Monthly Archives: September 2011

The Gentle Approach to ASD Recovery

Posted on by findingmykid
Reply

I referred on Friday to an email that Martin’s HANDLE practitioner sent me, on the topic of gentleness. Here’s part of what she wrote:

I got a little concerned about the September 5th blog entry.  Through all of this, Gentle Enhancement still remains a truth about recovery or healing. That’s the idea that a stressed system doesn’t get stronger. It’s not popular or common sense, but it’s still true and I have learned the truth of it over and over again in my work with clients. . . .

While I think you have mastered Gentle Enhancement when it comes to Martin’s HANDLE program, sometimes homotoxicologists and DAN Doctors need to hear from a parent who understands Gentle Enhancement. Less is more, even if it’s hard to swallow for them, or goes against their training. I encourage you to insist on it, whole-heartedly. He shouldn’t have days where he’s detoxing so much he’s foggy, sick, tired, or can’t sleep. He can’t afford to lose more days neuro-developmentally, and there’s plenty of time to detox as he becomes more relaxed and integrated.

Detoxification occurs naturally for the neurotypical person because we go into “rest and digest mode.” That’s the branch of the autonomic nervous system that’s opposite of “fight or flight” mode. If Martin’s treatments are causing him stress they are doing the opposite of what they are trying to accomplish. . . .  I’m suggesting that the process needs to happen so slowly that you barely notice.  That will truly be the fastest road to recovery.

Upon receiving that email, I decided I would like to post a few words about the gentle approach to treating autism, which reminded me also that I never revealed how Martin’s first round of laser energetic detox (LED) treatments went.

Katie, the HANDLE therapist, is right. Parents who have recovered their children have likewise warned me against moving too quickly, trying to do everything at once. I use the term “treating” autism. I could write more accurately. What we’re really talking about is healing. The goal of approaching Martin’s autism biomedically, as I understand the process, is to help his body heal. We’re healing his gut, driving out yeast and then viruses and pathogens. As his digestion and gut functioning improve, so too will his neuro-functioning, and we can try to guide him back to more typical development. For now, however, his gut troubles have weakened all his systems, and we seek to make them healthy again.

What Katie means is that if we are exasperating or otherwise overtaxing Martin’s systems along the way, his body will snap out of healing mode. I feel like Martin’s excellent Track Two doctor shares this understanding. We spoke by phone last week about Martin’s current “rut,” in which he’s been tired and echolalic, without much attention. The doctor reduced Martin’s supplements and decided to run some tests regarding adrenal stress, to make sure we are not doing too much at once.

The LED, which was the most “radical” of Martin’s treatments so far (Adrian and I did extra research before proceeding), was not harsh. It involved the use of mild lasers attuned to Martin’s vibrations in order to help him expel toxins. Martin enjoyed the process tremendously, because he got to jump on a mini-trampoline to get his blood flowing. We had the LED over two days, and when it was done and he was happy and feeling fine, I thought, “This is it? This is our most radical and controversial treatment?”

The Track One doctors warned me against a biomedical or DAN! approach to Martin’s autism. These same practitioners, however, never warned me against mainstream “treatments” meant to mask autism’s symptoms—treatments such as atypical antipsychotic medications.

I am bewildered by a medical industry that would sooner give brain-altering anti-psychotic medications to a child than encourage neuro-improvement through gut healing. I am bewildered by doctors who warn me against “vitamin overdoses” without once mentioning that a child whose autism remains unresolved may face a lifetime of gut pain, of sensory overload, of frustration.

Martin’s Track Two team has approached his healing slowly, concentrating on the whole child and his overall well-being. I cannot say the same for his Track One team.

On September 5 I referred to ASD recovery as “beat[ing] the daylights out of Martin.” We were doing too much. We’ve scaled back. That’s what gentleness is all about.

Track Two Versus Track One: Those Who Say They Can Help My Son, and Those Who Say There Is No Help for Him

Posted on by findingmykid
5

I’ve received inquiries about my use of the terms “Track One” and “Track Two” regarding Martin’s treatment and, especially, his doctors.

