Trickle Down?
Plowing through stacks of autism-related books and literature, plus trawling the web. Last night I found a totally engrossing article at wired.com. In short: part of the autism epidemic may be due to unprecedented geek mating.
What really strikes me is this excerpt:
Over and over again, researchers have concluded that the DNA scripts for autism are probably passed down not only by relatives who are classically autistic, but by those who display only a few typically autistic behaviors. (Geneticists call those who don't fit into the diagnostic pigeonholes "broad autistic phenotypes.")
Jeez, have you ever met my dad? I mean, I love him--EVERYONE loves him. He would do anything for his family or friends, and in my case (only daughter of man with four brothers and three sons) is especially indulgent. But he has more than a few suspect behaviors, including:
-Must Maintain Schedule/inflexibility/doesn't understand why you JUST DON'T GET IT
-Prefers to be asocial/doesn't get standard social cues
-Knows absolutely everything about pre-1965 pop music and culture, yet can't remember anyone's name or grasp certain concepts
-Obsessive
Schedule: You don't want to mess with my dad's schedule (Jekyll becomes Hyde in an instant--run for cover!). Too bad if your guest/fiance is sleeping on the couch next to the kitchen--my dad empties the dishwasher and grinds his coffee beans at 5:30 every morning, and that's that. No, he is NOT going to pour out that hours-old coffee, and woe to anyone who does (e.g., Seymour). Of course it makes sense to take I-5 to the 91 to the 605 to the 105 to the 110 to the 10 to the 405.
Socialization: Everyone thinks of my dad as a hearty extrovert. What they don't know is that he has a 10-minute shtick (thank you Dale Carnegie), and that once he's run through his jokes and set pleasantries, he's done. He does not discuss himself or his feelings, ever. He prefers to spend his time alone, ideally reading. If he really wants to do something, and you tell him No, he may not understand--he may just get flustered and angry, because it makes perfect sense to him. He will probably end up doing it anyhow, once you're not looking (this has led to several neuroses on my part).
Information: He has one of those human-computer brains--regarding subjects he likes. He even did a test run on a TV quiz show in the 60's, receiving one of their highest scores ever--but had a panic attack and left when they turned the cameras on. (Be on his team for Trivial Pursuit.) This same brain called Seymour "Scott" for the first five years of our togetherness. Despite his recent quintuple bypass surgery, he has to have his diet monitored like a toddler or he will go straight for the bacon cheeseburger every time--he just doesn't get it. If you tell him that he can't have the super nacho cheese omelette and outline the reasons why, he will pout--also like a toddler.
Obsession: My dad loves contests. Anything free is good (i.e., "Can I take you to lunch" may mean "We will go to Costco and fill our gullets with complimentary food samples," nothing wrong with a gray market all-channel cable box), but winning something is even better. Now that he is retired, he is relentless in his contest-entering, and he almost always wins. He hasn't paid for a cruise, concert, ball game, or movie ticket in years. If the contest has limits on how many times he can enter, he has no problem using his friends' and family members' names with his address and phone number. The local radio station finally capitulated--before their latest contest, they called HIM up, saying that they wanted to give a heads-up to their favorite listener. Contest-entering has been the one thing that lured him into the Internet and email age--it streamlines the entire process.
You just gotta wonder.
Endnote: Just received an online photo album from a friend who is the female half of a super-genius couple. Gorgeous pictures of their four year old boy and almost-two-year-old girl. The little girl has a stern look on her face in every one of the 15 shots. Leelo didn't smile in any pictures at that age either, in almost exactly the same way. I repeat: please please no please no...
9.30.2003
Advice From The Trenches
My friend Spot put me in touch with a woman we both went to school with, Maryte. Her daughter is 9, so she's got seven years on us in terms of autism experience. I sought her advice on the chelation thang, and here's what she wrote:
I highly recommend the chelation -- especially for a little guy. There is a mercury detoxification list serve possibly on yahoo. I will see if I can find the address.
