I've always felt a kinship with Charlie Brown.
It seems like I've been trying to kick the damn football for years...only to have Lucy snatch it away at the last minute.
AAAAGGGHHHHH!!!!
Preach on, brother.
Lucy takes on many forms. She's a shapeshifter. You can't trust her, and you can't always recognize her. Get married, have a baby. Fabulous! He's a golden child who embodies joy and fulfillment. Hey, let's try this again. Another baby. Hmmm...a bit different, but so far so good.
Until Lucy snatches that ball away. The baby...he's not talking on schedule. Wait, now he's not talking at ALL. He's acting weird. YOINK. It's autism. Falling flat on my back, the wind knocked out of me...
But then Lucy shows up again...this time, she's got a signed document! There are treatments for autism, and we're gonna fix that boy right up. That ball is going to go SAILING down the field. I back up, fix my face into a determined expression, and take off at full speed.
YOINK. (Pssst. The treatments don't work. At least not for us.)
Splat. Funny thing about that document. It was never notarized.
Sigh. Lying on my back, staring up at the sky, wondering when I'm ever going to learn not to trust Lucy...
This morning, my darling baby boy woke up at 5:30 a.m. I ignored him for a while, hoping he was talking in his sleep. But no such luck, and I creep down the dark hallway only to find out that his PullUp leaked again. I dig around in the boxes of winter clothes that need unpacking (mental note: DO that sometime) and find something for him to wear. By now it's time to get K. up to make sure he has recovered completely from the chicken pox that broke out last week, in spite of his vaccine at age 1. Then the epic struggle begins...to turn on the lights and start the day. S. falls apart..."Off. Off." The transition from night to day is one of the hardest for him. K., ever the solid rock of the family, takes it all in stride. He ambles slowly down the hall and eases into the day, as usual. The next ten minutes are not good. I mean, like, really bad.
S. climbs into recliner. "Off!"
"No. It's morning. Time for school soon." A tantrum ensues. Pick him up, haul him down the hall to his room, where no lights are on. His dad steps in to help keep him corralled in there long enough for K. to get ready in relative peace.
He escapes. More crying. "Off. OFF!"
"No!" Back to his room, where he collapses onto the bed flailing and crying. Somebody knocks on the door. It's 6:45 a.m.
Oh, LOVELY. It's the lady from downstairs, the Melodrama Queen of Valley Drive. With back of hand laid on forehead, she intones with Shakespearean tragedy..."Can't you KEEP him quiet? He woke me up from my sleep!" Oh, forgive us, your majesty...we are but peons trying to deal with the impossible...please, continue to yell and curse at your own children so loudly that we can hear every word...and forgive us for the trespass of having a child with this CURSED disorder. "I complained and they (the office staff?) told me I could call the police...but I'm not going to do that, because he's a child." Oh, thank you, Our Lady of Mercy...thank you for not having our 7 year old autistic son arrested. Whatever.
At that moment I hated her and everyone else in the world. I wanted to scream, to tear out my hair, and then run as fast as I could away from it all. D. was literally VIBRATING with anger, but somehow we both reigned ourselves in and responded to her ridiculous attempt to chastise us. I finally closed the door in her face and finished getting K.'s snack ready with shaking hands.
D. walked K. to the bus stop. I put S. in his room for the 23rd time, and went to dry my hair. In the interim, the acceptance switch clicked in S. and when I came out of the bathroom I found him on his tummy in the living room, happily reading a Thomas book. That's how fast it changes. One moment, chaos, and the next, he's humming to himself and giggling. My emotions take a little longer to readjust.
Well, it's almost Halloween, so to continue with my Charlie Brown theme, let me end with this. Today, at least, I feel like in the great Trick or Treating game that is life, everybody else got candy or bubble gum or a chocolate bar.
I got a rock.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Monday, October 22, 2007
Some world views are spacious
Mine's not, though. I realized this weekend how incredibly SMALL my world has become...the incredibly shrinking life.
(Oh, and props to Neil Peart for letting me borrow that phrase in the title. It's from "Grand Designs." Anyone who knows me knows of my admiration for Mr. Peart's writing abilities. I'll probably quote him a lot because I like him and he's cool. He ROCKS, man...he just...ROCKS. And he didn't really let me borrow it...I guess I stole it. I don't think he'll mind.)