As far as I can tell, mainstream medicine maintains an official position that no cure for autism exists. There are behavioral therapies that can help a child on the spectrum cope with his disorder, and there are medications that mask symptoms, but research has found no effective treatment for the root cause, it is said.

After we received Martin’s diagnosis, almost a year ago, Adrian and I took him to what I refer to in this blog as the Big Imposing Hospital, a formidable New York-area institution with a good reputation for treating ASD—although I’m no longer sure what “treating” means in this context; “diagnosing” might be the better word. In any event, we pursued every avenue that the Big Imposing Hospital requested. Under the auspices of the department of developmental neurology, Martin visited (at least once, and sometimes repeatedly) a geneticist; an endochrinologist; an ear, nose, and throat specialist; a gastroenterologist; a nutritionist; a dermatologist; and a child psychiatrist. This was the team I now call “Track One.” Before Martin was diagnosed with autism, when we were trying to get to the bottom of his inability to settle down and sleep, he also saw a specialist in pediatric sleep disorders at the Big Imposing Hospital, who misdiagnosed him with “restless leg syndrome” and prescribed iron supplements that stained his teeth.

As we began to investigate ASD recovery, we found ourselves faced with a choice. On the one hand, we had Track One, an expensive high-profile team at the Big Imposing Hospital telling us that, beyond referrals to behavioral therapy and information for us to understand ASD, they could offer nothing to help our son. On the other hand, we had Track Two, a single doctor and collection of other professionals saying, yes, we have helped children recover, and we’ll do what we can for Martin.

The choice was not as clear as it should have been. I was skeptical. As I’ve mentioned before, in this blog, it’s hard to believe that mainstream medicine could be suppressing the fact that a devastating (yes, devastating) and increasingly common condition is treatable. So I did what a skeptical person does. I asked for references. I talked to other parents. I read whatever articles I could find. And then I compromised between the two positions. Adrian and I decided to pursue Track Two, i.e., biomedical recovery, but not to abandon Track One, i.e., to continue following the recommendations of the Big Imposing Hospital—other than the recommendation not to go anywhere near a Track Two doctor.

Every Big Imposing Hospital doctor we asked told us that seeing a DAN! practitioner would be a waste of time, and potentially harmful to Martin. I took careful notes on what they said could be dangerous: vitamin B overdoses, intravenous ketology, hyperbaric chambers. Once we had started biomedical recovery (and started to see results), I gave the Track One doctors a stock response, along these lines: “My husband and I have spoken with enough families who have recovered their children that we now believe research being done in labs and studies simply has not kept up with what’s going on in the field. We would never expose our son to treatments we believe might harm him, and we research each treatment thoroughly and appropriately before proceeding.”

For the most part, once they saw I was determined, and informed, the Track One doctors stopped arguing against biomedical intervention. Some dropped the subject. Others changed their tone and spoke about “exciting possibilities” or “forging a common path” with DAN! practitioners. One doctor at the Big Imposing Hospital told me, “I’m a scientist. I require results. The results are not there to support autism recovery.” When I offered my position about studies lagging behind field work, this doctor rose from her chair, shut the door to her office, lowered her voice, and said, “Again, I’m a scientist. But I have had enough parents come through here whose children have improved with dietary changes and supplementation that I can no longer honestly say autism recovery is not possible.” Then she opened the door again.

From that moment, I’ve wondered what else mainstream practitioners are hiding, and why. As Martin has made more and more progress with his Track Two team, Track One has faded into the background for us. I’m just not sure what they can offer at this point.

(Moreover, Martin’s excellent Track Two doctor simply seems to care more about him than anyone we met at the Big Imposing Hospital. But that’s a topic for another post.)

On top of all the Track One and Track Two, Martin still sees his regular ol’ pediatrician, who’s been his doctor all along. When I told her that we were pursuing biomedical treatment of his autism (and provided all the details, supplements, and so forth), she said, “I don’t know much about it, only what I’ve heard at conferences, which is that it doesn’t work.”

I started to give my stock response. The pediatrician interrupted me with a smile. “I’ve heard that it doesn’t work,” she said. “But I’m happy to be educated otherwise.”