If you want to get started--go to the Autism Research Institute website and download the mercury detoxification protocol. Also -- anything by Dr. Amy Holmes will be very helpful. I believe she has a powerpoint presentation online.
I think it is a very wise choice. You see a lot of bad behaviors and then an amazing child begins to emerge
So far I've heard only good things about the results of mercury detoxification with autistic kids. Obviously, though, the research continues.
---
Leelo is a bundle of green snot this A.M. Need to get Dr. P's advice--this is the point at which the ear infection normally comes.
---
My hand is all mendhi'd out. Mmm. Love that henna smell. Nothing like it except maybe real indigo. My design is highly symbolic, thanks to artist LH. Her hand, which I did, just has a goofy design on it.
I highly recommend the chelation -- especially for a little guy. There is a mercury detoxification list serve possibly on yahoo. I will see if I can find the address.
If you want to get started--go to the Autism Research Institute website and download the mercury detoxification protocol. Also -- anything by Dr. Amy Holmes will be very helpful. I believe she has a powerpoint presentation online.
I think it is a very wise choice. You see a lot of bad behaviors and then an amazing child begins to emerge
So far I've heard only good things about the results of mercury detoxification with autistic kids. Obviously, though, the research continues.
---
Leelo is a bundle of green snot this A.M. Need to get Dr. P's advice--this is the point at which the ear infection normally comes.
---
My hand is all mendhi'd out. Mmm. Love that henna smell. Nothing like it except maybe real indigo. My design is highly symbolic, thanks to artist LH. Her hand, which I did, just has a goofy design on it.
9.28.2003
I Am the Best Kind of Blogger!
Oh, Monkey Monkey Monkey (I, Asshole --> Monkey) what have you done? Links to far too many quizzes--I am inexorably drawn to the huge burning chasm and cannot stop myself from diving in, goodbye everyone, I'll see you next week!
The results of the first quiz:
Are You A Blogaholic? Results
Your Score: 56 / 100
YOUR SCORE 56.0% 56.0 points out of 100
AVG SCORE 43.1% 43.1 points out of 100
7678 people have taken this silly test so far.
1519 people have sored higher than you.
5635 people have scored lower than you.
524 people made the same grade as you.
What does this mean? *
56 points is in the 51 through 80 precent
You are a dedicated weblogger. You post frequently because you enjoy weblogging a lot, yet you still manage to have a social life. You're the best kind of weblogger. Way to go!
Oh, Monkey Monkey Monkey (I, Asshole --> Monkey) what have you done? Links to far too many quizzes--I am inexorably drawn to the huge burning chasm and cannot stop myself from diving in, goodbye everyone, I'll see you next week!
The results of the first quiz:
Are You A Blogaholic? Results
Your Score: 56 / 100
YOUR SCORE 56.0% 56.0 points out of 100
AVG SCORE 43.1% 43.1 points out of 100
7678 people have taken this silly test so far.
1519 people have sored higher than you.
5635 people have scored lower than you.
524 people made the same grade as you.
What does this mean? *
56 points is in the 51 through 80 precent
You are a dedicated weblogger. You post frequently because you enjoy weblogging a lot, yet you still manage to have a social life. You're the best kind of weblogger. Way to go!
9.27.2003
Leelo Food
Holy Semolina Substitute, Batman! We cooked a Leelo-friendly (dairy wheat/gluten soy peanut citrus sugar free) dinner last night, and it was delicious. Leelo, of course, had no interest, but we've leftovers to confront him with for a few days. Here's what we ate:
Leelo Pasta & Pesto with Tomatoes
-Fresh Basil
-Fresh Garlic
-Pine Nuts
-Olive Oil
-Salt
-Mrs. Leepers Rice Pasta
-Tasty Tomatoes
Start to put pine nuts and garlic in food processor. Hesitate upon viewing first pine nut, realize that some are slightly off/old and unless you cut all the individual points off, you should just toss them out now. Curse. Trim teeny points for an interminable period, finish. Blend pine nuts and garlic to toast-crumb consistency.
