they were sugar pills I don't know) but the side effects I got for the first week convinced me they were the real deal.<br />
<br />
I felt...stoned. Sort of, anyway. I just felt incredibly spaced out and slow. I had a part-time job as a sales assistant and I was convinced my boss would call me into the office to tell me there was a discrepancy in my till during that first week. I'd get to the end of my shift and have almost no memory of serving any of the customers who'd come to my till.<br />
<br />
The Wolf and I went to play badminton and as soon as we started he just laughed at me. I thought I was moving at normal speed but he said it was like I was moving in slow motion. Imagine a not particularly sporty 19 year old probably wearing the same pair of Skechers trainers I've owned since I was about 14 or 15 (they're still the only trainers I own), a pair of purple tie-dye short shorts and a baggy t-shirt with Tigger on the front drifting around the badminton court (are they called courts in badminton?? - told you I'm not sporty) and trying to swing at the shuttlecock at half the speed necessary to make contact with it. It probably was quite comical.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyw-pbm9ljRDRqACyiyLJawnumNzyRfqhHfdnGBxtU-c4WZyksBkUy4HUZH45YGre-7RCPcoqvhOZ2OSd9W5laLwO7SoOETqQqFBnTeDVxs0uXyr5pBOa_sJQxgDoaBLH5JYeupGOjL0Dd/s1600/Kids+Book+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyw-pbm9ljRDRqACyiyLJawnumNzyRfqhHfdnGBxtU-c4WZyksBkUy4HUZH45YGre-7RCPcoqvhOZ2OSd9W5laLwO7SoOETqQqFBnTeDVxs0uXyr5pBOa_sJQxgDoaBLH5JYeupGOjL0Dd/s320/Kids+Book+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wha...?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The last thing I want to do is put anyone off getting treatment for depression. The side effects from antidepressants can vary pretty wildly from person to person and - as I said - this fuzzy state didn't last long.<br />
<br />
After a couple of weeks the tablets started to help. It's hard to describe in what way they help, in much the same way it's hard to describe how depression feels in the first place. The severity of my depression varied from week to week anyway and I think I felt a bit better as soon as I'd been prescribed the antidepressants just for the fact I was doing <i>something</i> to help so it was hard to tell when the tablets kicked in. It wasn't like I felt amazingly happy overnight; I wouldn't say the meds even take away the depression, as such, but they level me out enough that I can deal with the situations and thoughts that made me feel depressed.<br />
<br />
I guess it's like - and bear with me here because I've said before I'm crap with metaphors - if depression is being lost in a forest in the dark then the antidepressants don't take you out of the forest but they <i>do</i> provide you with a torch and...compass (not that I'm sure a compass would really help me if I was lost in a forest...maybe a map...or a mobile phone?) so you can find your own way out.<br />
<br />
Since then I've been back to the doctor to say I'm depressed again - and been put on antidepressants again - three more times. The only regrets I have around taking antidepressants is I stopped once I felt better (normally after about three months) without consulting my GP. The last time I went back the doctor told me I should stay on for at least two years for the best chance of avoiding another recurrence. I've been on them now for perhaps nine months and other than changing the kind I was taking because these treat anxiety better (something I'll perhaps write about another time), I've taken them consistently and plan to carry on doing so for at least the next year.<br />
<br />
And that's okay, actually.<br />
<br />
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<div align="center"><a href="http://mummyandmonkeys.com/category/Pick-n-Mix" rel="nofollow" title="Mummy and Monkeys"><img src="http://i1289.photobucket.com/albums/b505/eilidh84/Pick%20and%20Mix%20Fridays_zpseqqkd1e1.png" alt="Mummy and Monkeys" style="border:none;" /></a></div>Lady Nymhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17721420961173930843noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318006438685218297.post-41550977491163200472015-11-15T10:18:00.001-08:002015-11-22T11:31:06.651-08:00What If There Was a Cure for Autism?About five months ago I wrote <a href="http://tygerbearandme.blogspot.co.uk/2015/06/am-i-being-paranoid.html">this blog post</a> about Baby Bear and my growing suspicion that he - like Tyger - has ASD.<br />
<br />
So, have I changed my mind in the interim?<br />
<br />
No.<br />
<br />
I am surer and surer with every week that passes. Baby Bear is autistic.<br />
<br />
There are many reasons I'm so sure Bear (I really need to stop calling him 'Baby Bear' at some point given he hasn't technically been a baby for almost eight months now) has ASD. He walks on tiptoes a lot, he flaps his hands when he's excited or frustrated, he has some slightly 'odd' mannerisms like walking around with his head pressed against his shoulder as if he's keeping an imaginary phone in place without using his hands, the way he talks in mostly vowel sounds with very few consonants, he's funny about textures and has become more and more fussy with regards to food, and he has huge tantrums where he screams and screams for half an hour or more and scratches his face and hits himself and...you get the idea.<br />
<br />
In the last few days I've been pondering how I feel already knowing Bear has ASD when he's still so young. How do I feel about having two autistic children, what does it mean for Bear in the future, when should I start trying to get him a diagnosis? But the main thing I've caught myself thinking over and over is, 'Does Bear do that because he's autistic or would he do it anyway?'<br />
<br />
Bear can be quite violent (he might run over to me when I'm sitting on the sofa and suddenly bite me so hard it draws blood) and a week or so ago I pretended to cry after he'd hit me. He seemed concerned and brushed my hair out of my face. It was very sweet and it seemed to make sense that he wanted to study my face to figure out what was going on and how I felt. But, a couple of days later, he hurt me again and - again - I pretended to cry. This time I had my hair back in a ponytail...so he grabbed some of the loose bits and <i>put them in front of my face</i> before brushing them aside. I can only assume he has seen me brush the hair out of Tyger's face when he's upset and Bear has decided that's just what you do when someone's crying. Copying and repeating a social action without actually understanding the reasoning behind it? Hmm...that's very autistic.<br />
<br />
Or is it? Maybe he did it that first time because he really did want to see my face and liked the fact I smiled so tried to recreate that sequence. It doesn't really matter whether he did it because he's autistic or not but the fact I wonder so often is interesting and reminds me of a recent conversation I had with the Wolf. He asked, if a 'cure' for ASD was discovered would I give it to Tyger. Without really thinking I said 'yes'.<br />
<br />
I suppose, at that point, I was assuming a 'cure' for ASD would be akin to taking antidepressants. When I take antidepressants for my depression (which, incidentally, <a href="http://tygerbearandme.blogspot.co.uk/2015/11/me-my-mental-health-and-i.html">I wrote about last week</a>) they help with the negative symptoms of depression but they don't change me as a person. I do quite often feel a little 'spaced' for a week or so but past that I still quote <i>Firefly</i> and <i>Game of Thrones</i> at people, I still drink copious amounts of tea, I still feel socially awkward about strangers holding the door for me but I don't cry whenever the slightest thing goes wrong, I don't take hours to get to sleep.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYTfnXDBag8ONFpRhGYzIFdPPclq4bJ2QpHOcWHExmjMJe22eGCMlymxfjODfoAAqQ0iSAP_ZbnzP6yUTNy_fBjuA9tOt1IzOobVUwYqv3V1FFTwa2bgzBUowU5VytEc97HryzFs5trHKt/s1600/Pills.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYTfnXDBag8ONFpRhGYzIFdPPclq4bJ2QpHOcWHExmjMJe22eGCMlymxfjODfoAAqQ0iSAP_ZbnzP6yUTNy_fBjuA9tOt1IzOobVUwYqv3V1FFTwa2bgzBUowU5VytEc97HryzFs5trHKt/s320/Pills.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">I know highly you all regard my MS Paint skills.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
But would it be the same for ASD? If there was some 'antiautisant' would it simply take away Tyger's need for certain routines and distress at their change, would it just remove his anxiety, would it help with his sensory issues? That would be great. That would be Tyger without so much stress and worry and with fewer - if any - meltdowns.<br />
<br />
Or would it stop all obsessive behaviour completely so he wasn't interested in hoovers anymore? Would it reduce his anxiety to the point where he'd stop telling me he loved me all the time (I strongly suspect he tells me so often for the reassurance of hearing me say it back because of his anxiety)? Would it mean his unique way of viewing the world would disappear along with the autism?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidfEDACILYotwVqd_W8ETUFmswcIiE7ES1kqZFQybnmfsrMxBT622F0SBOJZqT6-lOXBTbedjqg8ql7Vfj3BZwKtYRlhu4hb6QDYfQ-xeMbUpJuFe2dvaeAZgIlgVdIrNQ1FwayN0OT9-9/s1600/Henry+and+Dyson+Attachment.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidfEDACILYotwVqd_W8ETUFmswcIiE7ES1kqZFQybnmfsrMxBT622F0SBOJZqT6-lOXBTbedjqg8ql7Vfj3BZwKtYRlhu4hb6QDYfQ-xeMbUpJuFe2dvaeAZgIlgVdIrNQ1FwayN0OT9-9/s320/Henry+and+Dyson+Attachment.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Would Tyger still have put the old, broken Dyson attachment on his<br />
toy Henry Hoover if he wasn't autistic?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTnsnRTwG4Fz8Ut5Khbwkj-7mzZaZapgncXc_MEJYqnVgEC-wpOYZ54JlmhWU3CJYvGS2I3wFjBP_MhzTCKa9KsUU9ERP2m4brQgcvwB2DBDetRuIDVDV9t5kTnEVFt_3YXd-78pMGEq2B/s1600/Henry+Cupcake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTnsnRTwG4Fz8Ut5Khbwkj-7mzZaZapgncXc_MEJYqnVgEC-wpOYZ54JlmhWU3CJYvGS2I3wFjBP_MhzTCKa9KsUU9ERP2m4brQgcvwB2DBDetRuIDVDV9t5kTnEVFt_3YXd-78pMGEq2B/s320/Henry+Cupcake.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And would he still have decorated one of his Halloween cupcakes with<br />
a Henry Hoover (that's apparently what you're looking at here...)?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Would it, as the Wolf put it, essentially 'kill' Tyger and leave us with a stranger in his place?<br />
<br />
Because that's a chilling thought.<br />
<br />
This is actually a very controversial debate among a lot of autistic people and the parents of autistic children and understandably, too. It's unsurprising anyone with ASD who thinks their personality and identity are inextricable from their ASD would be offended by the very idea of something that would remove it. On the other hand, it's equally understandable someone who feels <i>every day</i> is a battle because of their ASD would be in favour of making things easier. Then there are the parents of children with 'regressive autism'. Children with regressive autism often start talking and communicating and developing like their neurotypical peers but they suddenly stop talking, laughing, smiling and engaging in any social interaction at some point as a toddler. When this happens, the parents - especially if they don't have any knowledge or experience of ASD - can feel like they've 'lost' the child they had. Like that child has disappeared and been replaced by a different one. Can you blame them for wanting the child they feel they've lost back, if only fleetingly? In actuality they have not 'lost' their child but it's not surprising if that's how they feel at the point of regression.<br />
<br />
Of course, whilst ASD is still so little understood it's impossible to say exactly what a 'cure' would entail and what it would actually <i>do</i>.<br />
<br />
There's no way of knowing whether 'getting rid' of his ASD would stop Bear from brushing the hair from my face when I pretend to cry. Or take away his cheekiness or his love of his favourite toy and his current obsession with the anime film <i>Totoro.</i> Maybe it would just stop his violent, half hour tantrums.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPXIHnGFRzAsGi0DJqEMFLsKcb7GrRUilKPqHz-u-TZ1-FRuikUJjaCL2Q8n4NtYjxq27BKFukd4uC6r7Hsf_mGdn5tMkvRFvrl8QEezbL9wxQyaFI4pOt5hW9OeDGEo2GfsRWo9UE7TpJ/s1600/Bear+Hiding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPXIHnGFRzAsGi0DJqEMFLsKcb7GrRUilKPqHz-u-TZ1-FRuikUJjaCL2Q8n4NtYjxq27BKFukd4uC6r7Hsf_mGdn5tMkvRFvrl8QEezbL9wxQyaFI4pOt5hW9OeDGEo2GfsRWo9UE7TpJ/s320/Bear+Hiding.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Or maybe it would stop him from hiding when he's doing a poo.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It might make Tyger a better eater so he could have his food touching and would consider trying vegetables...or it might stop all his fascinating and quirky questions about how the world works.<br />
<br />
Perhaps it would make it easier for my sister to attend college without becoming completely overloaded but it could completely change her interests and hobbies and all the things that make her...her.<br />
<br />
To be honest, there's probably no point arguing over it right now because the truth is <i>we just don't know</i>. That doesn't stop me analysing everything the cubs do, though, and wondering whether they do it because they're autistic or because of their personalities...or whether there's even a difference.<br />
<br />
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<div align="center"><a href="http://sonssandandsauvignon.com" rel="nofollow" title="Sons, Sand & Sauvignon"><img src="http://sonssandandsauvignon.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Spectrum-Sunday-pic-linky-badge.jpg" alt="Sons, Sand & Sauvignon" style="border:none;" /></a></div>Lady Nymhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17721420961173930843noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318006438685218297.post-63211068188849482762015-11-07T03:04:00.002-08:002015-11-12T23:08:19.798-08:00Me, My Mental Health and II was toying with the idea of writing an 'All about Nym' post. Some sort of flippant, humorous and probably slightly twee list of things I like and dislike or some facts about me or some such. But having paid attention to my last blog post asking for feedback and just thinking about which of my posts seem to get the best response, I think I know what would go down better even if I've shied away from writing an entire blog post about it so far because it seems self indulgent. Besides, if my 16 year old sister can open up about how ASD and meltdowns affect her (<a href="http://tygerbearandme.blogspot.co.uk/2015/10/interview-with-aspie.html">in this post</a>) then I feel I really should show the same sort of willing (though, I can't promise the results will make for such good reading).<br />