Quote of the Last Six Days, and an Associated Analogy to a Tree

Posted on by findingmykid
Reply

Six days have passed since I began my occasional series of helpful quotes, so this post I shall declare neither the quote of the day nor the quote of the week, but the quote of the last six days.

These are lyrics from “Shaking the Tree,” which I believe first was released on Youssou N’Dour’s 1989 album The Lion and then became a sort of title track for Peter Gabriel’s 1990 compilation Shaking the Tree: Sixteen Golden Greats.

You had to be so strong
And you do nothing wrong
Nothing wrong at all
We’re gonna to break it down
We have to shake it down
Shake it all around.

If you know the song and Peter Gabriel’s music, you may be thinking, hey, that song is about women’s empowerment, not autism recovery. As far as I know, that’s correct. It’s about women’s empowerment, and the tree is male oppression. Nevertheless, I’m going to say it can be useful in the struggle against autism.

Allow me to confess that, although the sun has broken the clouds occasionally (church last weekend was a nice shine), this has been a crap few weeks. Really. I’m putting on a brave face, but things are not going well. Martin has no attention. His eye contact is off. He’s echolalic. He’s been shuffling his feet instead of heel-to-toe walking. And he’s exhausted all the time.

Several days ago, Martin’s HANDLE therapist, Katie, sent me an email responding to the September 5 post in which I described recovery as “beat[ing] the daylights out of Martin.” Katie said she was concerned that we may be trying too much at once with Martin, instead of approaching his recovery gently, which is the best path to healing. Her concern is valid; indeed, I plan to post later this weekend on the topic of gentleness. Fortunately, Martin’s excellent Track Two doctor also agrees that moving slowly is most effective. Just yesterday she and I consulted about the crap time we’re having, and she tweaked Martin’s supplementation/detoxification regimen—for the time being, doing less.

Which brings us to Peter Gabriel and the tree. “We’re gonna to break it down / We have to shake it down.” In this analogy, autism is the tree, and Martin is the garden that’s been invaded. I aspire to get rid of the tree. One cannot simply push over something so massive and entrenched as a tree. Hacking away with an axe creates problems, too: It leaves the stump and the roots, still sucking nutrients from the soil and hogging all the other plants’ space. No, to succeed we have to shake it down.

How does shaking down a tree work? By building momentum, offsetting the push to against the push fro and thereby moving with ever more power. Eventually the tree will topple, extracting its own roots from the ground. But, disrupt the side-to-side motion—by deviating from the straight path, for example, or failing to keep pushing at the right moment—and the process stops. The tree settles back into place, trunk vertical.

That may be what has happened these past few weeks. Something has disrupted the push-pull toward recovery. Perhaps we are doing too much, as Katie suggested, thrusting one direction without respecting the need to rock the tree. Or perhaps some supplement or exercise or change in routine doesn’t agree with Martin and has disrupted the motion. Whatever it is, autism seems to have settled back into place, plunk in the middle of the lush garden that is Martin.

It can feel, when this happens, like we’re starting from scratch. True, we do have to start anew, in terms of shaking that tree again. But although shaking it down may still take a while, it gets easier every time we start, because the roots have already been loosed.

Autism may think it’s settled back in, but it no longer has the same hold on Martin. I’ve seen the progress we’ve made. I’ve witnessed where we were before this slump. I know we’re getting to the core.

The tree is vulnerable.

So it’s been a crap few weeks. It’s time to muster my determination and start shaking again, steadily, persistently, yet gently. After all, the soil in which this tree grows is my son. I’d like to keep it as intact as possible.

ASD Recovery Recipe: Dehydrated Squash Chip Snack

Posted on by findingmykid
1

This recipe comes, with very minor modification, from a book called Kristen Suzanne’s Easy Raw Vegan Dehydrating. The chips are easy to make and yummy. If you pack them up for school or to travel, include an unbleached paper towel in the container to help soak up any extra oil and keep them from getting soggy.