Wash basil. Start tearing it up and into the food processor. Realize that this is overgrown late-summer basil, and that if you include all the big, tough leaves, you will end up with pesto that tastes like it was made with celery. Curse, seek out all the still-tender leaves (about one quarter of them), put in food processor. Dollop of olive oil, salt to taste, blend.
Toss with diced tomatoes and surprisingly tasty rice pasta from excellent company that donates a portion of its proceeds to autism and celiac disease research.
Offer pasta to your two-year-old son. Watch him fling it to and fro. Curse (silently).
Everyone else in family gets to douse pasta with grated parmesan. Mmmm! We may get the hang of this funky diet after all.
Holy Semolina Substitute, Batman! We cooked a Leelo-friendly (dairy wheat/gluten soy peanut citrus sugar free) dinner last night, and it was delicious. Leelo, of course, had no interest, but we've leftovers to confront him with for a few days. Here's what we ate:
Leelo Pasta & Pesto with Tomatoes
-Fresh Basil
-Fresh Garlic
-Pine Nuts
-Olive Oil
-Salt
-Mrs. Leepers Rice Pasta
-Tasty Tomatoes
Start to put pine nuts and garlic in food processor. Hesitate upon viewing first pine nut, realize that some are slightly off/old and unless you cut all the individual points off, you should just toss them out now. Curse. Trim teeny points for an interminable period, finish. Blend pine nuts and garlic to toast-crumb consistency.
Wash basil. Start tearing it up and into the food processor. Realize that this is overgrown late-summer basil, and that if you include all the big, tough leaves, you will end up with pesto that tastes like it was made with celery. Curse, seek out all the still-tender leaves (about one quarter of them), put in food processor. Dollop of olive oil, salt to taste, blend.
Toss with diced tomatoes and surprisingly tasty rice pasta from excellent company that donates a portion of its proceeds to autism and celiac disease research.
Offer pasta to your two-year-old son. Watch him fling it to and fro. Curse (silently).
Everyone else in family gets to douse pasta with grated parmesan. Mmmm! We may get the hang of this funky diet after all.
Please Please Please No Please No
If you have an autistic child younger than 14, do NOT read today's Salon Article on Autism. I am going to have the cold sweats for days. Wish someone would have warned me. Actually, Seymour did, but this is how we contrary types get our just desserts.
If you have an autistic child younger than 14, do NOT read today's Salon Article on Autism. I am going to have the cold sweats for days. Wish someone would have warned me. Actually, Seymour did, but this is how we contrary types get our just desserts.
9.26.2003
What Makes Me Do The Snoopy Dance
Besides I've been such a snarly, growling poo-face lately, I've written down some things that turn me into a happy pogostick. Which I am a lot, really:
The druid-evoking oak grove at the top of the hill in front of my house--especially when it's foggy. Crazy, gnarled oaks, silence, strangely empty understory. Extremely calming. The journey is a 3.5-4 mile hike with switchbacks, but only the first mile is really challenging. Come with me! Bring your sickle!
Sitting on my front porch with the golden afternoon filtering through the oak trees, and a view that negates all human interference. Listening to quail, red-shouldered blackbirds, red tailed hawks, woodpeckers, and other birds whose songs Seymour or LH would need to ID for me. This is a rare occurrence, though, as who would be watching my kids in the afternoon before everyone starts returning from work and clogging up the soundscape with hoots and hollers?
Watching Strange Brew, or hanging out with people who chuckle when I steal lines from it. Seymour doesn't understand how it soothes me, and made me turn off the video just as Iz crowned! Twit. My affection for the movie has something to do with Trying To Understand My Canadian Heritage.
Maps. Map projects like this. I am a cartophile, and have the M.A. to prove it. In grad school, I preferred geeking out in the computer lab all day long while making my digital maps & animations to food (which was helpful since my stipend was $7K/year). Then they dragged me out of the lab and told me that the maps were insufficient--that the degree required a written thesis, too. Aiiigh! Hopefully no one will ever find that document (a shorter, almost coherent version of it got published in my favorite cartography periodical, shocking no one more than me). BTW, if anyone has a Mac with a floppy drive, let me know...I've been neglecting some serious archiving.