Anyway. Life as I know it revolves around S. Sometimes it gets really old. We have to hunker down like generals over maps and plan the simplest drives to make sure we won't pass the golden arches at an inconvenient time. Are we going someplace he's never been? What if he freaks out? What if there are breakable items there that we can't afford to replace? What if (gasp) there's a VCR he can get his hands on and fast-forward/stim to his heart's content? Have we packed an adequate supply of the 5 things he will actually eat?
The incredibly shrinking life.
Friends fall by the wayside...they (whoever THEY are) say that friends are supposed to stick close through the tough times. Well, THEY didn't know anybody with an autistic child, I'm quite sure of that. Friends don't know what to do with families like ours. They make vague promises of help, but somehow they never materialize. There's no such thing as a simple "drop the kids off here and spend the afternoon however you want." Okay, sure. But first you'll need to enroll in our simple 16-week course called "How to survive an afternoon with an autistic child...and live to tell about it!" Call now and get "Changing the Diaper of a Seven Year Old the EASY Way" - FREE!
Our social life consists of time spent with family...people who know us and who have long since autism-proofed their homes. We love them...we are grateful for them. But it's not nearly enough. I miss hanging out with other women, and doing artsy-crafty things...I miss worrying about how my home was decorated. Now housecleaning consists of shoveling the Thomas trains out of the middle of the hall with my foot as I stumble through to start another day.
My husband misses out on the friend factor as well. Guys have a hard enough time expressing themselves...and when one among them has real problems, it seems they don't know how to handle it. They want to fix it, and while I really wish someone could, they can't. And it just seems hard for men to let each other talk and mourn. That sucks. At least my friends will cry with me and not immediately try to come up with solutions. Sometimes all you need is another presence...someone silently lifting some of the burden and holding it with you for a while.
When you view the world through a tunnel, as we do, focusing intently on what is RIGHT in front of us, dealing with each minute problem that is actually HUGE...it's hard to understand other people and their problems (many of which seem trivial and ridiculous). I find that I have ZERO tolerance for people who won't use their brains. Every day I see people squandering good health, healthy children, financial resources, and it makes me sick. Bitter, even.
But then life shrinks a little more, and the tunnel vision refocuses...and life crystallizes. Get through this day. This minute, sometimes. Savor the quiet moments, rare as they are. Watch for the victories, tiny as they may be.
Sometimes, the simple act of watching two brothers walk side by side on a path through the woods, as brothers have done for generations, widens my worldview. Just a little.
(Oh, and props to Neil Peart for letting me borrow that phrase in the title. It's from "Grand Designs." Anyone who knows me knows of my admiration for Mr. Peart's writing abilities. I'll probably quote him a lot because I like him and he's cool. He ROCKS, man...he just...ROCKS. And he didn't really let me borrow it...I guess I stole it. I don't think he'll mind.)
Anyway. Life as I know it revolves around S. Sometimes it gets really old. We have to hunker down like generals over maps and plan the simplest drives to make sure we won't pass the golden arches at an inconvenient time. Are we going someplace he's never been? What if he freaks out? What if there are breakable items there that we can't afford to replace? What if (gasp) there's a VCR he can get his hands on and fast-forward/stim to his heart's content? Have we packed an adequate supply of the 5 things he will actually eat?
The incredibly shrinking life.
Friends fall by the wayside...they (whoever THEY are) say that friends are supposed to stick close through the tough times. Well, THEY didn't know anybody with an autistic child, I'm quite sure of that. Friends don't know what to do with families like ours. They make vague promises of help, but somehow they never materialize. There's no such thing as a simple "drop the kids off here and spend the afternoon however you want." Okay, sure. But first you'll need to enroll in our simple 16-week course called "How to survive an afternoon with an autistic child...and live to tell about it!" Call now and get "Changing the Diaper of a Seven Year Old the EASY Way" - FREE!
Our social life consists of time spent with family...people who know us and who have long since autism-proofed their homes. We love them...we are grateful for them. But it's not nearly enough. I miss hanging out with other women, and doing artsy-crafty things...I miss worrying about how my home was decorated. Now housecleaning consists of shoveling the Thomas trains out of the middle of the hall with my foot as I stumble through to start another day.