<br />
Okay. I suffer from depression.<br />
<br />
Not a particularly shocking or daring admission given - besides the fact I've mentioned it on this blog before - depression affects one in...ten...five...four...I'm not sure, actually, Google couldn't seem to come to a consensus. Loads. Loads and loads of people have depression at some point and even more people know someone who is depressed, is what I'm trying to say.<br />
<br />
I think I had been suffering on and off with depression for a long time before I realised what it was. A long time. As in, I remember taking myself off to my dad's workshop to read and just crying and crying for no reason then lying when Mum asked if something was wrong and I was nine at the time.<br />
<br />
I was twice that age when I figured out what might be causing it. The Wolf and I got a flat in Glasgow the September after I turned 18 because I'd been accepted into the University of Glasgow. I remember unpacking one of the boxes for the kitchen - the Wolf was at work so I was home alone - and as I was taking the bubble wrap off a champagne flute I dropped it and it broke. And then I broke...down (this seemed like a good metaphor when I started). This wasn't some ornate, crystal champagne flute or anything. At least, I'm pretty sure it wasn't! No, it was part of a present from a friend; what with me turning 18 and everything (for any US readers, the legal age for buying alcohol in the UK is 18) and I think it was even part of a set of two but it just upset me so much that I'd managed to package this breakable thing up and transport it all the way from home with it intact just to drop it after I'd unwrapped it. It was like a Of Mice and Men thing except instead of my home being destroyed like in the poem or having to kill my best friend like in the novel my champagne flute broke despite all that bubble wrap. Okay, so maybe they're not comparable but that's the point. It wasn't the end of the world (it wasn't even the end of me drinking champagne since we couldn't afford it at the time, anyway) but I sat on the floor of our tiny kitchenette and sobbed and sobbed.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ0nVDb-gCZmLs7XAXNOo6T3VNV6obEikzeFBRxbN3IjKItworcj1zQeQLIXCc3-jwge8uJgB5TKazq6tNJz_rnRqzT-TgwdS-GGBj388UGPLVZR-o-3z73KxSOPjRMrVe81vFKPjvl9du/s1600/Champagne+Flutes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ0nVDb-gCZmLs7XAXNOo6T3VNV6obEikzeFBRxbN3IjKItworcj1zQeQLIXCc3-jwge8uJgB5TKazq6tNJz_rnRqzT-TgwdS-GGBj388UGPLVZR-o-3z73KxSOPjRMrVe81vFKPjvl9du/s320/Champagne+Flutes.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">None of these are the glass in question.<br />
Obviously, since that one...you know.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I don't think it was as a direct result of this I sought help but this was certainly one of the incidents that led to my realisation it probably wasn't 'normal' to cry for half an hour over breaking a glass. <br />
<br />
I've been asked before what depression feels like and it's hard to answer, not least because when I'm not depressed I don't think I truly remember what it was like when I was in the midst of it. The thing with the glass was common, though. You know how sometimes you have a really crappy day? Maybe you were kept awake half the night by noisy neighbours, then you realise you're out of milk when you go to make tea, then you forget your purse/phone etc. when you go out and each thing on its own is just a small irritation you'd normally sigh about and shrug off but after a whole day of small irritations it just takes one more to make you snap? That's part of what being depressed is for me. Small annoyances seem like the very last straw every single time. The number of times I cried through washing up just because...I didn't want to wash up (we ended up getting a dishwasher eventually) is ridiculous. If I was alone - I don't <i>do</i> crying in front of people - it didn't take much: something breaking, realising an item of clothing I wanted to wear was in the wash, not being able to decide what to eat. Any of these things could cause me to cry and cry.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidHqzD-eyofNmAcyexL4EZBe7K8xfYi3fq_aC3C3qzPZIokslU_5NsesEtogQLT82mALQP-AlkD7I9kDyqW2bN8yWFrOU-30NbOug-m7ohe7GvgKRvAsuehCyAa7R0Euw3qhCOizE8fxUS/s1600/The+Worst+Chocolates.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidHqzD-eyofNmAcyexL4EZBe7K8xfYi3fq_aC3C3qzPZIokslU_5NsesEtogQLT82mALQP-AlkD7I9kDyqW2bN8yWFrOU-30NbOug-m7ohe7GvgKRvAsuehCyAa7R0Euw3qhCOizE8fxUS/s320/The+Worst+Chocolates.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Or finding there was only Goram Eclairs left in the tub.<br />
Actually, we probably couldn't afford Cadbury's Heroes at the time.<br />
Which would also have made me cry.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Whilst I didn't realise this was, in fact, depression I did know my reactions were not completely normal so I hid it all from everyone bar the Wolf. Though, even with him, I didn't confide exactly but when you live with someone in a small, one bedroom flat the darkness will seep out.<br />
<br />
When we were little my brother decided it would be fun to try to make 'slime' He went about this by combining the inside of a glowstick with some WD40, a rubber (eraser for you non-Brits - he didn't put any condoms in to my knowledge, though he probably would have if he'd had one) and who knows what else. This was all stored in a small plastic pot with a magnifying glass lid designed - I assume from the plastic spider that came with it - to hold spiders and insects. He blithely added all these ingredients and left the little tub on a shelf. The terrifying concoction eroded the plastic, ate its way through the wooden shelf underneath...and the shelf below that. It was...sort of fascinating but pretty scary and weird. And not entirely unlike my depression eroding away my hope, patience, self confidence and very gradually dripping its acid on the Wolf and our relationship and my relationships with everyone else, too.<br />
<br />
See, whilst I did hide my depression from everyone I knew (very well apparently since more than one of my friends said I was literally the last person they would have thought was depressed after I finally told people), it still took its toll on all my interactions with other humans. When you construct this happy, jokey, easy going facade for all conversations you're left behind it peeking out. It's not really you having chatting and smiling, it's this construction. Once you're alone again you feel all the more lonely for having faked your way through all your chances to properly connect with someone else. That is the single most overriding feeling when I'm depressed, actually, Sure, I feel defeated and distressed and miserable and guilty and paranoid but more than anything else I feel lonely.<br />
<br />
Within a few months of the champagne flute breaking I took an online test where if you tick yes to more than X number of questions it indicates you may have depression. I scored more than the minimum number and decided to go and see my GP.<br />
<br />
But I was scared. I wasn't scared he'd say I had depression; I was scared he'd say I <i>didn't</i>. If I had depression there was a reason for why I felt the way I felt and there was a chance I could get better. If I didn't...then I was just a miserable git of a person and that wasn't ever likely to change.<br />
<br />
One of the reasons it had taken so long for me to realise I might have depression was because depression was a <i>real condition </i>and surely me crying quite a lot and feeling completely and utterly hopeless and alone was just being a teenager. The impression I got from the little I knew about depression was that it rendered you incapable of any sort of normal life without you grabbing at the nearest sharp object to hack away at your wrists. I was having a hard time but I had some good days here and there and I managed to function and even talk and laugh when around other people. If I had a particularly rough night of obsessing over every single bad thing that had happened in the last year or so and finally crying myself to sleep at 3am (very quietly so as not to wake the Wolf) then the next day when I was out at Uni and the sun was shining and people were going about their lives all around me I'd tell myself I'd been silly and everything always seems worse in the middle of the night and I just needed to pull myself together. I'm British, after all! Stiff upper lip and all that. Surely I could just walk it off.<br />
<br />
But as stiff as my lip was (that sounds really terribly bad now I've written it down) and as much walking as I did to and from campus every day, I still had these awful episodes and an overriding sense of things being hopeless.<br />
<br />
I went along to the GP appointment with a list. I was worried I'd be laughed out of the room for being a melodramatic teenage girl so I clutched my little notebook of evidence (this was to stand me in good stead when I needed to document all Tyger's autistic traits and behaviours for evidence almost a decade later) and hoped I'd be taken seriously.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3JAzcS3R2PWjYK5JK0LjgQW4nfMsKt9p8MPbC8ztXALHig3L_NDIQ0W9n0s2snyAx8jfDADp3H9llFVIf8ZEEEHN36s2RMIzfMhJAuoPm1Mgi4x-wlARd7qEZp7WgqVNEXtx_fTJIkP2A/s1600/Notebooks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3JAzcS3R2PWjYK5JK0LjgQW4nfMsKt9p8MPbC8ztXALHig3L_NDIQ0W9n0s2snyAx8jfDADp3H9llFVIf8ZEEEHN36s2RMIzfMhJAuoPm1Mgi4x-wlARd7qEZp7WgqVNEXtx_fTJIkP2A/s320/Notebooks.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Which one is best for taking notes on <i>Great Expectations</i> and which<br />
is best for noting down all the signs of a potential mental illness?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I earnestly went through my list of symptoms: both psychological (feelings of despair, guilt, irritability etc.) and physical (insomnia, headaches, loss of appetite, fatigue...). The doctor was lovely and thankfully did take me very seriously. I had to fill out a sort of assessment questionnaire, which went over the same ground I'd already covered with my little notebook but this was <i>official</i> and asked how many times I'd suffered from each thought or symptom in the last week. It came back showing I had moderate depression.<br />
<br />
I was so relieved.<br />
<br />
The doctor said he was reluctant to put someone so young straight onto antidepressants so he referred me for 'talking therapy' instead. I was secretly a little thrilled. As much as the thought of having to actually tell someone all about the ridiculous things going on in my head was, I felt a little like a character out of an American TV show. They all seemed to have 'shrinks', after all and at 18 it seemed almost glamorous. As it happens, my experience with the talking therapist was not particularly positive but I suspect this is reaching it's attention-holding limit so that may be the subject of a future post.<br />
<br />
If you're disappointed I didn't write a blog post about my likes and dislikes I can tell you I like tea and stepping on crunchy pine cones and dislike motivational minion memes and the volume for the TV being on an odd number. It probably wasn't worth an entire post.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Linked with:</i></div>
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<a href="http://mrshsfavouritethings.com/?m=0" target="_blank" title="Mami 2 Five"><img alt="Mami 2 Five" src="http://mami2five.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/sundaystars.badge_.jpg" style="border: none;" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.thetwinklediaries.co.uk/category/linkys/twinkly-tuesday/" title="The Twinkle Diaries"><img alt="The Twinkle Diaries" src="http://www.thetwinklediaries.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/twinkly_tuesday_badge_2015.jpg" style="border: none;" /></a><br />
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<div align="center"><a href="http://www.acornishmum.com/everything-else/picknmixfridays" title="A Cornish Mum"><img src="http://www.acornishmum.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/06/Pick-and-Mix-Fridays1.png" alt="A Cornish Mum" rel="nofollow" style="border:none;" /></a></div></p>
Lady Nymhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17721420961173930843noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318006438685218297.post-38327848365831101282015-10-31T05:24:00.001-07:002015-11-06T09:07:02.871-08:00Where Am I Going Wrong (or Right)?<i>Edit: Thank you for all the responses and I have made a few changes accordingly. If you would still like to comment you can give feedback on the current colours/background.</i><br />
<br />
I was really pleased with last week's post where I <a href="http://tygerbearandme.blogspot.co.uk/2015/10/interview-with-aspie.html">interviewed my Aspie sister</a> on what it's like to have ASD and her experience of meltdowns. I was unsure how to top that this week. A Halloween themed post? An interview with my dyspraxic, colour blind sister? Nah, I've decided to enlist your help instead.<br />
<br />
At some future point I might self host my blog but for now I'm sticking with Blogger. However, I am still a technophobe and still a bit clueless when it comes to this blogging business and I'm also hugely indecisive. Picking what to have for lunch is often an angst-filled process so deciding on the look and content of my blog is just too much and I generally try to avoid thinking about it lest I have a break down.<br />
<br />
It's okay, though, I've thought of a way round this! I'll do what I often do at lunchtime and ask other people what they're planning to eat...or I'll ask other people what they think I should do with my blog (although, lunchtime is coming up so I'd be open to hearing your lunch options too).<br />
<br />
Here we go. I should warn you I am utterly useless when it comes to terminology for...websitey, bloggy stuff.<br />
<br />
<br />
<u><b>The Stripes</b></u><br />
<br />
So, there should be tiger stripes down the sides of the blog. You know, the backgroundy bit. This is an example of my awesome MS Paint skills. I know, I know, I said I was a technophobe then I drop this bombshell on you but I did indeed make those incredibly artistic and sophisticated stripes all by myself.<br />
<br />
I actually quite like the stripes. They fit with the blog name, they're kind of unpretentious, fun and childlike. I don't like the fact they're not very symmetrical and sort of cut off at the right hand side but I'm not sure if that's dependent on the device you access the blog from and I'm sure it's fixable if I really put my mind to it.<br />
<br />