A big mug of Earl Grey tea with lots of cream and sugar (cold days only). My mom is an Anglo-Canadian (as in spells colour with the U, no problem with The Queen's picture on the currency, fantasizes about holidays in the Cotswolds), so I've been drinking my tea like this since I was 3 years old.
Torturing proselytizing Christian shitheads on the mothers club eGroup list who think that they are exempt from the ban on non-parenting postings since after all who could deny the supremacy of any message that spreads the word of Jesus Christ? Certainly none of our Athiest, Hindu, or Jewish members.
Hanging out with G-Spot, Dee, or The Little Flower--it could be months or it could be years, but we pick up the banter as if we'd just had lunch yesterday. Would you please fucking move back to California already?
Drinking! Neither too much (lest I transform into The Beast Without Impulse Control) nor too little (what's the point?).
Goats. Salmon or other anadromous fish. Information or jokes about either. Not squid--I have had nightmares about them since I was 6 or 7 (and guess how much sympathy I got for waking up screaming that there was a squid in my bed). My interest now is best classified as morbid fascination.
Music from my pre- and teen years (excepting that pretentious Bauhaus crap--PUH-lease!). Squids, Rainy Day, Fun Boy 3, first/second wave ska, esp. Untouchables, Fishbone's EP, Special A.K.A., Bangles pre-Manic Monday, the early New Wave stuff before Talk Talk and their poseur buddies ruined everything. Elvis Costello's New Amsterdam still makes me rock from side to side with a Stevie Wonder grin. Show tunes (before 1965), goofy old vocals like Maurice Chevalier and Jeannette MacDonald (that would be my dad's influence).
Trying to harmonize--to anything--when no one is looking or listening. (Leelo pleads: NO SING!)
Literary brain-blending rollercoasters like Snowcrash or The Satanic Verses. Read the latter on our honeymoon, had to keep reminding myself that it would be a good idea to pay attention to my groom. Ah, patient, darling Seymour.
Good port. Seymour's dad is from the land of port--and he pours his stellar vintages with a liberal hand--so I'm ruined as far as the cheap crap goes.
Jelly doughnuts. I was safe for years, as it seemed like everyone on the planet had forgotten how to make a decent jelly, but Krispy Kreme has resurrected the classic version and I'm just screwed. (Jelly Doughnut coming! ha ha ha ha ha ha [see Strange Brew entry, above].)
Reading my friends' blogs. I'm not so good with the in-person communication skills, so the blogs often fill in the blanks. They also make me appreciate just how fricking cool these people are. I should dig out that Myers-Brigg test that Jo's mom did for me--I don't remember the actual letters, something like NFPLUFF, but Jo's mom said that it meant I have a very difficult time relating what's in my head to others, and think everyone already knows what I mean when actually they have no idea. This is why I tend to choose the jobs that let me work at home, by myself (the test's recommendation was Foreign Translator--ha! I am monolingual).
Finding blogs that are worth reading--why is this so hard? Worth the effort, though.
Treacly shit about my partner and kids that is interesting to grandparents and relatives only, which is why I have a whole pink shiny puffy website set up just for them.
Gardening used to, but nowadays I am too preoccupied to water the plants and they're all dying.
Have you fallen asleep yet? Good night.
Besides I've been such a snarly, growling poo-face lately, I've written down some things that turn me into a happy pogostick. Which I am a lot, really:
The druid-evoking oak grove at the top of the hill in front of my house--especially when it's foggy. Crazy, gnarled oaks, silence, strangely empty understory. Extremely calming. The journey is a 3.5-4 mile hike with switchbacks, but only the first mile is really challenging. Come with me! Bring your sickle!
