Puppy Dog Tales

Yesterday was the long anticipated Sunday night battle on Game of Thrones introduction of our son with autism, Joey, and our new puppy, Henry.

It was, well, autistic?

Henry wiggled up all full of canine cuteness and joy and Joey didn’t make eye contact.

“Joey, this is Henry” we squealed with caregiver cuteness and joy.

“No” came the J-man’s “I’m not interested” reply.

Henry Peter Griffin pose

Reminds me of Peter Griffin after a fall on Family Guy.

Henry sulked.  His 8 puny weeks of life have been non stop adoration by the cosmos.  When we apologized for posting so many puppy pictures on social media, several people replied “There’s no such thing as too many puppy pictures.”

So Henry had his first moment of existential rejection, courtesy of autism.

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It’s not that Joey doesn’t care.  His affect was aloof when it came to Lily, our dear departed Black Lab.    But when we she spent a night with the vet Joey wore a distressed face and kept saying “Lily’s not here.”

Henry just experienced one of the stinky things about care giving.  You put your emotions out and you don’t get the responses you want.  We’ve been relatively blessed, as Joey has been emotionally connected (albeit expressed in some roundabout ways); many families of people with autism would kill to get even some roundabout engagement.

Lily last picture

In her day, Lily wasn’t put off by Joey’s autism.  She would hover protectively after he suffered seizures.  And in my very last picture of her  – wouldn’t you know it – she’s sharing sunshine with Joey by last year’s freshly cut Christmas tree.

 

As for Sophia the cat?  fuggedaboutit

 

Be a voice while waiting for a voice

APRIL IS AUTISM AWARENESS MONTH

A mother with considerable language skill shares about coming to terms with her daughter’s autism:  

As a speaker of English, Italian, French and Russian, the fact that my daughter did not have speech was a constant source of despair…Yes, I still find myself hoping that one day my daughter will speak to me and tell me all about what it’s like be autistic, but for now, I can wait.

The mom makes use of her local newspaper to share insight into autism and the needs of family caregivers.  Being a voice for those in our care and for caregivers can spread not only awareness but opportunities for support and compassion:

Without a support group, I had no guidance on how to deal with issues created by my daughter’s condition in public, so I did the best I could to be honest and take responsibility.

When a stranger would scold my daughter or shout at her for behaving inappropriately in public, I would say, “I’m sorry. My daughter has autism. We meant no offense.”

I didn’t know how people would react, and I was surprised by the response I got. Often the person would say, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

But sometimes they would say, “I have three grandchildren with autism,” or “My niece and nephew have autism,”or “My best friend’s son has severe ADHA and is on the spectrum.”

On at least one occasion, a complete stranger came up to me afterwards,, and told me about a member of their family with a disability.

There are a lot of us out there, and if you follow the news on autism, there are more of us every day.

Often we would take a few minutes to talk about the difficulties involved with rearing a child with a disability and the stress, not just about behavior, but also of not knowing where they will be developmentally in 10 years, or 20 years, or after you’re gone.

I learned that I wasn’t alone.

Recently, a group of us in Yankton formed our own “Mothers of Disabled Children” support group. It’s small, and we’ve only met a couple of times, but I already look forward to hearing about what’s going on with the other moms and their kids — without judgement.

It is a great example of communication with the community, both in the happenstance encounters she describes and in the intentional formation of groups and use of local information sources.

 

Rules of Engagement

APRIL IS AUTISM AWARENESS MONTH.

Yeah, this post’s title is a military term.  Rules of engagement tell you when you’re allowed to shoot back.

Sometimes care giving feels like combat, albeit in non-lethal form.

One particular battle is the effort to engage people with autism in collaborative behavior.  I was going to say meaningful behavior but that assumes that people with autism are absorbed in meaningless behavior on their own, which is not true.  Their behavior has great meaning to them, even if we can’t always crack the code and understand it.  And who knows, maybe they perceive our antics as meaningless.

OK, back to collaborative.

Our 25 year old son with autism, Joey, lives in a warm and supportive group home here in town.  Our custom is to pick him up on Sunday afternoons for dinner and an overnight with us.

We try to engage him in play, household activities or just chit chat.  None of these have ever been among his favorite things.  And as we shared a few weeks ago, his priority right now is to negotiate and nag about an unavailable form of entertainment he used to enjoy on his own.

So there’s some creative combat as we try to get him to say or do anything besides chanting “VCR will be here soon.”

Music usually engages him, but he’s figured out that playing tunes on our computers or phones is our effort to stifle the VCR negotiation.  So he either covers his ears and stomps away, whines “No MUSIC” or, wonder of wonders, forms a sentence to say, “I want quiet, please.”  Which is collaborative communication, except it leaves us all staring at one another non-collaboratively.

So I ran and got some picture books from our years of accumulated kids’ books.  We got a few smiles out of him with our funny character voices,  but he would not sit on the couch with us to look at them, let alone read with us.

So Melissa continued to try an engage him in talk or music while I huffed away to empty the dishwasher (does he think I’m engaged in meaningful behavior when I do that?  Do I?)

Then a little light bulb fizzed on over my head.  I said, “Hey Joe, come in here with dad.”

He glowered at me.

“Come on and help dad,” I chirped.  “This will be FUN!”

He uncurled from the couch and stood looking at me.  I indicated the silverware drawer.

20190331_213344“Help dad put these away.”

I handed him a butter knife.  Lo and behold, he put it in the slot with the other knives.

“Good job with the knives,” I oversold the moment.  Then I gave him a salad fork.

He put it in with the other smaller forks.  That was impressive, as he could have just mixed it up with the larger dinner forks.

I commenced praising him and called out my delight to Melissa.  I was going to move on to spoons, but he made an annoyed face, sounded off with his go-to word, “NOOOO,” and returned to the couch.

We counted the night a success.  Caring for people with autism requires rejoicing in small victories, connections that might seem trivial in what we perceive as normal life.

We’re still refusing to chase after another VCR.  But we are adopting a puppy.  And we’re provisionally excited, because Joey made eye contact and whispered “Yes” when we told him about it and Melissa showed him pictures like this one:

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This little guy is named Henry.  We hope he will help us with some fun engagement with Joey.  That is, once Henry’s done eating Melissa’s glasses.

So, what forms of engagement reach the one(s) in your care?  Always open to new tactics.  What works with one person with autism doesn’t necessarily reach the next one.

Very often, the most loving care is to keep showing up, trying again or trying something new.

And sometimes just showing up and letting them be.

Are you a family caregiver or know someone who is?  Consider getting or gifting our little book for this Autism Awareness Month.