Anyway, whilst I quite like them I'm open to other suggestions. Or open to the idea of keeping stripes and making them a little more...realistic. What are your thoughts?<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><u>The Horrid Colour Scheme</u></b><br />
<br />
It's very...brown. I think pretty much all other blogs I read have white behind the text and on the side bit where all the stuff about Facebook and Twitter go. I have brown.<br />
<br />
It's left over from when I first made the blog and didn't have the stripes and it looked a bit different (not <i>very</i> different, granted, because...all that stuff I said about decisiveness). I did ask what people thought of the brown on my Facebook page and a couple of people said they liked it but this was going back to when I only had a few page likes - pretty much exclusively friends and family - as opposed to the <strike>still fewer than 100</strike> many, many I have now. White would mean I wouldn't have that annoying white border around photos and badges and...I want to say widgets or something (the Facebook and Twitter bits on the right...or, at least, on the right on a laptop or computer) but would it be too boring?<br />
<br />
Do you like the brown with the off-white text? This is the one thing I'm most likely to change but if it turns out everyone actually does genuinely love the brown I'd suck it up and keep it. If not brown then what? White? There must be a reason it's the choice of most other bloggers out there! Or a different colour?<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><u>Pictures</u></b><br />
<br />
I imagine there's a way to get a photo somewhere here (other than in the actual blog posts). Lots of other people do it. I try to stay relatively anonymous on here because I'm writing largely about other people and predominantly about Tyger and Bear's lives so I won't put up a big picture of my face or anything. However, I did get my lovely mum to take this photo for me to use as a profile picture for Facebook, Twitter and comments on here:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQnMMV1x7OnCPcVq9AnDwedJ1R01DnrEmh1OupzVxuwuqqr24uzEXiYlV616m3jKSdsAtzQMUqyYfIXqIlQo8mR9CV7gQbQ3w-vxpVI7z9uZs6g-dDKHqKaV9wEo-zjT9alrW9OF8TUViN/s1600/TBaM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQnMMV1x7OnCPcVq9AnDwedJ1R01DnrEmh1OupzVxuwuqqr24uzEXiYlV616m3jKSdsAtzQMUqyYfIXqIlQo8mR9CV7gQbQ3w-vxpVI7z9uZs6g-dDKHqKaV9wEo-zjT9alrW9OF8TUViN/s320/TBaM.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Do you think I should have this photo (or some other photo) somewhere at the top of the blog?<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><u>Content</u></b><br />
<br />
I don't really have any hard and fast rules when it comes to the content of my blog posts. I tend to write about ASD a lot and Tyger is often my protagonist but I also write about Bear, myself, other issues (like <a href="http://tygerbearandme.blogspot.co.uk/2015/02/yes-i-bought-my-son-dress.html">gender stereotypes</a> and <a href="http://tygerbearandme.blogspot.co.uk/2015/03/frack-you-thats-why-breastfeeding-in.html">breastfeeding in public</a>) and anything that happens to pop into my head.<br />
<br />
So, if you have read a few of my posts, which do you prefer? Is there anything you'd like me to write about more often? Or something you'd like me to cover that I haven't written about yet?<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><u>Other Things I Don't Really Think About</u></b><br />
<br />
Any other thoughts? I lazily use the 'default font' on all my blog posts. Should I pick something else (more decisions!)? Should I add more photos to my blog posts? Should I branch out more on social media (I know how to use Facebook and Twitter - everything else scares me but I'll give it a go if I really should)? Does anything about my writing style really annoy you (I use parenthesis and ellipsis a <i>lot</i>, for one thing)? Should I try to figure out how to have actual pages like an 'about me' section and all that jazz? Or are there any other pieces of advice or criticism I haven't covered you'd like to throw my way?<br />
<br />
<br />
I genuinely am - possibly foolishly - asking for honest opinions so please don't worry about offending me. I'm not quite happy with the blog as is, which is why I'm addressing this in the first place. I'd love answers in any form: in the comment section of this post, in the comment section on Facebook, as tweets to me on Twitter or even face to face if you're one of the lucky people who know me in real life. Whatever's easiest for you!<br />
<br />
*Sits back and awaits tumbleweed.*
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Linked with:</i></span></div>
<br />
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<a href="http://www.rainbeaubelle.com/" target="_blank" title="Mami 2 Five"><img alt="Mami 2 Five" src="http://mami2five.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/sundaystars.badge_.jpg" style="border: none;" /></a><br />
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Lady Nymhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17721420961173930843noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318006438685218297.post-56496398189828498982015-10-24T06:51:00.001-07:002015-11-22T11:32:57.856-08:00Interview with the AspieI use this blog as a platform to raise awareness and understanding of ASD pretty often but - as I covered in my blog post <a href="http://tygerbearandme.blogspot.co.uk/2015/05/am-i-autistic.html">here</a> - I'm not autistic myself. One of my sisters is, though, and she kindly agreed to let me interview her to allow me to fully communicate the perspective of someone on the spectrum. My sister is only 16 and was diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome just two and a half years ago. On here I call her 'Aspie Sister' (with her full support - she doesn't see 'Aspie' as a negative term) so that's been abbreviated to 'AS' for the interview.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
_________________________________________________________</div>
<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Me: </b> I wanted to do this interview to give people a slightly better idea of what it's like to have autism and especially to have a meltdown because I think it's quite hard for people to imagine or to empathise with. You got your diagnosis quite late, which is often the case for girls. So, did you realised you might be different to your peers before then?<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> I think I always realised I was different. Thinking back to year seven - I don't know why but I was going through a really weird phase - I'd always tell people I was insane and my password was always like 'iaminsane'.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> I remember, actually, getting a text from you once saying, 'Am I normal?'<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> That rings a bell.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> And I kind of brushed it off at the time. I just said, 'Oh well, what is normal anyway? Is anyone really normal and is being normal really such a good thing?' Now - knowing - it shows you did have an idea you weren't neurotypical even if you wouldn't have known to phrase it like that.<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> Yeah. I think one of the reasons I would always be like 'I'm insane' and I'd try to make a joke of it was because I was quite scared. Because, I was like, 'I'm different. I don't know what this is. Why am I not like everyone else?' I just tried to put this front up and I was all, 'Ah, I'm insane! I'm so funny!'<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Yeah. 'I'm just the crazy one.' Like...the 'quirky friend' because that's obviously a 'thing' in TV shows so I guess you thought if you could embody that then it was still an accepted role in society?<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> Yeah.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> How did you feel about the diagnosis, then? <br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> I was so relieved. Most people are like, 'It's not a good thing you've got a diagnosis. Why are you happy you've got this label?' But it is such a relief when I've been thinking I'm from a different planet. I thought no-one was like me. To have that and know there are other people like me is just such a relief. It also meant I could get help.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> You've had a lot of various support and it's worked to different degrees depending on how well the person trying to support you understands ASD. There are some misguided attempts to help. People quite often think they're helping by telling you to <i>tell them</i> when you're having problems, don't they?<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> Yeah. Also I'm not good at speaking in person and teachers often say, 'I don't like emails much. Just come up to me and talk to me about it.' And I'm like, 'No, just let me email you.' It really annoys me when they don't email back but then they come up to me and just start talking to me about it and I'm like, 'No! No.'<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Would you like to explain what having ASD actually means for you and your everyday life?<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> I don't know because it's quite hard when you have it and...it's just your life. People always ask me, 'What's it like to be autistic?' But, I don't know. It's just how I am, how I see the world. For me, I can't imagine anyone else seeing it in any other way. It's like me asking other people, 'What's it like to be normal?' I don't know.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> The big thing I wanted to cover was meltdowns. I was wondering if you could talk me through what triggers them.<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> For me it's usually something social. If something goes really wrong in a social situation that can trigger it for me. Or if something to do with my routine gets wrecked, especially if it's a routine I've had for a long time. Like when I always used to have to have spaghetti on a Sunday and then I remember coming home one Sunday and Dad said, 'We're going to have a barbecue tonight.' I was screaming and Mum and Dad didn't seem to understand why. They were like, 'But you like barbecues.' I think they struggled to understand why it was such a big thing for me.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Can you remember from meltdowns how you actually feel?<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> I guess you just feel <i>very</i> overwhelmed. A lot. It's quite hard to describe and it depends on why you have the meltdown.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> So, it's not always the same feeling? It varies?<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> Yeah. And when you start to go into a meltdown you do start to lose control. And there's this part of you that's like, 'No, stop it.' You can see it's just silly and you shouldn't be doing it but it's just this tiny little voice and the rest of you is like, 'NO! This is so important.' <br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> So, there is a bit of you watching yourself from outside?<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> Especially if I'm in a group of people it's like, 'Stop it, stop it. Everyone's going to look at you. Stop it.'<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> But you can't?<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> I cannot. <br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> It's not something you're doing out of choice.<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> No. And I've noticed I have a lot of actions I just cannot control. They just happen. I often just randomly shake my head quickly - especially if anyone tries to talk to me. I'll just shake my head: 'No.' Obviously, there's that part of you that knows it's bad that then starts to get frustrated and then that comes out so you get angry and upset and everything.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> So, it's like a loop? It feeds into the meltdown?<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> Yeah and that's when, I think, other ASD people can get quite aggressive. I don't tend to get aggressive but there have been times where I do get a little bit aggressive.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> It's more just anger at yourself for not being able to stop it?<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> And then I can't control the anger and it sort of goes into this horrible cycle.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Do you typically cry?<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> I usually cry. Usually there's lots of grabbing at myself and my hair - that's something I do a lot - and various shaking and tapping.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> And I know you sometimes pace?<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> Pacing: definitely. And then when the anger starts to build up I start to like, 'Argh!' (<i>clenches her fists</i>) And that's when I'm grabbing even more and sometimes I'll just be like...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ac6Xn75gFuRkxjY22GSHOwPZR-f6BwtOUO3LhyphenhyphenstlT_sLWqBde2MhA57bhPUdyZZfMVriQoHIZCTAqs2wEcCclLM7AFXgU4wFe1Yts1u6paEYZoWtgLqed3mBZc7vv30-hbFHsQmxgvs/s1600/AS+Meltdown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ac6Xn75gFuRkxjY22GSHOwPZR-f6BwtOUO3LhyphenhyphenstlT_sLWqBde2MhA57bhPUdyZZfMVriQoHIZCTAqs2wEcCclLM7AFXgU4wFe1Yts1u6paEYZoWtgLqed3mBZc7vv30-hbFHsQmxgvs/s320/AS+Meltdown.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>Me:</b> And as you work through the meltdown you often collapse, it seems. Does that happen a lot?<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> Yeah. I think it all gets too much and I just can't seem to function anymore so I just collapse and cry.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> It's interesting because you lose control but there's a part of yourself that says, 'Don't do this.' When you're coming out of the meltdown does the voice gets louder or is it that you cry yourself out or...how does it end?<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> I usually just run out of energy. When I was in year nine I used to say I'd run out of tears. I'd just get to the point where I...couldn't anymore.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> So, is there anything that can bring you out of a meltdown once it's started? Or is that it and it's just going to run its course until you run out of energy?<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> I guess it depends on how bad the meltdown is.