Sitting on my front porch with the golden afternoon filtering through the oak trees, and a view that negates all human interference. Listening to quail, red-shouldered blackbirds, red tailed hawks, woodpeckers, and other birds whose songs Seymour or LH would need to ID for me. This is a rare occurrence, though, as who would be watching my kids in the afternoon before everyone starts returning from work and clogging up the soundscape with hoots and hollers?
Watching Strange Brew, or hanging out with people who chuckle when I steal lines from it. Seymour doesn't understand how it soothes me, and made me turn off the video just as Iz crowned! Twit. My affection for the movie has something to do with Trying To Understand My Canadian Heritage.
Maps. Map projects like this. I am a cartophile, and have the M.A. to prove it. In grad school, I preferred geeking out in the computer lab all day long while making my digital maps & animations to food (which was helpful since my stipend was $7K/year). Then they dragged me out of the lab and told me that the maps were insufficient--that the degree required a written thesis, too. Aiiigh! Hopefully no one will ever find that document (a shorter, almost coherent version of it got published in my favorite cartography periodical, shocking no one more than me). BTW, if anyone has a Mac with a floppy drive, let me know...I've been neglecting some serious archiving.
A big mug of Earl Grey tea with lots of cream and sugar (cold days only). My mom is an Anglo-Canadian (as in spells colour with the U, no problem with The Queen's picture on the currency, fantasizes about holidays in the Cotswolds), so I've been drinking my tea like this since I was 3 years old.
Torturing proselytizing Christian shitheads on the mothers club eGroup list who think that they are exempt from the ban on non-parenting postings since after all who could deny the supremacy of any message that spreads the word of Jesus Christ? Certainly none of our Athiest, Hindu, or Jewish members.
Hanging out with G-Spot, Dee, or The Little Flower--it could be months or it could be years, but we pick up the banter as if we'd just had lunch yesterday. Would you please fucking move back to California already?
Drinking! Neither too much (lest I transform into The Beast Without Impulse Control) nor too little (what's the point?).
Goats. Salmon or other anadromous fish. Information or jokes about either. Not squid--I have had nightmares about them since I was 6 or 7 (and guess how much sympathy I got for waking up screaming that there was a squid in my bed). My interest now is best classified as morbid fascination.
Music from my pre- and teen years (excepting that pretentious Bauhaus crap--PUH-lease!). Squids, Rainy Day, Fun Boy 3, first/second wave ska, esp. Untouchables, Fishbone's EP, Special A.K.A., Bangles pre-Manic Monday, the early New Wave stuff before Talk Talk and their poseur buddies ruined everything. Elvis Costello's New Amsterdam still makes me rock from side to side with a Stevie Wonder grin. Show tunes (before 1965), goofy old vocals like Maurice Chevalier and Jeannette MacDonald (that would be my dad's influence).
Trying to harmonize--to anything--when no one is looking or listening. (Leelo pleads: NO SING!)
Literary brain-blending rollercoasters like Snowcrash or The Satanic Verses. Read the latter on our honeymoon, had to keep reminding myself that it would be a good idea to pay attention to my groom. Ah, patient, darling Seymour.
Good port. Seymour's dad is from the land of port--and he pours his stellar vintages with a liberal hand--so I'm ruined as far as the cheap crap goes.
Jelly doughnuts. I was safe for years, as it seemed like everyone on the planet had forgotten how to make a decent jelly, but Krispy Kreme has resurrected the classic version and I'm just screwed. (Jelly Doughnut coming! ha ha ha ha ha ha [see Strange Brew entry, above].)
Reading my friends' blogs. I'm not so good with the in-person communication skills, so the blogs often fill in the blanks. They also make me appreciate just how fricking cool these people are. I should dig out that Myers-Brigg test that Jo's mom did for me--I don't remember the actual letters, something like NFPLUFF, but Jo's mom said that it meant I have a very difficult time relating what's in my head to others, and think everyone already knows what I mean when actually they have no idea. This is why I tend to choose the jobs that let me work at home, by myself (the test's recommendation was Foreign Translator--ha! I am monolingual).