My husband misses out on the friend factor as well. Guys have a hard enough time expressing themselves...and when one among them has real problems, it seems they don't know how to handle it. They want to fix it, and while I really wish someone could, they can't. And it just seems hard for men to let each other talk and mourn. That sucks. At least my friends will cry with me and not immediately try to come up with solutions. Sometimes all you need is another presence...someone silently lifting some of the burden and holding it with you for a while.
When you view the world through a tunnel, as we do, focusing intently on what is RIGHT in front of us, dealing with each minute problem that is actually HUGE...it's hard to understand other people and their problems (many of which seem trivial and ridiculous). I find that I have ZERO tolerance for people who won't use their brains. Every day I see people squandering good health, healthy children, financial resources, and it makes me sick. Bitter, even.
But then life shrinks a little more, and the tunnel vision refocuses...and life crystallizes. Get through this day. This minute, sometimes. Savor the quiet moments, rare as they are. Watch for the victories, tiny as they may be.
Sometimes, the simple act of watching two brothers walk side by side on a path through the woods, as brothers have done for generations, widens my worldview. Just a little.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Random Thoughts
I'm sleepy today. Another morning up at 3:00. I feel about as alert as Asa, that old bank security guard on the Andy Griffith Show...remember him? Always dozing in his chair by the door... And now I'm thinking about how every time I watch Andy Griffith I start wishing I lived in Mayberry in the early 1960s.
God, I don't know where all THAT came from. I guess it's all a part of wishing for a simpler life, and even though Mayberry is corny, it's simple.
I dreamed last night that S. was lost...and I had forgotten the dream until I saw this story on CNN.com about an 18 year old with autism who wandered away from his family and was lost for four days. http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/10/18/hiker.found.ap/index.html
I can't even begin to comprehend what this kid's parents went through. The article says the boy has the mental capacity of a three or four year old, which is close to where S. is now (he is physically age 7). The thoughts of my baby wandering around in the woods, in the cold, alone...my gut tightens up just imagining it.
On a brighter note, S. is trying harder every day to use words to communicate. Yesterday when I got home, my mom took me to his room and said, "S., tell Mama what you want." My mom wasn't able to understand him. He looked at me and said, "Ach juggleboo." I pondered. "Wait...he's asking to 'watch Jungle Book'!" :-)
That was fun. And the look on his face when he realizes that he has successfully communicated is worth a million bucks.
Well, back to work now, in my dazed and confused state. Maybe I'll write more later when the old brain cells have kicked in.
God, I don't know where all THAT came from. I guess it's all a part of wishing for a simpler life, and even though Mayberry is corny, it's simple.
I dreamed last night that S. was lost...and I had forgotten the dream until I saw this story on CNN.com about an 18 year old with autism who wandered away from his family and was lost for four days. http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/10/18/hiker.found.ap/index.html
I can't even begin to comprehend what this kid's parents went through. The article says the boy has the mental capacity of a three or four year old, which is close to where S. is now (he is physically age 7). The thoughts of my baby wandering around in the woods, in the cold, alone...my gut tightens up just imagining it.
On a brighter note, S. is trying harder every day to use words to communicate. Yesterday when I got home, my mom took me to his room and said, "S., tell Mama what you want." My mom wasn't able to understand him. He looked at me and said, "Ach juggleboo." I pondered. "Wait...he's asking to 'watch Jungle Book'!" :-)
That was fun. And the look on his face when he realizes that he has successfully communicated is worth a million bucks.
Well, back to work now, in my dazed and confused state. Maybe I'll write more later when the old brain cells have kicked in.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
We survived fall break
Usually a few days out of school means a few extra days of chaos in our family. K. loves having time off, S. responds less than favorably to the lack of structure and schedule that seems to be inherent in our family/home life.
The boys had Friday, Monday, and today off, and so far...we're doing okay. There have been moments, certainly, but no 45 minute tantrums that leave me feeling wrung out and hopeless.
Today has me in a reflective mood...I think I'm finally coming to grips with how I REALLY feel about the whole "autism treatment" notion. When S. was initially diagnosed, we knew nothing about biomedical interventions. We focused on early behavioral intervention and I threw myself into it wholeheartedly. I'd like to think that my early efforts bore some fruit. It took two years for S. to grasp the pic sym concept, but that has certainly come in handy over the years - now that he's becoming more verbal we rely on pics less now. That's a good thing, in my opinion.