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> And maybe where you are and who you're with? Would you be more likely to come out of a meltdown when you're here, somewhere you're comfortable, and with - for instance - Mum? Or, <i>because</i> you're comfortable, would you be more likely to let go and would you be more likely to hold it back when you're out with people?<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> I try to hold it back more when I'm out with people. You want, so badly, to fit in. You just hold it all in and that's often when - when I get home - it all comes out. I used to find especially on Fridays when I'd had the whole week at school I'd often just end up crying.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> So, after you've had a meltdown do you typically feel better than you did before or do you feel worse...or do you just feel numb?<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> I think it depends on where I am. So, if it's out in public or something, I'd feel worse afterwards but if it's at home I usually feel better. Sometimes it's just nice to let it all out.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> During the meltdown, is there much in the way of thought? You say there's a small part of yourself that is just thinking, 'Don't do this,' but other than that are you thinking much?<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> There aren't many thoughts but it often is a sort of cycle of what sent you into the meltdown but then it can start to reach out to other things so that makes the meltdown even worse because then you're like, 'And there's <i>this</i> wrong, and there's <i>this</i> wrong and <i>this</i> happened.' I often keep saying, over and over, 'I'm sorry.' Especially if it's with Mum or my boyfriend. 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry.' They'll say, 'Why?' And I don't say anything other than, 'I'm sorry.'<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Do you think you're sorry because you think you're putting all that on them?<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> Yeah.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Like you're burdening them?<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> I <i>always</i> feel like that. Sometimes when I get upset about something and I'm talking to my boyfriend he says, 'Go and see your mum.' And I'm like, 'No, I don't want to put another thing on her. I can't do that to her.'<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Finally, is there anything you wish more people knew about ASD?<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> Probably...that we are people as well. Some people get scared of us. People know of the ones who are quite aggressive and violent...or just because it's unknown to them so they get a bit scared. Or some people just get very angry with people who have ASD and they're like, 'They shouldn't be allowed to reproduce.'<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Jesus!<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> Just, if you hear one story of an ASD person who's been violent or something then you get so many horrible people.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> (<i>Sarcastic</i>) Yeah, because neurotypical people are never violent! I guess it's just ignorance, isn't it?<br />
<br />
<b>AS:</b> Yeah.<br />
<br />
<b>Me:</b> Thank you.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<div align="center"><a href="http://sonssandandsauvignon.com" rel="nofollow" title="Sons, Sand & Sauvignon"><img src="http://sonssandandsauvignon.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Spectrum-Sunday-pic-linky-badge.jpg" alt="Sons, Sand & Sauvignon" style="border:none;" /></a></div>Lady Nymhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17721420961173930843noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318006438685218297.post-59497728077825694122015-10-19T03:58:00.002-07:002015-11-30T00:26:31.838-08:00So...What *Is* Autism?The toddler group we used to go to has finally started back up, which is good when the weather's pretty dreary but the cubs need to get out of the house.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwNrRf1FkAoRIF6CqXGcn6eci8QP-Tz4FThFaM3QZ8y2VrPumIpfkK-aX4WUwwXhL6Z8GgoHjwqWbGrw94GCHVphUTBvE8nSKo9AUU5f2ScCBu3nnBSM2NPkac86DmghU54DVBOiaEN-bU/s1600/Dreary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwNrRf1FkAoRIF6CqXGcn6eci8QP-Tz4FThFaM3QZ8y2VrPumIpfkK-aX4WUwwXhL6Z8GgoHjwqWbGrw94GCHVphUTBvE8nSKo9AUU5f2ScCBu3nnBSM2NPkac86DmghU54DVBOiaEN-bU/s320/Dreary.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can't wait 'til they're old enough to enjoy sitting on the sofa with<br />
a cup of tea on days like this.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There was a nice couple at the group whose little boy has now started school but they came along to offer moral support to the woman who's taken over the running of things (and I imagine for the tea, as well - that's at least half the reason I go). I used to chat with them quite a bit before summer so they knew Tyger was being assessed for ASD and I mentioned the fact he got a diagnosis.<br />
<br />
That's when the inevitable happened. The dad (not so called just because I anonymise everyone on here but because I can't actually remember his name) asked me what having ASD actually meant for Tyger.<br />
<br />
I love the fact he asked because he didn't assume he knew, he was genuinely interested and he wanted to hear from someone who had knowledge and experience of ASD. Great. Really, really great (no, genuinely great - why do I always read that word in a sarcastic tone??).<br />
<br />
I also hate the fact he asked because I never know what to say. Autism spectrum disorder is a...well, a spectrum and a disorder (ah, I see what they did there!). It's not <i>one thing</i> and it varies for everyone. Just thinking about Tyger alone and what ASD means for him is really hard because it's a combination of lots of behaviours and thought processes that all interact and change. And it affects others on the spectrum completely differently.<br />
<br />
I stuttered a bit about his sensory problems, anxiety and social issues but I don't think I really shed much light on what ASD <i>actually is</i>.<br />
<br />
So, <i>what is autism?</i> This question is harder to answer than you might think. Right now we don't know the cause of autism so it's a term used to cover a collection of certain behaviours (and by 'we', I mean humanity in general in case you had visions of me conducting studies and looking at brain scans and...other sciency things). Of course, we don't know whether this collection of behaviours is even always caused by the same thing. In some families - like mine - there seems to be a very strong genetic element. When there are <i>many</i> families with <i>many </i>diagnoses of ASD it's hard to imagine it's a coincidence. However, there are also people with ASD who appear to be the only ones in their family. There are also many cases of children showing enough 'autistic traits' for a diagnosis where these traits have probably come from the fact they have been deaf or had hearing difficulties for the first few years of life. Other times it is perhaps an overlap of other conditions or disorders (like dyspraxia or OCD) that present as ASD.<br />
<br />
Hopefully, in the future we'll have a way of separating out these similar and/or related conditions and disorders leading to better treatment or support for them all. For now, though, there are certain diagnostic criteria for ASD but they do seem to vary depending on where you are and even which set of professionals you happen to end up dealing with.<br />
<br />
The NHS website breaks down ASD into two main 'symptoms':<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Problems with social interaction and communication.</li>
</ul>
<div>
and:</div>
<ul>
<li>Restrictive and repetitive patterns of thought, interests and physical behaviours.</li>
</ul>
<br />
<br />
You may also have heard of the 'triad of impairments'. This <i>is not</i> a member of the Chinese mafia who deals with problems and difficulties. It <i>is</i> three areas in which people with ASD struggle, often demonstrated by a triangle:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-cMzjeldT7hWE0x576BEtEaCtddXR-d3Lbki_elQndHSEC-U1vc1wfgl37cBuXWotcLu5Jzf28rNngI16lGTpX7DV1eP_rGoBa0nyYaJTUSPnebHY-r1EYoSW2NtXqQQqXBQoJGw9bVLH/s1600/Triad.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-cMzjeldT7hWE0x576BEtEaCtddXR-d3Lbki_elQndHSEC-U1vc1wfgl37cBuXWotcLu5Jzf28rNngI16lGTpX7DV1eP_rGoBa0nyYaJTUSPnebHY-r1EYoSW2NtXqQQqXBQoJGw9bVLH/s320/Triad.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What do you think of my <strike>incredibly basic</strike> awesome Paint skills?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Depending on where you look, the exact wording might be different. You might find 'flexibility of thought' becomes 'social imagination', for one thing, but generally the three 'impairments' cover the same things regardless of the exact wording. Does this all sound a bit vague and confusing and like there's a lot of cross-over? Welcome to my world!<br />
<br />
It might help for me to use Tyger as an example to put these terms in context a little (or it might not but if you've made it this far you're about half way so might as well keep going now).<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><u>Social Interaction</u></b><br />
<br />
Tyger struggles with 'appropriate' social interaction. It's not that he doesn't enjoy talking to people because he does...a lot. But he'll stand or sit too close to them because he's completely unaware of other people's personal space. If <i>I</i> find him a bit suffocating then I can imagine it's off putting for other people (and I've seen other children get angry with him 'playing' by pretty much sitting on them so kids pick up on this stuff from a young age).<br />
<br />
Whilst I hate the emphasis put on eye contact when discussing ASD, Tyger does have reduced eye contact and he finds it tiring to have to look at people's faces for any length of time (a conclusion I only reached quite recently, as I wrote about <a href="http://tygerbearandme.blogspot.co.uk/2015/08/look-into-my-eyes.html">here</a>). <br />
<br />
He struggles to identify other people's (and, in deed, his own) emotions. More than once, Baby Bear has cried and Tyger's response has been, 'Look, Bear's happy!'<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><u>Language and Communication</u></b><br />
<br />
This does not mean Tyger is 'behind' in his language. In fact, as the speech and language therapist (SALT) put it, his language is very 'sophisticated'. He had over 200 words in his vocabulary when he was 18 months old, which is quite a lot (for anyone who doesn't have kids: the average for this age is something around 20-50 words (and for anyone who <i>does</i> have kids you'll have obsessed over numbers like that until your child was at least two so you'll already know)).<br />
<br />
There were some oddities, though. 'Mummy' and 'yes' were not included in those 200+ words! Two of the very first words children learn and they were nowhere to be seen.<br />
<br />
In a similar vein, the SALT said it was interesting to note how - despite Tyger's language being advanced in many ways - the areas of language where he was more average or even slightly below average were connected with social awareness. For instance, he comes out with amazingly grown-up phrases and has a huge vocabulary but still uses 'he', 'she' and 'it' interchangeably when talking about people.<br />
<br />
It's also very common for people with ASD to have trouble processing language. With Tyger - and with other members of my family - this means he will frequently respond with 'what?' to anything you say. He's heard the words but needs a moment to actually make sense of them <strike>although I wish he would do so without the immediate 'WHAT??'</strike>.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><u>Flexibility of Thought</u></b><br />
<br />
The worst part of this for Tyger right now is the fact he seems to think once he states an idea, it is agreed upon and will happen. So, 'I know, let's go outside,' in his head is, 'Everyone has agreed we will <i>definitely </i>go outside <i>this instant</i>.' It's hugely frustrating and no amount of 'no' stops him. I've tried other tactics like explaining the weather is awful but he'll just come back with, 'I have an idea; let's wear our boots.'<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4BQNXU5tGhNs59xyNlOuKxRrfL8LtzP6XFtiy7qT5EqyEcSOjqo4MDkn0mXgeO9jWOt8FcXmoNk2Mfs05_sJgOWOcn0w53wyYaBeGJ4ItMF_uoneKh-MksqPERu4LdrZjkn3vjuEamnZ8/s1600/Boots.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4BQNXU5tGhNs59xyNlOuKxRrfL8LtzP6XFtiy7qT5EqyEcSOjqo4MDkn0mXgeO9jWOt8FcXmoNk2Mfs05_sJgOWOcn0w53wyYaBeGJ4ItMF_uoneKh-MksqPERu4LdrZjkn3vjuEamnZ8/s320/Boots.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I need to hide these!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
He just keeps asking, and telling, and explaining and generally going on and on and on and on and on about going out-smegging-side for hours and hours and hours and hours and...you probably get the picture.<br />
<br />
He also struggles with changes to routine and 'the norm'. He has a biscuit after lunch every day so if he sees a character on TV eating a biscuit before lunch he's utterly incredulous. The mere suggestion of such blatant disregard for biscuit eating rules is unthinkable to Tyger. There are also two lanes from the road to his preschool: one big and one small. My mum dropped us off nearer the big lane the first few times we went so Tyger cannot go down the smaller lane on his way to preschool. On the way back, yes. On the way there, don't be so Goram ridiculous. Going down the small lane on the way <i>to</i> preschool is almost as bizarre as eating a biscuit <i>before</i> lunch.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
So, could I have just said all that to the guy at the toddler group? Even if his eyes didn't glaze over after the mention of eye contact it doesn't mention all his sensory issues, which are a massive daily problem. It doesn't touch on meltdowns, what causes them and what they're like. And it's just picking out a few points from the many, many battles and problems and differences Tyger faces every day.<br />
<br />
It's a tough one. I <i>want</i> people to ask because I'd rather they showed an interest than either avoiding the subject or making assumptions and silently judging.<br />
<br />
But I don't know what to say when someone actually <i>does</i> ask. I want to get across everything but I don't want to lecture them until they turn off.<br />
<br />
Any suggestions gratefully received.