Finding blogs that are worth reading--why is this so hard? Worth the effort, though.
Treacly shit about my partner and kids that is interesting to grandparents and relatives only, which is why I have a whole pink shiny puffy website set up just for them.
Gardening used to, but nowadays I am too preoccupied to water the plants and they're all dying.
Have you fallen asleep yet? Good night.
9.25.2003
Oh, Why Not
Mix with me! Or not...fine, I'll do it for one of you:
| The Potion Maker |
|---|
| squidium is a milky, pasty opalescent gel created from the bones of a Snark. |
| Yet another fun meme brought to you by rfreebern |
Mix with me! Or not...fine, I'll do it for one of you:
| The Potion Maker |
|---|
| squidium is a milky, pasty opalescent gel created from the bones of a Snark. |
| spanglemonkeyium is a translucent, crumbly tan powder drawn from the bones of a bandersnatch. |
| Mixing squidium with spanglemonkeyium causes a violent chemical reaction, producing a cloudy indigo potion which gives the user the power of acid-spitting. |
| Yet another fun meme brought to you by rfreebern |
How Things Are With Leelo Today
Yesterday Leelo and I went to the BioSet practitioner while saintly Jo watched Iz. Turns out Leelo is sensitive to the last four supplements we had questions about: Nutribiotic grapfruit seed extract, glutathione cream, vitamin B12, and calcium, which means he'll have to be de-sensitized to them all (it's an accupressure thang). The calcium ban makes me especially nervous--I don't want his bones to to get all porous and rubbery, or turn to powder (the latter is the coercion rationale used to get Iz to eat calcium-rich foods). To get calcium (and all the other currently banned supplements) on board, I've increased the number and frequency of Leelo's BioSet appointments, yet so far won't be needing to cut into the ABA therapy sessions. Whew.
Leelo's twice-monthly team meeting took place yesterday as well. Supervisor M reported that she went to his small-group language school to evaluate his progress since June and was relatively pleased--although our boy still doesn't like or possibly understand how to follow directions as a member of a group. This doesn't bode well for his transition to a real preschool (with a "shadow" aide), but Therapist F and Supervisor M are going to evaluate a school or two anyhow. (Leelo gets booted from his current school when he turns three in November and the Regional Center cuts off his funding.)
His work with the therapists continues to exceed expectations, at least according to his team. They use the words "amazing" and "tremendous" a lot in describing each session. Super-Supervisor Andil and Supervisor M, who consider Leelo's ABA program to only have been in place for 6 weeks, say that his rate of language acquisition is impressive and that this can be a good indicator of future success. They have stepped up the variety and complexity of tasks in his program.
Nice to hear: Supervisor M specifically feels optimistic about Leelo's social potential, since he is a happy, friendly boy and does like and seek out other people--on his terms.
Supervisor M also voiced concerns about Leelo's sensory needs. Turns out she, like me, is in the middle of Temple Grandin's Thinking In Pictures (an account of the experience of being autistic), and that Grandin's assertions about autistic kids' need for sensory integration therapy underscore what Supervisor M herself has witnessed many, many times: it works, kids love it, kids need it. So I've put a call into the Occupational Therapy director at Leelo's school to see if they can set us up.
This morning Leelo and I both woke up with runny noses (I was up most of the night being the amazing sneezing snot fountain, so not a surprise in my case). For Leelo this is cause for alarm--he is one of those kids who's sick for the entire cold/flu season, and his colds always, always, always turn into ear infections. Fending off those infections led to the antibiotic overuse cycle that we suspect shredded his little gut and may have contributed to his autism. He hasn't had an ear infection since ear tubes were put in in April, but the cold/flu season was pretty much over by then. I do not want him to get sick again.
