Thoughts on the new autism numbers – 1 in 50

Almost exactly three years ago, I sat in my living room with a woman sent  to evaluate my son for developmental delays. His preschool teacher had recommended it, and she was the first  checkpoint. If she judged him normal typical, life would go on as it had. If she determined there was cause for a more thorough evaluation, well, then, we were one step closer to what I then thought of as the A-word. The word no one wanted to be the first to say.

Autism.

“So, do you think we need to move on with the in-depth evaluation?” I tried to ask casually.

“Yes, I think that’s probably worthwhile,” she replied.

Or something like that. I wasn’t paying attention after her first syllable came out “y” instead of “n”.  It felt like my world was caving in.

But I remember  her reply to my next statement vividly. “Well, we’re kind of concerned about people labeling him,” I said.

She didn’t hesitate.

“They already are,” she said. “We want to make sure they’re applying the right label.”

That conversation surfaced today with the news that the CDC has again updated its estimate on autism spectrum disorder prevalance, to one on 50 kids between the ages of 6-17. That compares to a one in 88 estimate released just last year, and 1 in 110 a couple years before that.

On the surface, alarming. And the media will certainly lead with what appears to be that incredible increase, which is based on parental reporting.

But I wonder. Are they applying the right label? Is the right label even available anymore? Late last year the American Psychiatric Association changed the official autism diagnostic criteria. Instead of five separate diagnoses under the umbrella of “the spectrum,” we’ve now got one spectrum that covers everyone from Parenthood’s Max to a nonverbal, routine-fixated, cognitively-deficient individual.

It’s not hard to fit a lot of kids under that big an umbrella. Two percent of the school-age population? Maybe. Greater awareness is certainly a factor, borne out by the fact that milder cases, per the CDC, account for much of the increase. More awareness lessens stigma, too–a good thing.

Other factors may be at play, too. Here in Michigan, insurance companies were mandated to cover autism therapies last year. We’re among the latter half of the states to require this. With funding for therapy now (more) available, maybe parents are more willing to have their kids bear that label.

Three years on,  reviewing my sample of one, all I know is that woman was right. She got the label right, and she was right about affixing it. And to the families who will fall into those statistics this year, next year, into the future, let me tell you. Your world may feel like it’s caving in, but it won’t collapse. Yes, you might have to bunker down for a while to get your bearings. You will.

These aren’t just platitudes. I’m paraphrasing what a BTDT parent told me in those first few dark months after the in-depth evaluation affirmed the first assessment. The A-word isn’t the end. It’s the beginning of a whole alphabet of life experiences that you wouldn’t ask for, but won’t want to trade.

An alphabet that includes Challenging and Frustrating and yes, even Miserable sometimes. But also Joy and Pride and Rewarding and Surprising.

And Love. Right smack in the middle, underneath all the layers of other letters. Lots of love.

- The letter A brought to you by Daily Drop Cap.

 

 

 

 

 

 

What if the worst happens?

Three look-backs this morning.

After we’ve hugged on the sidewalk, Audrey usually glances back once or twice on her 20-yard trot to the school door. Today, though, it was three times, the last after she’d crossed the threshold. As I watched her pink pom-pom hat bounce out of view, my throat caught.

What if that was the last time I saw her?

My prayers are with the parents of Sandy Hook. I don’t know how they can endure it.

- The letter “T” brought to you by Daily Drop Cap.

 

Glasses girl

Like mother, like daughter, they say.

And it sure feels true today. Mine got glasses.

Daughter, 2012

At the age of four, the same age I was when I joined the spectacled ranks. So it wasn’t exactly a surprise when the optometrist pronounced her nearsighted a week ago. And certainly there’s far worse hardships in life than wearing glasses.

Still, I’m finding this development rather emotionally affecting. I remember how

Mother, circa 1977

self-conscious I was about my glasses, especially around the age or 11 or 12. She’s already got red hair. Now glasses. If heredity holds, she’s bound for braces, too.

So, sitting there in the optical shop, I was thinking about the teasing I’ve doomed my daughter to. And that got me thinking, this is not how I want to be thinking about her future.

Watching her try on the purple frames that only enhance how uniquely wonderful she is, I decided. It’s time to push back against the pessimism and pissed-off ism that I’ve felt creeping into my life lately. Make the lemonade, polish the silver lining, yadda yadda.

Thus this post, where in addition to my nearsightedness and buck teeth, I bequeath to my daughter the following traits I’ve proudly cultivated my entire life:

  • A gift for friendship, especially with other women.  When I was younger, I wished for a sister. I don’t know if she will, too, but I want her to know that I wouldn’t trade my friends for any sister. Friends I made in high school, college, at jobs I’ve held in three states, through bicycling, through writing, through reading, through motherhood and other origins that I don’t remember and that don’t matter, because I can vent, laugh, cry, talk, be quiet, drink wine, drink beer, shop, sweat and more with all of them.
  • A love of reading. Maybe the glasses-bookworm stereotype became a self-fulfilling prophesy, but my four eyes were almost always aimed at a book. Reading was a way to discover and explore worlds far away from my suburban Detroit home. Reading whetted my appetite for travel later in life, which brought another rich set of experiences and discovery.  And in a bit of full-circle serendipity, I discovered the pleasure and comfort of a good book in a strange place. I still have the English copy of Barbara Savage’s Miles from Nowhere that I found in a bike store in Barcelona near the end of an extended stay there. In it, Savage says riding across Michigan was one of the best parts of a global bike trek she and her husband made in the ‘70s. Reading that on a bench in a Spanish plaza, I smiled and nodded.
  • The ability to enjoy your own company. Another full circle here. Friendships work best if you don’t try to fulfill your own needs with other people. Contentment with yourself is the best way to avoid that.  And reading is a solitary activity but one that enriches the reader, thus making oneself a better companion.

Like mother, like daughter? I can only hope to be so lucky that one day, Audrey, you’ll read this, smile, and nod.

Like mother, like daughter