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<div align="center"><a href="http://sonssandandsauvignon.com" rel="nofollow" title="Sons, Sand & Sauvignon"><img src="http://sonssandandsauvignon.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Spectrum-Sunday-pic-linky-badge.jpg" alt="Sons, Sand & Sauvignon" style="border:none;" /></a></div>Lady Nymhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17721420961173930843noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318006438685218297.post-34082428781142518122015-10-10T04:23:00.000-07:002015-10-13T04:06:06.808-07:00Builders: The AgonyMaybe I'm not normal. I know: you're shocked by this revelation. I mentioned in last week's blog post (<a href="http://tygerbearandme.blogspot.co.uk/2015/10/so-much-for-diagnosis.html">So Much for a Diagnosis</a>) that there are builders in at the moment doing various...buildery jobs around my parents' house.<br />
<br />
I have decided the world is split into two kinds of people: the kind of people who read the last sentence without any reaction and the kind who winced for me.<br />
<br />
I hate having the builders in. I don't hate the builders, themselves. Sure they have a tendency to leave the baby gates open and are terrible at communicating what job they might work on next but on the whole I imagine they are decent guys doing their job. I just don't like <i>other people</i> being in or around the house in general. I can handle guests. They tend to be people I like, stay in certain guest-appropriate rooms and arrive and leave at pre-arranged or predictable times. <br />
<br />
The builders, though, turn up before 8am every morning. It's not that I'm not up by that time (ha! I wish; Tyger or Bear have me up well before 6 most mornings) but Bear is...clingy - yeah, we'll go with clingy - in the morning. He tends to wake up in much the same way you'd expect someone who's passed out whilst being tortured and awakes to find their finger nails are being removed might wake up. I get him his breakfast, sit with him on my lap whilst feeding him and then have to stay in the room for a good two hours or so because at the first sign I'm so much as looking towards the door you'd think someone was squeezing his fingernailless fingernails (I feel I should point out both my sons do, in fact, have all their fingernails still attached to their fingers).<br />
<br />
Despite this, I still have to feed both cubs their breakfasts, let the dogs out and feed all cats and dogs. Doing all that whilst trying to minimise the screaming from Bear leaves very little chance for getting myself ready. I tend to just about manage to toast myself a bagel and pour a cup of tea. Past that, I wait until my mum's back from taking my sisters to their school and college buses before I shower and/or get dressed etc. This means I'm still unwashed and in pyjamas when the builders arrive every morning. And we're not talking sexy, silky pyjamas or cute matching fleecy pyjamas. We're talking a mix of decade old mismatched pyjamas with holes in and the Wolf's old long sleeve tops (often, also with holes).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiML_83ZuZGnnLiAYOnpUMMAYQx9XLHe8AkA6wWhbK7JC4jwCzT82FMpmZ2KhjOYkuv6lS1zFFowJ9acAPCntu_RAvwshXMqSru4cZCjmald7vW53azR-dqZm3DGf1nULkB713l1aNwwKEX/s1600/Pyjamas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiML_83ZuZGnnLiAYOnpUMMAYQx9XLHe8AkA6wWhbK7JC4jwCzT82FMpmZ2KhjOYkuv6lS1zFFowJ9acAPCntu_RAvwshXMqSru4cZCjmald7vW53azR-dqZm3DGf1nULkB713l1aNwwKEX/s320/Pyjamas.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And just as creased as that, too.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Then there are the practical issues. It's pretty well known that people with ASD often like routine. Tyger gets very agitated if I try to give him juice instead of squash at lunch time (juice is for morning, squash for drinking with lunch and water at dinner...obviously). Having to spend almost entire days shut away in the - pretty small - dining room because the fireplace is being replaced in the living room is quite a big change. Not only that but between the dining room and living room are sliding doors so they have to be duct taped up to stop Baby Bear just walking through there. And the lack of space gives Tyger - who's already prone to boredom and agitation - a sort of wild cabin fever.<br />
<br />
The builders are also...unpredictable. Unpredictable means we don't know when they might be doing work on the fireplace in the living room as opposed to putting screed down on the floor in the hall between the old part of the house and the extension or doing...something to the...something outside the bathroom window (seriously, they seem to spend at least 50% of their time up ladders at the bathroom windows and I drink a lot of tea so that's not good) or knocking out a wall in the kitchen.<br />
<br />
Did I mention the builders leave the baby gates open? Well, they also leave the front door open. Which is fine and sort of necessary when they're going back and forth but the other day I thought Tyger was with my mum in the kitchen and she thought he was with me in the living room. He had actually put his boots on (he also had <i>other clothes</i> on for once and wasn't in his boots alone because he had nursery that morning so I guess that's something) and was lurking by the builders' van. Now, before anyone decides to call Social Services - we're talking big driveway with a gate then a quiet lane before your get to a road rather than a main road outside the front door. Still...not great.<br />
<br />
Even 'simple' things like doing laundry has become a whole operation. Okay, laundry is not normally simple; it's pretty complicated, actually. The usual challenge is trying to sneak away to actually put the laundry in the machine, hang it up and put it away (I don't do ironing, if you hadn't already deduced that from the creases in the picture above). If I do it whilst Bear is up and about the chances are he'll climb on something whilst I'm out of the room (have I mentioned Bear climbs? On everything? I mean, on smegging <b><i>everything</i></b>! Chairs, tables, toy boxes, radiators, windowsills, desks, shelves, mantelpieces, the backs of sofas, counters...everything!) but if I try to do it whilst he's napping Tyger follows me and talks really loudly right outside Bear's room.<br />
<br />
With the builders around this supposedly simple task becomes even more complex. As evidenced above, Tyger can't be trusted not to wander off after the builders if he's not carefully watched (probably saying, 'Man? What are you doing, Man? Are you finished? What's that? Are you going to do hoovering? - did I mention the builders have a <b>HENRY HOOVER</b>? Tyger was overjoyed to find that out). Plus, the kitchen is often off limits because of all the dust. Or I can get in the living room but everything's been moved so the washing machine is impossible to get to and even if the washing machine is accessible the tumble drier has been unplugged and moved (the weather has, of course, been awful).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIy36EZFfwrp-elUfrB3bPxWgFWhH8-mOYum4Ux3r8lXf63kNWh2U0pcO5DzikvUhs1XM32mXepw2zUYto_lpI7XY8Rsnp-bUBcbmramF6aUFxW7bZCEVJGbf1EdQ-jUFmdiBJoUQlk5LM/s1600/Washing+Machine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIy36EZFfwrp-elUfrB3bPxWgFWhH8-mOYum4Ux3r8lXf63kNWh2U0pcO5DzikvUhs1XM32mXepw2zUYto_lpI7XY8Rsnp-bUBcbmramF6aUFxW7bZCEVJGbf1EdQ-jUFmdiBJoUQlk5LM/s320/Washing+Machine.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I currently have washing in there...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhysMkr4BNfdtYuTjlCJN7j6kRaDiQm5wXHMrINA8JXip02zzsQ7snJEYSTDyt_5D_RqxlSvZhKSrijEEn7hH0DialxdKQIr3z8QIKBUwwRVTbujHYw7gzb7dinR8-ELLcFRm-yp9uaXDjT/s1600/Henry+Builders.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhysMkr4BNfdtYuTjlCJN7j6kRaDiQm5wXHMrINA8JXip02zzsQ7snJEYSTDyt_5D_RqxlSvZhKSrijEEn7hH0DialxdKQIr3z8QIKBUwwRVTbujHYw7gzb7dinR8-ELLcFRm-yp9uaXDjT/s320/Henry+Builders.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What might look like a boring old vacuum cleaner to you is a superstar to Tyger.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
But even with all of that, the practical component is not the worst part. The worst part is simply the 'people in the house' part. I suffer from depression and anxiety. I also suffer from the arguably worse condition of Quintessential Awkward Britishness (or QAB). Now, the former conditions make me uneasy about having strangers wandering about the house because they might judge me when Tyger has a meltdown (for instance, when he clawed me - I still have the marks five days later - because I reminded him he'd already had a Babybel that day) or because I feel like I can't actually catch my breath when they're working outside the window of a room I'm sitting in. I mentioned I was hiding from the builders in my bedroom (with the curtains drawn) on Facebook and was asked why. It hadn't seemed weird until I couldn't think of a logical response.<br />
<br />
I feel like I'm stuck in a real life game of Pac-Man. The builders are the ghosts and I wakka wakka wakka around the house trying to avoid them. I guess the white dots are tea. Or maybe the white dots are items of clothing I pick up as I make my way around the house and the cherries are tea? There are cherries in Pac-Man, right? But don't they make the ghosts flash and the builders certainly don't...errr...I believe I've mentioned my problems with creating metaphors and similes in the past.<br />
<br />
But the QAB means when I fail to avoid the builders I'm faced with a conundrum. Should I speak to them? Is that polite or annoying for them because it stops them doing their job? Should I at least say 'hi'? But if they've been in the same house as me for hours it seems weird to say 'hi'. Ignoring them is surely rude. I normally settle for a strange smile that involves squishing my lips together. I do not mean a pouty duck face look. In fact, imagine almost the exact opposite of pouty duck face where the lips all but disappear and the chin becomes creased. I tried to take a photo of the lower half of my face whilst doing it for this blog post and decided I did not want such an unflattering photo out there for the world (or the 50 or so people who are likely to read this) to see and I also struggled to angle the phone camera so you couldn't see up my nose.<br />
<br />
Anyway, this 'smile' is often accompanied by an apology because, being British, I feel the need to apologise for pretty much everything I ever do. I a builder is about to walk through a door and waits to let me past, I apologise. If he's busy working in a room and I have to get something from that room, I apologise. I also add in an exaggerated and hurried side step at least half the time even when this in no way helps.<br />
<br />
Of course, all this QAB makes me feel like a right twat, which makes the anxiety worse, which makes all my QAB more forced and over the top, which raises my anxiety levels even more. It's a horrible, ugly car crash of contorted facial expressions, muttered apologies and 'thank you's, sides steps, skips, little runs up the hall and sighs of relief as I finally get into a builder-free room.<br />
<br />
The very worst part is the builders aren't even British so are probably completely baffled by my behaviour and possibly on the verge of calling an ambulance for fear I'm having some sort of stroke every time I come across them.<br />
<br />
I'm feel so flustered by even writing about it all that I can't think of a suitable way of finishing this blog post so:<br />
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>*Weird ugly smile to you*</li>
<li>'Sorry'</li>
<li>I'll just scuttle out of your way so you can go about the rest of your day</li>
<li><i>(Argh, awkward unintentional rhyme of 'way' and 'day' sums up this whole painful experience.)</i></li>
</ul>
<br />
Phew, thank frack that's over.<br />
<br />
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Lady Nymhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17721420961173930843noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318006438685218297.post-1511878849321629622015-10-04T14:19:00.002-07:002015-12-13T13:53:04.245-08:00So Much for a DiagnosisI feel a bit like I'm in a fishbowl at the moment. I'm not under any illusion that me and my life are so fascinating everyone's crowding round for a peek into the Nym household. I really don't think anyone's that fussed by watching me killing time on my laptop or telling Tyger not to snatch toys from Baby Bear several hundred times a day. It's hardly <i>Downton Abbey</i>. I mean, I haven't actually watched <i>Downton Abbey</i> but even with my limited knowledge I'm pretty sure it doesn't involve green haired women checking Facebook and autistic preschoolers getting irate over younger siblings daring to touch their ride-on fire engine.<br />
<br />
I still feel like I'm in a fishbowl, though. It's no secret I'm not exactly a social butterfly; rather more of a...reclusive moth. Actually, I really hate caterpillars so this whole metaphor is freaking me out a bit but basically I don't go out much or see many people outside my immediate family. My parents have had the builders in to do a variety of things to the house over the last couple of weeks. I don't like other people in the house. I don't like other people to see me when I'm still in my pyjamas, when I want to relax (as much as is possible with the cubs), when I'm trying to deal with Tyger's meltdowns or Bear's tantrums, and when I'm on the toilet (yeah...I was on the loo when one of the builders appeared at the window - I thought perhaps he wouldn't have known it was me through the net curtain until my sister pointed out I'm the only person in the house with bright green hair).<br />
<br />
So, I was already feeling a little sensitive about people watching me and judging me and - in particular - my parenting.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4YUrHPRHts6BIHwgRqRwAZysiCmpc5V8ZK3BW76WpmxOFB_VX0RQryS_ceQWDONZi5bBp79jsof9R_SkBwgMgaHcVoM9zYDeKU4PY6ZZFFl5y6pSGY4bzYx8LnVw2poXaUX-9M8mCEbLC/s1600/Tyger+and+Bear+on+Toy+Box.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4YUrHPRHts6BIHwgRqRwAZysiCmpc5V8ZK3BW76WpmxOFB_VX0RQryS_ceQWDONZi5bBp79jsof9R_SkBwgMgaHcVoM9zYDeKU4PY6ZZFFl5y6pSGY4bzYx8LnVw2poXaUX-9M8mCEbLC/s320/Tyger+and+Bear+on+Toy+Box.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is fine, right?<br />
Bear isn't quite on the window sill yet...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I wrote a few weeks ago <a href="http://tygerbearandme.blogspot.co.uk/2015/09/tyger-has-diagnosis.html">(here)</a> about the fact Tyger now has an ASD diagnosis but how it doesn't really change anything for us right now. Except, of course, I won't get challenged about his ASD by any professionals because they'll accept he's been officially diagnosed after a thorough assessment. Right?<br />
<br />
I'm guessing you know how this sort of rhetorical set up works and have figured out that's exactly what I'm dealing with.<br />
<br />
I have had a few comments from Tyger's preschool about how the staff there haven't seen any of the behaviour mentioned in his reports and diagnosis but they have generally been supportive and proactive and to start with it seemed like honest feedback and nothing more. But the play leader spoke to my mum last week and the conversation could not be construed as merely honest feedback.<br />
<br />
She asked my mum (who used to be a play leader herself) whether Mum was surprised by the fact they hadn't seen anything from Tyger's reports at preschool. My mum replied that she wasn't surprised at all and it is, in fact, very common for children with ASD to mask their autism whilst at school or preschool. The play leader seemed surprised.<br />
<br />
It is actually a problem many parents face when trying to get a diagnosis because schools or preschool settings can be very uncooperative when a child seems 'fine' to them, even when the parents are telling the school their child is not fine at home. Having ASD doesn't make someone stupid. A lot of autistic kids <i>know</i> they're different to their neurotypical peers and attempt to hide it as best as they possibly can. They try really hard to blend in around other people: watching and mimicking, holding in the anxiety, stopping themselves from stimming (repetitive physical movements or sounds), and gradually becoming overloaded by all the sensory stimuli (noise of the other kids, lights, smells in the lunch hall, itchy tags in school uniforms etc.). This is exhausting and often means the child will let out this big build up when they get home. So, the teacher sees a 'normal', quiet, agreeable child...and the parents get the meltdown.<br />
<br />