However, Dr. Prattle has advised us to not let Leelo use antibiotics, ibuprofen, or any other over-the-counter cold/flu meds until we get Leelo's system working properly. What we are supposed to do at the first sign of illness is hit him up with Manapol, an aloe-based immune system enhancer, and Myco-Immune, a similar product. I have been scared to use these products since their primary function is to raise the body's temperature to help it kill the bad bugs. Especially since our family has febrile (fever-induced) seizures, and, though Leelo's never had one, Iz's have been prolonged and violent. I will monitor him closely.
Leelo had his first dose of Manapol during lunch. I figured what the hell, I'm sick too, and so am going to join him on the regimen. The Manapol isn't so bad--you can open up the capsules and mix it easily with water. The Myco-Immune is nasty as all-fuck, though--it's alcohol-based! Like putting a dropperful of everclear in your mouth! I'm glad I dosed myself first and found this out, since I tend to blindly trust everything the good doctor recommends. Can't imagine how awful it would have been if I'd given a straight dose to Leelo--the last time we gave him an alcohol-based supplement, it resulted in projectile vomiting. Will call Dr. Prattle and ask for advice.
Leelo's twice-monthly team meeting took place yesterday as well. Supervisor M reported that she went to his small-group language school to evaluate his progress since June and was relatively pleased--although our boy still doesn't like or possibly understand how to follow directions as a member of a group. This doesn't bode well for his transition to a real preschool (with a "shadow" aide), but Therapist F and Supervisor M are going to evaluate a school or two anyhow. (Leelo gets booted from his current school when he turns three in November and the Regional Center cuts off his funding.)
His work with the therapists continues to exceed expectations, at least according to his team. They use the words "amazing" and "tremendous" a lot in describing each session. Super-Supervisor Andil and Supervisor M, who consider Leelo's ABA program to only have been in place for 6 weeks, say that his rate of language acquisition is impressive and that this can be a good indicator of future success. They have stepped up the variety and complexity of tasks in his program.
Nice to hear: Supervisor M specifically feels optimistic about Leelo's social potential, since he is a happy, friendly boy and does like and seek out other people--on his terms.
Supervisor M also voiced concerns about Leelo's sensory needs. Turns out she, like me, is in the middle of Temple Grandin's Thinking In Pictures (an account of the experience of being autistic), and that Grandin's assertions about autistic kids' need for sensory integration therapy underscore what Supervisor M herself has witnessed many, many times: it works, kids love it, kids need it. So I've put a call into the Occupational Therapy director at Leelo's school to see if they can set us up.
This morning Leelo and I both woke up with runny noses (I was up most of the night being the amazing sneezing snot fountain, so not a surprise in my case). For Leelo this is cause for alarm--he is one of those kids who's sick for the entire cold/flu season, and his colds always, always, always turn into ear infections. Fending off those infections led to the antibiotic overuse cycle that we suspect shredded his little gut and may have contributed to his autism. He hasn't had an ear infection since ear tubes were put in in April, but the cold/flu season was pretty much over by then. I do not want him to get sick again.
However, Dr. Prattle has advised us to not let Leelo use antibiotics, ibuprofen, or any other over-the-counter cold/flu meds until we get Leelo's system working properly. What we are supposed to do at the first sign of illness is hit him up with Manapol, an aloe-based immune system enhancer, and Myco-Immune, a similar product. I have been scared to use these products since their primary function is to raise the body's temperature to help it kill the bad bugs. Especially since our family has febrile (fever-induced) seizures, and, though Leelo's never had one, Iz's have been prolonged and violent. I will monitor him closely.
Leelo had his first dose of Manapol during lunch. I figured what the hell, I'm sick too, and so am going to join him on the regimen. The Manapol isn't so bad--you can open up the capsules and mix it easily with water. The Myco-Immune is nasty as all-fuck, though--it's alcohol-based! Like putting a dropperful of everclear in your mouth! I'm glad I dosed myself first and found this out, since I tend to blindly trust everything the good doctor recommends. Can't imagine how awful it would have been if I'd given a straight dose to Leelo--the last time we gave him an alcohol-based supplement, it resulted in projectile vomiting. Will call Dr. Prattle and ask for advice.