But, as most loving parents do, we keep looking for more, better, faster ways to "cure" our son. I put that in quotes not because I doubt that it can happen, but because I think it is a rare occurrence, and an outcome that we don't really expect. Not anymore. The first biomed-flavored book I read was Karen Seroussi's Unraveling the Mystery of Autism. I devoured it and immediately began thinking of how I would save my son and we could put all this nasty autism business behind us. We did the diet...and what a struggle that was. No gluten, no casein... We also visited the only DAN! doctor in our area, who agreed that removing these things from S.'s diet would help him. I went to health food stores, often spending $50 on ingredients to prepare ONE thing for S. - I don't begrudge the money, but the problem was: IT DIDN'T WORK. Not for S. He got worse. There was no dramatic improvement in behavior. He became listless. He got diarrhea. His hair stopped being shiny, and his face was pale. During this time we also had bloodwork and an EEG done, on the DAN! doctor's orders. THAT was fun. A couple of weeks later his nurse called to tell me (in what now seems a calculatedly gentle tone) that S. was having seizures. I panicked and cried, but she assured me that this was GOOD news. Seizures could be treated!
Suddenly, the emotional rollercoaster that would be my ride for the foreseeable future kicked into high gear. First the diet and it's promises failed us. But now? Now we could attribute S.'s behaviors to seizures, which could be treated, and we'd have our son back! I was overjoyed and couldn't wait to start him on the Lamictal. We started the drug per the doctor's orders and sat back to watch the magic.
Except...IT DIDN'T WORK.
We finally thought to seek a second opinion. We went to a pediatric neurologist who repeated the EEG, then told us that S. was NOT having seizures. The spiky activity on the readout, he said, would be alarming if the test results were from an adult. From a child whose brain, even though hampered by autism, was still developing, though - the activity was normal. He also noted that the dosage of Lamictal S. was taking was too small to have any real effect.
You might wonder why we didn't pursue some kind of action toward the DAN! doctor for what seemed like negligence or even outright deception. The neurologist told us that reading EEG's can be very subjective, and that while he felt that most of his colleagues would agree with him, a case could be made to defend the first doctor's assessments.
Another thing to note here: BIOMEDICAL TREATMENTS FOR AUTISM HAVE NOT BEEN PROVEN TO BE EFFECTIVE. There is lots of anecdotal evidence...enough for parents like us to run ourselves crazy trying to get the next test, the next supplement, the next treatment for our child. You never want to look back and wish you had tried something.
We've tried. We continue to try. We delved into the world of chelation as well. Let's talk about that another time, shall we?
For today, I rest in the knowledge that we have tried everything possible to help our son. Some of these things have helped. Some of them have done nothing. Some caused us huge amounts of stress and resulted in no change. Parents like us will continue to look for answers. The snake oil salesmen have perfect marks with us...we are desperate, tired, and close to despair. There are people out there offering hope in a bottle, or in a hyperbaric chamber, or in a special diet. I'm certainly glad there are children that have supposedly been helped.
I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I wish my child was one of them.
The boys had Friday, Monday, and today off, and so far...we're doing okay. There have been moments, certainly, but no 45 minute tantrums that leave me feeling wrung out and hopeless.
Today has me in a reflective mood...I think I'm finally coming to grips with how I REALLY feel about the whole "autism treatment" notion. When S. was initially diagnosed, we knew nothing about biomedical interventions. We focused on early behavioral intervention and I threw myself into it wholeheartedly. I'd like to think that my early efforts bore some fruit. It took two years for S. to grasp the pic sym concept, but that has certainly come in handy over the years - now that he's becoming more verbal we rely on pics less now. That's a good thing, in my opinion.
But, as most loving parents do, we keep looking for more, better, faster ways to "cure" our son. I put that in quotes not because I doubt that it can happen, but because I think it is a rare occurrence, and an outcome that we don't really expect. Not anymore. The first biomed-flavored book I read was Karen Seroussi's Unraveling the Mystery of Autism. I devoured it and immediately began thinking of how I would save my son and we could put all this nasty autism business behind us. We did the diet...and what a struggle that was. No gluten, no casein... We also visited the only DAN! doctor in our area, who agreed that removing these things from S.'s diet would help him. I went to health food stores, often spending $50 on ingredients to prepare ONE thing for S. - I don't begrudge the money, but the problem was: IT DIDN'T WORK. Not for S. He got worse. There was no dramatic improvement in behavior. He became listless. He got diarrhea. His hair stopped being shiny, and his face was pale. During this time we also had bloodwork and an EEG done, on the DAN! doctor's orders. THAT was fun. A couple of weeks later his nurse called to tell me (in what now seems a calculatedly gentle tone) that S. was having seizures. I panicked and cried, but she assured me that this was GOOD news. Seizures could be treated!