Tyger currently goes to preschool two mornings a week. The afternoons of these days are hard. Last week he literally came through the door of the house already verbal stimming and agitated and had a meltdown over something trivial within five minutes of being home. The preschool don't see this behaviour.<br />
<br />
And, it seems, the play leader may have come to her own conclusions as to why. She didn't just ask whether my mum was surprised by their observations. She also asked Mum whether Tyger behaved better for the Wolf than for me.<br />
<br />
She might as well have said, 'I suspect Tyger is no more autistic than any other child at the preschool and the problem is Nym's parenting.'<br />
<br />
This is pretty common view. Many parents have been battling this notion for years but it's the first time I've been aware of it being directed at me.<br />
<br />
It's not nice.<br />
<br />
I should point out this is a <i>good</i> preschool with dedicated, kind employees (including the play leader who spoke to my mum; she is <i>not</i> some sort of monster) who care about the children. It has an outstanding rating from OFSTED. Tyger loves it there.<br />
<br />
But they don't understand ASD. Not yet, anyway.<br />
<br />
If a decent human being with lots of experience of children who has their best interests at heart can fall prey to this cliched opinion, anyone could. I don't yet know what I'll do or say in terms of Tyger's preschool but I do know I'll keep writing blog posts that talk about ASD in the hope they'll help to educate even one or two people out there. Because that's a worthwhile cause.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<div align="center"><a href="http://sonssandandsauvignon.com" rel="nofollow" title="Sons, Sand & Sauvignon"><img src="http://sonssandandsauvignon.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Spectrum-Sunday-pic-linky-badge.jpg" alt="Sons, Sand & Sauvignon" style="border:none;" /></a></div>Lady Nymhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17721420961173930843noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318006438685218297.post-8724164403725990242015-09-27T05:42:00.001-07:002015-09-27T19:47:32.302-07:00Tyger's Christmas ListI had my first night out in about four years on Friday and ended up...a little worse for wear. As a result, I was unable to to write my usual blog post yesterday (I was unable to do much except lie on the sofa feeling <i>very</i> sorry for myself).<br />
<br />
So, a quick blog post today. Tyger has become 'aware' of adverts and of the fact things can be ordered/bought. This has led to many very repetitive conversations starting with, 'My want...' until I came up with a strategy. Every time this happens, now, I suggest we write it on his Christmas list and then we'll just see which things he gets at Christmas. For the time being, he accepts this response.<br />
<br />
I'm not convinced he's going to get everything on the list, though. Perhaps you can see why:<span style="text-indent: -18pt;"><br /></span><br />
<br />
<b><u>Tyger's Christmas List 2015</u></b><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">Necklace</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">Beads</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">Microwave</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">Red racing car</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">Castle</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">Orange glasses</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">Temporary tattoos</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">A<span style="font-family: inherit;"> big Totoro like a real one</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">Circus tent</span></span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Piggy bank</span></span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">A real helicopter</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">A real plane</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">Watch</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">A sausage dog that climbs trees</span></li>
<li><span style="text-indent: -18pt;">Hetty Hoover toy</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Real Henry Hoover</span></li>
</ul>
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<br /></div>
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Some things are perhaps a little more realistic than others, though I like the idea of getting a real Totoro!</div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>What's the weirdest thing your child (or you as a child) has asked for as a birthday or Christmas present?</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i><br /></i></span>
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Lady Nymhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17721420961173930843noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318006438685218297.post-11377239198361104492015-09-19T03:08:00.001-07:002015-09-21T22:37:49.796-07:00Advice For a ToddlerAfter some serious blog posts recently I thought I'd lighten things up with my advice to a toddler:<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>1. Learn to say 'please'.</b><br />
<br />
Or, even better, some cute mispronunciation. It may seem like pointing and making a whinging noise will get you everything you want but you're much more likely to get something by putting on a sweet smile and saying 'pleeeease' in your most angelic voice (after all, it's called the 'magic word' for a reason). Tyger used to pronounce it 'pwez' and Bear - who isn't as big on speaking as Tyger - just says 'eeeeeeeeee' with a cheesy grin and it has worked more often than I care to admit...especially when paired with pleading eyes (Tyger even used to add little supplicant hand gestures for good measure). Demanding and pointing can just get my hacks up but a super polite and adorable request is very difficult to say no to!<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>2. Play with the least interesting toy first.</b><br />
<br />
This is advice for any situation involving other children: toddler groups, playing at a friend's house, being around siblings, nursery, having friends over etc. As soon as you gravitate towards a toy, other children will also be drawn to it. It's a rule of toddlerdom. Other toddlers will be happy to play with a couple of trucks until they see you at the wooden kitchen with the toy toaster and then that toaster will become the most exciting thing in the entire Goram room. So, play it smart. Don't go straight to the toaster. Make your way to the building blocks instead and play with those building blocks like they're the cat's bollocks. (Wait...that came out wrong. I do <i>not</i> advocate toddlers playing with cats' bollocks.) Hopefully, the other little sods will be lured over. Now, this is the important part: do not give up those building blocks without a fight. If the other kid(s) don't believe you really want those fracking blocks they'll just follow you to the next toy. So, grumble, get annoyed, make those annoying and persistent whining noises toddlers are so good at that make adults want to tear their ears off and once your <strike>enemy</strike> peer is really engrossed in building little towers smeg off to the toaster and toast plastic bread to your heart's content (or, more likely, post small objects into the toaster until it stops working).<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>3. Try to smile when the camera's out and fall asleep in cute positions.</b><br />
<br />
You may not be thinking ahead further than your next <strike>tantrum</strike> meal at this age but Future You needs Present You to minimise the number of embarrassing photos your relatives possess to show girlfriends/boyfriends. You're unlucky in that regard because living in the digital age means your parents can snap away all day every day in the knowledge they can delete all blurry pictures (or just store them all in some folder with the <i>intention</i> of going through and deleting all blurry photos as soon as they have the chance, which will never happen because the longer it's left the more photos there are to go through and the longer the whole thing would take). There will be photos of you wearing a potty as a hat, crying and screaming because your breadstick snapped in half, dancing around naked, wearing a variety of questionable style of clothes etc. This is inevitable. However, you can mitigate the damage by making sure the overwhelming number of photos of you at this age are of your beaming face or endearing sleepy pics of you snuggled into a soft toy, cuddling someone, sleeping in your car seat with that fracking adorable little pouty mouth and squishy face look babies have.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji1iotglwaCMCedJaZYmGUVek-piVwVCeTZnH7j2OGUK8sq8dhpME31bsakz3izLmkUD5ZgVIGF9GFiSTW3S60MI-vnFQZWJ74Rmd6OBZ_s5zg7vSI1i94InAgzuwpyiIL1S-kRrO6gKI4/s1600/Baby+Bear+Tray.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji1iotglwaCMCedJaZYmGUVek-piVwVCeTZnH7j2OGUK8sq8dhpME31bsakz3izLmkUD5ZgVIGF9GFiSTW3S60MI-vnFQZWJ74Rmd6OBZ_s5zg7vSI1i94InAgzuwpyiIL1S-kRrO6gKI4/s320/Baby+Bear+Tray.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fewer photos of you slurping water off your highchair tray.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXR8Chz2i3RanhGiW46HB1aPe8173tDTjYpG2csh-zD22oLMG3pe1NnyQusKD2ILBybpJarVKKJ6vuCTl08Pty4EmxsjBHhTPozN9hXySgmkuG81lo2PhyvtD5LaGt3hTMTe-WcyltITGQ/s1600/Bear+Fergus+Buggy.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXR8Chz2i3RanhGiW46HB1aPe8173tDTjYpG2csh-zD22oLMG3pe1NnyQusKD2ILBybpJarVKKJ6vuCTl08Pty4EmxsjBHhTPozN9hXySgmkuG81lo2PhyvtD5LaGt3hTMTe-WcyltITGQ/s320/Bear+Fergus+Buggy.png" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More photos of you asleep in your buggy whilst cuddling your favourite toy.</td></tr>
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<br />
<b>4. Enjoy all the sleep.</b><br />
<br />
Whilst we're on the subject of sleep, this is important. You are allowed - nay, <i>encouraged</i> - to spend as much time as possible sleeping. I know, I know: you hate sleep. Toddlers like going to bed about as much as I liked <i>Lost in Translation</i> (is there a more overrated film on the planet?) or <i>Wuthering Heights</i> (is there a more overrated book on the planet?) but one day you will miss sleep so much. If you have children of your own you will almost certainly lament all those times you fought sleep, all those opportunities to drift in and out of consciousness and just relax and...I'm going to start crying at the thought of all those lost chances so we need to move on to the next point.<br />
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<br />
<b>5. In fact, make the most of it <i>all</i>!</b><br />
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Seriously. This is the only time in your life when it's totally socially acceptable to stick your fingers in someone else's mouth (unless you become a dentist, I guess, but even then you're only supposed to do it in a specific set of circumstances and can't just say 'ahhhh' to the nearest person then shove your entire hand in there). This is your chance to demand spaghetti for breakfast and possibly be indulged. You can spin round and round in the middle of a waiting room without people giving you strange looks (except the miserable types who give all children disapproving looks unless the child is sat silently looking at his or her feet). You still get carried around when you're tired and all of life's problems can be solved by carrying round a plastic spoon (or is that just Baby Bear?). Seriously, kid, it's all downhill from here so pick your nose in public and put gravel in your mouth whilst it's still socially acceptable.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnZ64HvwXmurx1jKqfYRN59bfy7pfAZnPDzwxPH4YmJwP3VYCoeudXDtsfZw4lnzFxWvXDYnj4lES4wfdD3L9PPEaTe7E3ARKjuNXZcSz3vkhqzjy_bZF_OhOtaWfWEy7jjBdp2yOHBvS/s1600/Bear+Gravel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnZ64HvwXmurx1jKqfYRN59bfy7pfAZnPDzwxPH4YmJwP3VYCoeudXDtsfZw4lnzFxWvXDYnj4lES4wfdD3L9PPEaTe7E3ARKjuNXZcSz3vkhqzjy_bZF_OhOtaWfWEy7jjBdp2yOHBvS/s320/Bear+Gravel.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not that I really understand the attraction of gravel...unlike picking your nose...</td></tr>
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What advice would you give a toddler?<br />
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<i>Thanks to Aspie Sister for helping me come up with five items for the list. Youngest Sister was not impressed by her boring name in last week's blog post so - after discussion - she will henceforth be known as Colour Blind Sister. I will also probably blog about her colour blindness at some future point because...it's green - how can she see it as red??</i><br />
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Lady Nymhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17721420961173930843noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318006438685218297.post-56556924561785343192015-09-12T11:41:00.000-07:002015-09-17T23:08:48.410-07:00Tyger Has a DiagnosisIt's arrived. I expected the envelope to contain the report from Tyger's last appointment and perhaps even an appointment for the next step. It <i>did</i> contain the report and...an official diagnosis!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfdwOjgt1mD-21duCgfIgHhk9lVmtwqpwGYh3k5vTG7Olzs-YuIWMx3FYYZQlVHXSfSHIftT3jPWr_cWUqJqZQam6ha0a6b6DLi8du0S20SXjwjpU4LAq5II0P6b80IEpQsObrCYzdv7d1/s1600/Diagnosis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfdwOjgt1mD-21duCgfIgHhk9lVmtwqpwGYh3k5vTG7Olzs-YuIWMx3FYYZQlVHXSfSHIftT3jPWr_cWUqJqZQam6ha0a6b6DLi8du0S20SXjwjpU4LAq5II0P6b80IEpQsObrCYzdv7d1/s320/Diagnosis.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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So, I can formally say - though, I have been informally saying it for about a year now - Tyger has 'High functioning autistic spectrum disorder', which is basically Asperger's (they just don't tend to use the term anymore). In fact, the child psychologist herself referred to it as Asperger's both in the appointment and in her written report. I only mention this because I think a lot of people have a better idea of what is meant by 'Asperger's Syndrome' than 'high functioning ASD' (not to mention the controversy surrounding the use of the phrase 'high functioning').<br />
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However, as much as the term 'Asperger's' is helpful in some ways, there are some misconceptions (okay, loads of misconceptions) about what it means to be an Aspie so I thought I'd address some of those.<br />
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Firstly, no Tyger does not have a 'special ability'. I think <i>Rain Man</i> is probably largely responsible for the belief that all Aspies are also savants. They're not. Sadly, Tyger is not likely to earn large sums of money through counting cards or drawing amazingly accurate pictures from memory. He can't glance at a group of objects and tell you immediately how many there are (unless there are three because before he's actually counted anything he will always tell you there are three...I'm not convinced that counts as a special ability, though).<br />
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I already covered this second point in my blog post last week but it's worth reiterating: it is a myth that autistic people don't feel empathy. In fact, there's good reason to believe people with ASD often feel empathy <i>far more keenly</i> than their neurotypical counterparts to the point where they are completely overwhelmed by it and incapable of action. They also often don't know the socially acceptable way of showing said empathy. These problems mean - to the casual observer - they may seem indifferent to someone else's suffering but the truth is they may be so affected they are struck by an inability to do anything about it. We have our own example of this in our house. One time my sisters were playing on a water slide in the garden when my parents were out. My youngest sister badly hurt her leg (think: lots of blood and tears). So, my Aspie sister reacted by...leaving Youngest Sister out there to cry and going inside for a shower. She has since explained that she didn't know what to do and apparently she has her best ideas in the shower so this seemed to be the most sensible solution. The epiphany she had in the shower was to make ice cream floats. I'm not sure how much this helped Youngest Sister's leg but I guess it distracted her. It wasn't callousness that sent Aspie Sister running to the shower instead of helping and comforting Youngest Sister, it was simply the helplessness she felt when confronted with this entirely new scenario. She wasn't equipped to deal with it but I can assure you she's an empathetic person.<br />