9.24.2003
Tennis, Anyone?
Laughing at some of Jo's recent entries about compulsive comments-checking. Yeah, babe, me too. Although I don't get any drive-by visitors; possibly the autism component makes people fidgety and cautious? Hmm. Perhaps I should add more expletives.
Leelo is running around in a Tennis Club logo t-shirt. My child. The strangeness of this is almost impossible to communicate, but I'll try.
Needless to say, the shirt was a gift. From Seymour's parents. Who are STC members after 10 years of waiting for other members to die off and free up slots. Seymour's mom likes to joke that the club should have an adjacent cemetery to make things convenient, seeing as most members are far too old and rickety to actually play tennis.
Now, I adore Seymour's folks, and they seem to like me okay. They are kind, funny, and generous, and it is largely through their support that Leelo's therapy program exists. I respect how different their life is from how their life was, and that they started from squat with no external support. We all get along, as long as no one breathes a word about politics (they are staunch supporters of Bush and his local cheerleader, U.S. Rep. J. Dunn). I am fascinated by aspects of their alternate dimension, with its boats and Clubs and fundraisers, its trim humorless women and overly jovial men.
But I don't get it. I do feel like part of the Rosenberg family, but the rest couldn't be more foreign. I don't play tennis, my hair color isn't regulation, I don't like doing the chit-chat cha-cha-cha, and I especially dislike being lined up and measured against all the other "kids" our age (this is done by the other parents, not Seymour's).
While at the Club, I hide on the far side of the far table, quietly order drinks, and gawk at the passing specimens like a newbie anthropologist (Seymour and I use this time to play I Spy, Plastic Surgery Edition). When we leave I perk up visibly.
Once we get three or four streets away from the hushed green lawns and quiet houses surrounding the club, the neighborhoods start to melt and swirl and come alive. People start appearing on the streets. We keep driving and the neighborhoods keep changing, and as we reach the bridge I comfort myself with the thought that in S____, it's those Tennis People who are the town freaks.
Laughing at some of Jo's recent entries about compulsive comments-checking. Yeah, babe, me too. Although I don't get any drive-by visitors; possibly the autism component makes people fidgety and cautious? Hmm. Perhaps I should add more expletives.
Leelo is running around in a Tennis Club logo t-shirt. My child. The strangeness of this is almost impossible to communicate, but I'll try.
Needless to say, the shirt was a gift. From Seymour's parents. Who are STC members after 10 years of waiting for other members to die off and free up slots. Seymour's mom likes to joke that the club should have an adjacent cemetery to make things convenient, seeing as most members are far too old and rickety to actually play tennis.
Now, I adore Seymour's folks, and they seem to like me okay. They are kind, funny, and generous, and it is largely through their support that Leelo's therapy program exists. I respect how different their life is from how their life was, and that they started from squat with no external support. We all get along, as long as no one breathes a word about politics (they are staunch supporters of Bush and his local cheerleader, U.S. Rep. J. Dunn). I am fascinated by aspects of their alternate dimension, with its boats and Clubs and fundraisers, its trim humorless women and overly jovial men.
But I don't get it. I do feel like part of the Rosenberg family, but the rest couldn't be more foreign. I don't play tennis, my hair color isn't regulation, I don't like doing the chit-chat cha-cha-cha, and I especially dislike being lined up and measured against all the other "kids" our age (this is done by the other parents, not Seymour's).
While at the Club, I hide on the far side of the far table, quietly order drinks, and gawk at the passing specimens like a newbie anthropologist (Seymour and I use this time to play I Spy, Plastic Surgery Edition). When we leave I perk up visibly.
Once we get three or four streets away from the hushed green lawns and quiet houses surrounding the club, the neighborhoods start to melt and swirl and come alive. People start appearing on the streets. We keep driving and the neighborhoods keep changing, and as we reach the bridge I comfort myself with the thought that in S____, it's those Tennis People who are the town freaks.
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