Suddenly, the emotional rollercoaster that would be my ride for the foreseeable future kicked into high gear. First the diet and it's promises failed us. But now? Now we could attribute S.'s behaviors to seizures, which could be treated, and we'd have our son back! I was overjoyed and couldn't wait to start him on the Lamictal. We started the drug per the doctor's orders and sat back to watch the magic.
Except...IT DIDN'T WORK.
We finally thought to seek a second opinion. We went to a pediatric neurologist who repeated the EEG, then told us that S. was NOT having seizures. The spiky activity on the readout, he said, would be alarming if the test results were from an adult. From a child whose brain, even though hampered by autism, was still developing, though - the activity was normal. He also noted that the dosage of Lamictal S. was taking was too small to have any real effect.
You might wonder why we didn't pursue some kind of action toward the DAN! doctor for what seemed like negligence or even outright deception. The neurologist told us that reading EEG's can be very subjective, and that while he felt that most of his colleagues would agree with him, a case could be made to defend the first doctor's assessments.
Another thing to note here: BIOMEDICAL TREATMENTS FOR AUTISM HAVE NOT BEEN PROVEN TO BE EFFECTIVE. There is lots of anecdotal evidence...enough for parents like us to run ourselves crazy trying to get the next test, the next supplement, the next treatment for our child. You never want to look back and wish you had tried something.
We've tried. We continue to try. We delved into the world of chelation as well. Let's talk about that another time, shall we?
For today, I rest in the knowledge that we have tried everything possible to help our son. Some of these things have helped. Some of them have done nothing. Some caused us huge amounts of stress and resulted in no change. Parents like us will continue to look for answers. The snake oil salesmen have perfect marks with us...we are desperate, tired, and close to despair. There are people out there offering hope in a bottle, or in a hyperbaric chamber, or in a special diet. I'm certainly glad there are children that have supposedly been helped.
I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I wish my child was one of them.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
A golden morning
Today started like many others. I found S. asleep on the couch and hoped he'd stay asleep till I got back from walking K. to the bus stop. He did, and we got dressed and ready for school. He still loves school - weekdays are his best days because the routine works well for him.
His teacher approached me a couple of weeks ago about trying to start teaching him sight words, and hoping that he could catch on and eventually learn enough words to be able to read and enjoy simple books on his own. I knew he had that ability because of the way he matches up his Thomas videos with the right boxes. So of course I told her to have at it.
Every few days his home note has been saying, "Did reading today...learned another word!" which is totally exciting. Along with the other three million things on my mind at any given moment, this fact made me smile vaguely, happy that HE is happy.
Until today.
This morning I followed him into class, watched him hang his backpack on the peg labeled with his name, and his teacher said, "S., let's read for mom." So he went to the table, sat down, and watched as she opened up the workbook and began to indicate words.
"Hursh." (horse)
"Yewwow." (yellow)
He got distracted and she gently pulled his attention back.
"Cah." (car)
"See."
"A yewwow cah."
"See a hursh."
My baby...my son who bewilders and aggravates and laughs and dances his way through our lives...is reading. He can do this. He has learned at least 10 words in as many days, and he retains them. The child who refused to hold a crayon till he was 5 is READING at age 7. Knowing that someday he may be able to sit down and enter the world created by a book is a golden, golden gift to me. He may never carry on a conversation, but here...HERE is a world he can enter.
I cried without shame as I watched him. This is a day to remember.
His teacher approached me a couple of weeks ago about trying to start teaching him sight words, and hoping that he could catch on and eventually learn enough words to be able to read and enjoy simple books on his own. I knew he had that ability because of the way he matches up his Thomas videos with the right boxes. So of course I told her to have at it.
Every few days his home note has been saying, "Did reading today...learned another word!" which is totally exciting. Along with the other three million things on my mind at any given moment, this fact made me smile vaguely, happy that HE is happy.