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The third one is probably one I've covered before, too. It is absolutely not true that autistic people always prefer their own company and don't want friends. I mention this as something my mum was told by a fracking doctor, who should know better. When my mum first took Aspie Sister to the GP with her concerns the GP told her 'the good news' was it wasn't autism because my sister 'wanted friends'. Any time my sister sees that GP now my mum always mentions her <b>ASD diagnosis</b> very pointedly. ASD <i>is</i> a social and communication disorder. Aspies <i>do</i> struggle with social situations and communicating in a socially acceptable way. Because of this they may find it hard to make or keep friends but that doesn't mean they don't <i>want</i> any! I struggle to do lots of things. Hey, I find writing most of these blog posts hard; obviously that means I don't want to write a blog...right?<br />
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Fourthly and finally I'm just going to straight up steal a great saying I've seen floating around the internet. <b>If you know one person with autism; you know one person with autism.</b> It's a big smegging spectrum and even aside from all the autistic traits varying from one person with ASD to the next, their personalities also vary. You know, just like how <i>everyone else's</i> personalities vary? If your neighbour's cousin's autistic friend once had a meltdown because you put the milk in their tea before the water (although, why anyone would do that in the first place is completely beyond me but I guess this post is all about accepting that people are <strike>wrong</strike> different) that doesn't mean the next autistic person you meet will even like tea, let alone get worked up by how it's made.<br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I hear some of them even drink coffee.</span></i></div>
<br />
Anyway, back to Tyger's diagnosis. How do I feel about it? I've wondered for a year now how I'd react to finally getting that letter. Would I feel relief that it's been recognised and he'll find it easier to access the support he might need in the future? Would I feel vindicated? Would I feel upset despite already knowing he had ASD?<br />
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Actually, I don't feel much. Perhaps the numbness will wear off at some point but I suspect it's more the fact I've come to realise a diagnosis isn't the end point I once thought it was. Okay, so Tyger is officially autistic now: that doesn't change his daily struggles (or mine). He was already autistic before we got the letter through and he won't stop being autistic now. I'm glad he has the diagnosis because it may make a difference at some future point but life isn't a film with a nice neat conclusion. I want to say the wheel never stops turning but it doesn't seem appropriate to start throwing in <i>Firefly</i> references so I think I'll stop here...<br />
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<br />
<br />
...That only matters to the people on the rim.<br />
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Sorry.<br />
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Lady Nymhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17721420961173930843noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318006438685218297.post-45699660222744613482015-09-05T09:55:00.001-07:002015-09-07T23:00:09.266-07:00Those PhotosI kept changing my mind about what I was going to write today. I have a half written blog post I was considering going back to but there's something that has been so much on my mind I couldn't not mention it, though I'm still not sure where this blog post is going.<br />
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Those photos.<br />
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That poor little boy who drowned when his desperate family fled Syria.<br />
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I don't know about outside of the UK but certainly if you live here in the UK you must have seen the heartbreaking photos of that dead child. They have flooded my Facebook feed. The Wolf shared one of the front covers with the picture and commented about how that could be Baby Bear (I always denied becoming a parent would change the way I see the world but it does, it really does - the stab of grief you feel at these sorts of events is so much more intense when you imagine it's your own child).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHG1elymyI8JmBEjLRwDE3qCNo3uekcDigsK7MCc5oEyBim5IG7ZNGx7gugXp2t4vnO0l5yRbFKfKxAtxyC9UpQTGlqIPvtLajxQDBdKP0yjbMIX0qbMfl0vwTaWYYPTGlKiZBPmV8kLOg/s1600/T+and+B.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHG1elymyI8JmBEjLRwDE3qCNo3uekcDigsK7MCc5oEyBim5IG7ZNGx7gugXp2t4vnO0l5yRbFKfKxAtxyC9UpQTGlqIPvtLajxQDBdKP0yjbMIX0qbMfl0vwTaWYYPTGlKiZBPmV8kLOg/s320/T+and+B.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>The thought of one of them floating lifeless in the water is the stuff of nightmares.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Literally.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>It was the most terrifying dream I've ever had.</i></span></div>
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Many people applauded the photos. They have made a difference to public opinion on the refugee crisis (I refuse to use the utterly misleading and loaded term 'migrant crisis'). David Cameron - that empathy vacuum of a Prime Minister - has been forced to act despite clearly thinking these refugees were simply lacking in forward planning when they were born in a country that was to become terrifying and war-torn, rather than ensuring they were born to rich toffs in good old Blighty like Cameron and his chums. But, thanks to those photos the plebs are getting worked up over a 'crisis of humanity' so they must be appeased.<br />
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I think it's interesting to contrast the reaction to these photos with the reaction to the photos (and videos) used online, in news broadcasts and on front pages of newspapers after the murders of Alison Parker and Adam Ward. Many people were outraged by the stills of the victims taken from the video the gunman took and were still more upset by the video (or parts of it) being shown on the news and even auto playing on Facebook.<br />
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The different reactions highlight - for me - the dichotomy of the media (and the internet). Both the photos of the drowned refugee child and the photos and videos of the shooting were shocking and upsetting. The difference, of course, was in the effect. The refugee crisis is ongoing. It's something people can help with <i>now</i>. The heart-wrenching pictures of that little boy <i>made a difference</i> and helped people realise what's at stake and what needs to be done. There was a good reason to shock people. The coverage of the shootings, on the other hand, shocked without purpose. People are already well aware of the issue of gun control in the US. Showing these images made no difference but simply needlessly upset many people. On top of that, splashing pictures of the victims around looking terrified and knowing they were about to die seemed incredibly disrespectful to the families of said victims and the less said about the video the better.<br />
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The media and - more and more relevantly - the internet can be a powerfully good force. It can also be massively destructive. The thought of having to navigate that terrain with the cubs as they get older is exciting and scary in equal measure. They will have access to all sorts of knowledge and experiences my parents didn't and I didn't even have...both good and bad.<br />
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There is a myth that autistic people don't feel empathy. People are gradually starting to recognise the truth: people with ASD often feel empathy far more keenly than their neurotypical counterparts. In <a href="http://tygerbearandme.blogspot.co.uk/2015/08/parenting-is-hundred-heartbreaks-day.html">a previous blog post</a> I already mentioned Tyger's response to Elsa and Anna's parents drowning in Frozen. He clearly put himself entirely into the position of Anna and Elsa and felt keenly their loss. Recently Tyger was watching some videos on YouTube (YouTube is a friend to many an ASD parent). I went to the toilet and when I got back Tyger had tears rolling down his cheeks.<br />
<br />
I panicked. What was he watching? I hadn't been supervising his viewing content and he obviously had something totally inappropriate playing! How much would this scar him? What was it??<br />
<br />
It was a video of someone playing a Dora the Explorer game where the player has to administer some basic medical care to a mildly sick and injured Dora. I asked Tyger what the matter was and he started to recount how he had hurt his leg (he hadn't done anything to his leg but Dora needed a plaster - band aid for any Americans reading - on her leg). He empathised with a fictional character having a minor injury so much it made him cry.<br />
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So, the photos of that boy left me thinking, 'that could be one of the cubs.' But it also left me thinking, 'soon the cubs will start to see and understand photos like that.' How much should be kept from them? How will they cope with news stories and with photos and content they'll come across on the internet? I don't want to shelter them from reality; it's something they'll have to deal with regardless and it's better they are in some way prepared. And, as the refugee crisis has shown, it's important for people to face the brutality and tragedy of the world in order to understand and offer help. But I don't want to overwhelm them either and there will also always be needlessly upsetting things out there like the way the Bryce Williams news story was covered.<br />
<br />
It's not an immediate concern but one day I'll have to face it.<br />
<br />
On a lighter note, I was right with my last blog post <a href="http://tygerbearandme.blogspot.co.uk/2015/09/im-not-cryingno-really.html">I'm Not Crying...No, Really!</a> in that I didn't cry on Tyger's first day of preschool. For anyone who didn't read the Facebook update, Tyger - on the other hand - <i>did</i> cry. However, he didn't cry when I left him there but when I came to pick him up! He's also desperate to go back.<br />
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<i>For those who wish to help with the refugee situation you can donate to MOAS (Migrant Offshore Aid Station) </i><a href="http://www.moas.eu/donate/" style="font-style: italic;">here</a><i> and </i>The Independent<i> has a lot of links listing ways you can help </i><a href="http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/europe/5-practical-ways-you-can-help-refugees-trying-to-find-safety-in-europe-10482902.html" style="font-style: italic;">here</a><i>.</i><br />
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Lady Nymhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17721420961173930843noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318006438685218297.post-11112821757491194382015-09-03T03:56:00.001-07:002015-09-03T06:11:02.088-07:00I'm Not Crying...No, Really!Tyger had a home visit from his key worker and the SENCO (special educational needs coordinator) early this week in preparation for him starting preschool. It was just a quick visit to see him in his home environment and to let him meet them again before the induction. It went well. Tyger even agreed to wear clothes...although he removed all of said clothes in order to change into a Gruffalo onesie part-way through the visit because...it...was...essential...or something. Also, the 't-shirt' he was wearing was actually a pyjama top because that's what he wanted to wear and he didn't have pants on under his trousers but he agreed to wear clothes, however briefly.<br />
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The next day he had his induction. I had to take Baby Bear along because my mum - who lets us all live with her/my dad/my sisters rent free while we're saving up a deposit, cooks dinner most nights, often watches the cubs whilst I shower/make their dinner etc., and generally leads a pretty selfless existence - had the audacity to be unavailable to babysit Bear due to acting as taxi to my sister. I know, the absolute cheek of some people! So, I didn't really get to watch Tyger much because I spent the first half hour trying to stop Bear from scooping sand from the sand tray onto the floor and the second half hour trying to stop Bear from scooping soapy water from the water tray into his mouth (actually, that's a lie; I spent about two minutes trying to stop him and then let him get on with it since it's no different to drinking bath water and both boys have consumed litres of that with no ill effect (I'm pretty sure there's no link between drinking bath water and autism)).<br />
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All that's left is for Tyger to start.<br />
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And I'm not upset by that.<br />
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I've read a lot of very good blog posts in the last few weeks about children starting preschool/nursery/school and the consensus seems to be this is something upsetting. When I was at the induction, one of the other mums made a joke about trying not to cry on Tyger's first day.<br />
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Once again (like in my blog post <a href="http://tygerbearandme.blogspot.co.uk/2015/03/babies-dont-care-about-birthdays.html">Babies Don't Care About Birthdays</a>) I'm left feeling like I'm missing something. I'm not upset about Tyger starting preschool. At all. In fact, I'm looking forward to the peace and the opportunity to spend some one-to-one time with Bear.<br />
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There are several reasons I can think of for this disparity between other people's emotions on the subject and my own.<br />
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It may well be in part because unlike school or some nursery places, he won't be going every day. He will start off doing only two mornings a week with a view to working up to two mornings plus a full day. However, the mum who told me to try not to cry knew how often Tyger was going to be attending and her own daughter is doing similar hours. I also don't think I'll feel any different when it comes time for Tyger to start school.<br />
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Perhaps I'm just more heartless? Or - maybe at least - more practical. This is simply the next step in parenting. It should be good for Tyger and learning some independence is a positive step for a child.<br />
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It might also be Tyger. Of course I feel the same unconditional, totally staggering love for the cubs most parents feel for their children...but Tyger is hard work. Really, really hard work. Tyger's ASD makes simply being near him completely overwhelming at times. Whilst he's loving and intelligent and funny and thoughtful he's also a violent, unreasonable, unpredictable wall of sound. Spending all day, every day, with him is exhausting and I am more than looking forward to having a couple of breaks a week from him.<br />
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I think his ASD also highlights something for me that parents of neurotypical children might not get. The health care professionals who have been assessing Tyger have used words and phrases like 'subtle' and 'end of the spectrum' to describe his ASD and I think it likely he'll end up with a diagnosis of Asperger's (since this is still used in parts of the UK). So, Tyger's chances of leading a relatively 'normal' life and going on to live independently are reasonably high.<br />
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High. But by no means guaranteed. I don't know how Tyger will cope with school in a year's time. I don't know if he'll make it through secondary school with much in the way of qualifications and how often he'll even manage to attend. I certainly don't know whether he'll be able to hold down a job and move away from me and the Wolf. So, the fact he's excited about going to preschool and the staff have been so amazingly understanding and proactive about his autism - even without yet having a formal diagnosis - is something I can only see as a good thing.<br />
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Or maybe I'll be in floods of tears tomorrow after dropping him off. I guess we'll find out!<br />
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Lady Nymhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17721420961173930843noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6318006438685218297.post-47542603761553291752015-08-22T11:08:00.001-07:002016-01-31T06:16:59.733-08:00What If We Didn't Know?Baby Bear has come on leaps and bounds with his communication even since I last wrote about it a couple of weeks ago. In fact, even since yesterday!<br />
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The Wolf is outside with Tyger enjoying the sun.<br />
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Things are good. Right now. At this very moment. And, see, that's the thing: I don't expect it to last. I don't mean in the long term or for the whole week or even the whole day; I mean right now things are good but in 30 second's time that could change dramatically.<br />
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That's the reality of living with any children, I know, but especially when autism is involved.<br />
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Yesterday morning things were going pretty well and the cubs were both relatively happy. Both struggle with the transition from sleep to wakefulness so mornings can involve a lot of seemingly baseless tears (or maybe a breadstick breaking in half or me shifting half an inch to my right really are on a par with a serious injury) but all was calm...until Tyger decided he needed (not wanted, <i>needed</i>) to use the DVD player remote as a phone. I explained he couldn't because we needed to know where the remote was, couldn't have him pressing buttons on it and he already had lots of phones to play with.<br />
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So he ran at me and headbutted me in the chest.<br />
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Later on, the Wolf and Tyger were play-fighting and messing around with foam swords. It's normally great for me because it burns some of Tyger's seemingly endless energy (the energy he normally expends running off to rooms he's not allowed in, rolling around on the floor and kicking his brother, reaching things he's not allowed and having meltdowns) This time, however, the game ended when - out of nowhere - Tyger gauged the Wolf's forehead. As in, it broke the skin and and the Wolf has a nasty big scratch.<br />
<br />
I know kids will be kids but when your three year old repeatedly kicks his little brother or wraps himself up in a curtain or pushes his brother or throws heavy toys or hits his brother or chases the cats or chases his brother or smacks the window or...you get the idea...after being told off/being taken away/had toys confiscated (and by repeatedly, I don't mean he'll do it again at some future point but will go straight back to it immediately) until I have no choice but to physically stop him, at which point he'll scratch/pinch/kick then it's not just usual three year old behaviour. He'll keep going with the acting out and violence until it hits a point where he just breaks down and screams and cries and scares himself (he has - during these meltdowns - managed to force out the words 'help me' between wailings and sobs and it's pretty heartbreaking). With such a great vocabulary and advanced problem solving skills it's very easy to assume he knows what he's doing and think he should 'know better'. It's easy to come to the conclusion he's just 'doing it for attention'. I find myself saying, 'why do you do this?' even thought I <i>know</i> why. I know he has ASD. I know he has sensory problems completely different to his neurotypical peers. I know he acts out because he's actually really fracking anxious. I know he <i>can't really help himself</i>.<br />
<br />
I know.<br />
<br />
What if I didn't know? Many people look at Tyger and find it hard to believe he's autistic. Even the professionals I've seen who agree with me are quick to call his ASD 'mild' and 'subtle' and 'on the end of the spectrum'. If my sister didn't have a diagnosis would I ever have suspected?<br />
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How many families are out there right now with their own Tiny Tygers just struggling along without understanding why their child who they love and try their absolute best with just seems so alien to them? How many parents are blaming themselves and assuming they've failed their child? How many are going to GPs or health visitors to be told there's nothing wrong, even though they <i>know</i> something's not right? How many are accused of 'indulging' their child and making them <i>naughty</i>?<br />
<br />
Even more frightening: how many parents are out there right now <i>blaming the child</i>?<br />
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These questions upset me.<br />
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Sometimes I feel like I'm failing Tyger. I lose my temper, I shout, I stick him in front of the TV or his laptop when I just don't know what else to do with him. But I'm trying. At the moment, I'm building up a collection of sensory tools for him. It's a start and it makes me feel like I'm being proactive and when I think about all the parents out there with children on the spectrum who have no clue, I think I have an advantage. Tyger has an advantage. We'll get there.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho2lYXz51A4NQr8-Hk81D7UZLdOPlDSQPcW5iNlM_m_ZpdaxK0EW3zy3mwVdmYQePiht8y-vRsGNkohIddtH09FjuH0ZOQvZt-rsQ2qYHN8P-WY02gkfr2jSrqBvAl7tELeUVUKP0HfBbw/s1600/Tyger%2527s+Sensory+Kit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho2lYXz51A4NQr8-Hk81D7UZLdOPlDSQPcW5iNlM_m_ZpdaxK0EW3zy3mwVdmYQePiht8y-vRsGNkohIddtH09FjuH0ZOQvZt-rsQ2qYHN8P-WY02gkfr2jSrqBvAl7tELeUVUKP0HfBbw/s320/Tyger%2527s+Sensory+Kit.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>I've commandeered his spaceship to use as a sensory room.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>There are a couple of soft Henry Hoovers for throwing/squashing.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>A Henry bin full of fiddle toys/light toys/fabric/biting toys etc.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Ear defenders and sleep mask for sensory overload.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>A beanbag for rolling around on.</i></span></div>
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I know this post has been a little less humorous than usual so in case it's been a bit too depressing, I can assure you there are upsides to living with an autistic child. Yesterday we were in the garden and my mum started up the ride-on mower (we currently live with my parents - I don't make my mum come round and cut the grass at our house!) and Baby Bear went mad. He didn't have a meltdown or start crying but he started shouting at the mower. He was shouting to the point where he was shaking with the effort! Of course, Tyger joined in shouting gibberish because he's a little mimic and the Wolf found this all amusing.<br />
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Wolf: 'That's right. You tell that mower off.'<br />
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Tyger: 'Off!'<br />
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He does take things very literally. Bless him.<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><u>Tyger</u></span></b></div>
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Tyger had an appointment with a speech and language therapist as part of the diagnostic process recently. It went pretty well. She was lovely and told me she 'could see what I see' (i.e. Autism). She gushed about Tyger quite a bit and about his vocabulary and language skills and said she'd love to work with a child like Tyger. I suppose there's a chance she does this with every child and parent to put them at ease and get them on side but I - of course - believe Tyger is a child genius so I'm sure she was genuine.<br />
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Pretty much the first thing to come up was my old friend 'eye contact'. Until we saw the paediatrician back in April, every health care professional with whom I brought up ASD trotted out the familiar line of, 'Hmm...well he makes good eye contact...' This meant it came as surprise to me when the paediatrician mentioned a lack of eye contact in her report. The speech and language therapist (or 'SALT') picked up on the fact it took Tyger a looong time after entering the room to actually look at her face. And whilst he did give eye contact after that, it was sporadic and fleeting. I think of it like trying to force two magnets of the same polarity together. He'll look but his gaze swings away pretty quickly and it's an effort. I never thought about how much of an effort until I was trying to cut his fringe the other day (for any non-Brits reading this 'fringe' is what we call 'bangs').<br />
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Now, I've cut Tyger's fringe many times and it has always been a struggle. He won't stay still and trying to get him to look at me so I can make sure it's at least vaguely straight (I think it's unrealistic to aim for poker straight and completely horizontal but I do try to avoid the stairs or ramp across the forehead look as if someone might need access from his ear on one side to his scalp on the other). It just so happened, whilst I wielded hairdressing scissors and promised a biscuit when we were done, my parents were having a look at the SALT report. So, I was going through everything the SALT had mentioned at the same time I finally managed to get Tyger to look at my forehead for maybe 15 seconds (it doesn't sound like much but sit and count out 15 seconds - that's a looong time for a three year old to sit still) and suddenly he looked shattered. Honestly, his eyelids drooped, his face went slack and I thought for a moment he might fall asleep there and then. The revelation hit me: looking at people's faces and especially eye contact are <i>physically draining</i> for him. I knew it was 'hard' but that's quite an abstract concept and I'd sort of assumed it was hard in the same way it's 'hard' for me to not eat Peanut M&Ms if they're just sitting there. Realising it actually tired him out was a bit of an 'ah ha' moment (and made me feel a little guilty).<br />
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Come the end of the appointment she reassured me she 'saw what I saw' (i.e. ASD)., although said it was 'subtle'. He'd give a doll a drink (with prompting) but was concerned there wasn't any milk in the cup. He'd bath the doll (with more prompting and Tyger making excuses about being too busy) but was perturbed by the fact the doll's shoes wouldn't come off (they were painted on). She thought it was interesting, since Tyger is so advanced with his language and vocabulary, to note the aspects of his language that are not advanced. Namely, anything social. He comes out with all sorts of adult sounding language and phrases but still uses 'he', 'she' and 'that' interchangeably. I didn't disagree with her but Tyger's ASD is not so subtle when he screams for 20 minutes to the point where he makes himself throw up because I mentioned the guy who cut my parents' hedge is on holiday.<br />
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The next hospital appointment he had was about a cyst under his eye, which just won't fracking go away. It's been there for months and is as persistent as Baby Bear when he's decided he wants some chocolate buttons (though, the cyst doesn't keep pointing to the basket with chocolate in and going, 'Ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh,' before crying and crying when I say 'no' then starting all over again - the cyst is just...there). I hate these appointments because you're triaged as you come in so we tend to end up waiting about an hour before seeing a doctor. And there are no toys in the waiting room. And no hot drinks allowed. And now Bear won't sit nicely in his buggy for the duration so there are TWO of them running around wreaking havoc.<br />
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However, Bear running around and wreaking havoc turned out to be a big bonus this time because he was kind enough to trip and sort of smack his forehead off the floor. He screamed. I mean, he really SCREAMED. And he just kept on and on. Doctors and nurses were trying to call patients in for their appointments but nobody could hear what they were saying. It would have been horrible...if it wasn't for the fact it got us bumped to the top of the list! Hooray for Baby Bear! I am tempted to stick a foot out as Bear runs past at the next appointment...<br />
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Anyway, the doctor we saw after Bear's spectacular fall was fine...except he mentioned the hair. I wrote at length about Tyger's long hair in my blog post <a href="http://tygerbearandme.blogspot.co.uk/2015/02/yes-i-bought-my-son-dress.html">Yes, I Bought My Son a Dress</a>. His hair's even longer now and the comments and confusion have in no way decreased. The doctor just couldn't seem to help himself.<br />
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'I called you in and I was so confused. I checked the notes here and it definitely said he's a boy. I thought, 'What's going on here, then!?''<br />
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What is going on here? More Goram sexist bullshit! I am just astounded a doctor who must see hundreds of patients a week is so utterly baffled by a boy with long hair. My hair is green at the moment, by the way. Bright green. I have not had a single comment from any stranger about my hair. It is obviously in no way noteworthy (or they realise how rude it is to comment on a stranger's appearance when that stranger is an adult...) but a three year old <i>boy</i> with long hair?? That warrants comments pretty much every time we go out (which, granted, is not often).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixSezqK-jhhX_JzLJ0RJBobIsT47tOpWmMavJa47WWbThF8UWdKCjAmiMvk3GVxiruWsdNVmCtTGC188_bGOFaKXdvdd5iBMDwYVRosSyDfj29b94_wH-IbO2T5IAAOd21TXCPEC4u0ktj/s1600/Tyger+Hair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixSezqK-jhhX_JzLJ0RJBobIsT47tOpWmMavJa47WWbThF8UWdKCjAmiMvk3GVxiruWsdNVmCtTGC188_bGOFaKXdvdd5iBMDwYVRosSyDfj29b94_wH-IbO2T5IAAOd21TXCPEC4u0ktj/s320/Tyger+Hair.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>There you go. You can judge for yourself.</i></span></div>
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Then there was the most recent hospital appointment (seriously, the last two weeks have seen an inordinate number of trips to the hospital, which would be less of an inconvenience if Tyger didn't get car sickness...). This one was the last assessment for Tyger before his diagnosis and was with a child psychologist. I was expecting a similar drill to the last two appointments concerning Tyger's diagnosis (questions directed to me about how he behaves in various situations and some play with Tyger whilst observing him). That's not what happened. She informed me, as far as she was concerned, she should be there to help with behaviour and asked how she could help.<br />
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I was a little taken aback (where were the questions about how he interacted with people and how his diet is and what his interests are and how he reacts to change?...where were the questions for Tyger and getting him to perform certain tasks?). I put forward some of the problems we're been having and pretty much everything I mentioned was met with, 'Well, all three-year-olds do that...' I started to panic. Did she think I was overreacting? Did she think I'm just a terrible parent who struggles to cope with perfectly 'normal' preschooler behaviour?<br />
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This child pyschologist was the one who diagnosed my sister. My mumcame out of that appointment completely nonplussed. She didn't know whether my sister had been diagnosed, she didn't really have any idea what had happened.<br />
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The child psychologist openly says she suspects herself of being on the spectrum. I think, perhaps, she doesn't see the point in telling parents their child has ASD when it was the parents who brought it up in the first place.<br />
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Whatever the reason, I was unnerved until we were leaving and she explained she'd tell the paediatrician her recommendation was an Asperger's diagnosis.<br />
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Then quickly ushered us out of the door!<br />
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Now it's a case of waiting...but I'm hopeful.<br />
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