Until today.
This morning I followed him into class, watched him hang his backpack on the peg labeled with his name, and his teacher said, "S., let's read for mom." So he went to the table, sat down, and watched as she opened up the workbook and began to indicate words.
"Hursh." (horse)
"Yewwow." (yellow)
He got distracted and she gently pulled his attention back.
"Cah." (car)
"See."
"A yewwow cah."
"See a hursh."
My baby...my son who bewilders and aggravates and laughs and dances his way through our lives...is reading. He can do this. He has learned at least 10 words in as many days, and he retains them. The child who refused to hold a crayon till he was 5 is READING at age 7. Knowing that someday he may be able to sit down and enter the world created by a book is a golden, golden gift to me. He may never carry on a conversation, but here...HERE is a world he can enter.
I cried without shame as I watched him. This is a day to remember.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
An auspicious beginning
What a fabulous time to begin "blogging," as the young people call it. It's 4:17 a.m., I've been up since 2:30, and I'm feeling creative.
Yeah.
It's another one of those "S wakes up after four hours of sleep and I have no idea why" early mornings. Sadly, this is a regular event. I woke suddenly, immediately braced...was that him? Maybe I was dreaming. Another giggle from his room and I can't deny it any more. He jumps up, turns on his TV, then heads for the living room and the couch. I wait in bed, praying (yeah, right!) that he's autism-sleepwalking and will crash on the couch. Those are the lucky times. Waiting...
I doze. Wake up...listen. Waiting...
Thirty minutes pass and I'm starting to get warm and comfortable again. I think he's asleep.
Except he's not. Sudden delighted giggles from the living room wake me up completely, and I throw back the covers, close everyone else's bedroom doors, and trudge down the hall for another early morning session with my sweetly aggravating son.
Let's see...so far he has played with Thomas trains in the dark, and we vainly searched for the 2nd Cur-bel (Clarabel) - at least no tantrum when we didn't find it! Yay. He has watched a snippet from a Thomas video three times...with a deft flick of the wrist he unplugs the TV and VCR when he's done. I know...so dangerous. But the outlet cover I installed foiled him for all of a day. Now, he sits in the recliner behind me watching me type this. It's an hour and a half till I need to get dressed and started for the day. God, I hate this.
I've been reading several blogs lately, and noticed that little "create a blog" link in the upper right corner. I guess I'm just sleep-deprived enough right now to think this is a good idea. :-)
I could use a place to vent and store information...so I guess this is it. I hope someone who's looking for a real, honest, middle-of-the-road look into a family's struggle with autism (and yes, every day IS a struggle) might find something worthwhile here.
Thanks for reading.
Yeah.
It's another one of those "S wakes up after four hours of sleep and I have no idea why" early mornings. Sadly, this is a regular event. I woke suddenly, immediately braced...was that him? Maybe I was dreaming. Another giggle from his room and I can't deny it any more. He jumps up, turns on his TV, then heads for the living room and the couch. I wait in bed, praying (yeah, right!) that he's autism-sleepwalking and will crash on the couch. Those are the lucky times. Waiting...
I doze. Wake up...listen. Waiting...
Thirty minutes pass and I'm starting to get warm and comfortable again. I think he's asleep.
Except he's not. Sudden delighted giggles from the living room wake me up completely, and I throw back the covers, close everyone else's bedroom doors, and trudge down the hall for another early morning session with my sweetly aggravating son.
Let's see...so far he has played with Thomas trains in the dark, and we vainly searched for the 2nd Cur-bel (Clarabel) - at least no tantrum when we didn't find it! Yay. He has watched a snippet from a Thomas video three times...with a deft flick of the wrist he unplugs the TV and VCR when he's done. I know...so dangerous. But the outlet cover I installed foiled him for all of a day. Now, he sits in the recliner behind me watching me type this. It's an hour and a half till I need to get dressed and started for the day. God, I hate this.
I've been reading several blogs lately, and noticed that little "create a blog" link in the upper right corner. I guess I'm just sleep-deprived enough right now to think this is a good idea. :-)
I could use a place to vent and store information...so I guess this is it. I hope someone who's looking for a real, honest, middle-of-the-road look into a family's struggle with autism (and yes, every day IS a struggle) might find something worthwhile here.
Thanks for reading.