4 medium zucchini or yellow summer squash
1/4 cup oil (pumpkin seed oil gives a nice taste but also tints the chips slightly green!)
2 tbsps fresh lemon or lime juice
2 cloves garlic, pressed (right now, I substitute white pepper and dehydrated celery)
1/4 tsp cumin
1/2 tsp salt or kelp flakes
dash of cayenne (right now, I omit)
dash of paprika (right now, I omit)
1/2 cup finely minced herbs of choice

Mix all ingredients other than squash in a large bowl and set aside. Wash the outside of the squash well. Without peeling them, slice the squash into 1/8″ discs (a mandoline slicer works well). Stir the squash discs into the other ingredients, being sure to coat each piece well. Remove the discs one-by-one, shaking off any excess oil, and transfer to a dehydrator. Dehydrate on medium heat for 14-24 hours, to desired crispiness.

Keep away from adults. These are addictive.

Guilt

Posted on by findingmykid
16

Here in New York, next weekend, Developmental Delay Resources is sponsoring a three-day course on “Having Healthy Babies: Outsmarting Developmental Delays”—i.e., autism prevention. According to the event’s publicity page, the course will be devoted to pre-conception health, carrying and birthing healthy babies, and post-partum health.

It sounds provocative, and I think that some members of Team Martin (therapists, nutritionist, &c.) are planning to attend.

I can’t go, though. No way. From an emotional perspective, learning at this point about autism prevention would overwhelm me.

Martin’s cranio-sacral therapist is some sort of intuitive healer. She knows things. On Martin’s first visit to her, she was laying her hands on him, concentrating, murmuring about what seemed to be going on inside his gut. Suddenly she called to me to join them. I knelt beside where they were working on the carpet. The therapist had one hand resting on Martin’s head. She pressed the other hand against my breastbone.

“There’s a void here, something missing,” she said. “You’re not connecting completely with Martin.”

Excuse me?

She continued, “You’ve got to get rid of the guilt you’re carrying about his birth. You’ve just got to let that go and tune into the here and now.”

I was stunned. I had described to her how Martin was born, but I hadn’t used the word guilt. Not about his birth, or anything else. Yet she knew, and knew that it was getting in the way.

Martin’s birth was a series of decisions I did not want. Martin came late to the party; in the 42nd week of pregnancy, against my better instinct, I gave in and let the doctors induce labor. From there, it spiraled. On pitocin, my confused body produced increasingly long, unproductive contractions, until finally it barely unclenched between them. The doctor decided we needed to relax me artificially and ordered an epidural analgesia, which I also did not want. After nearly 16 hours of artificially induced labor, Martin got stuck, sideways, and his heart rate fell. By the time they wheeled me into the operating room and cut him out, I was (unsurprisingly) running a fever, meaning that Martin, who was healthy and alert with an APGAR of 9, was whisked away to the NICU.

So those were Martin’s first days in this world. Instead of coming to us naturally and snuggling into the loving arms of his parents, he met a surgeon’s scalpel and then slept with strangers under the offensive, blazing halogen of a noisy NICU.

I know that environmental factors play a role in autism. I wear the guilt of Martin’s traumatic birth, of my decision to allow pitocin. I wear it like a heavy jacket, pounds and pounds weighing me down.

Was birth trauma related to autism? What is related to autism?

I never should have got caught up in the H1N1 hype and given Martin that unnecessary vaccine. Or most of the other vaccines, either.

We had our kitchen rebuilt while I was pregnant. I breathed that dust daily. Mistake.

I used my Blackberry. All the time.

If there is such a thing as autism prevention, then there’s something I should have done differently. It will be a long time before I’m recovered enough to discuss that topic.

My Uneasy Relationship with Social Networking a/k/a the Reason Why I Blog About ASD Recovery

Posted on by findingmykid
12

Social networking must be a godsend to support-group people.

I’m not a support-group person. I don’t belong to any gathering of autism parents. I have very limited “community” when it comes to dealing with Martin’s issues. Social networking thus far has accomplished approximately nothing to assist with his recovery.

Instead—and I’ll admit that this is my own fault, as I seem wholly unable just to shut the darn Facebook off—what social networking does, mostly, is make me feel bad.

Don’t get me wrong. I love to read friends’ posts about their children doing sweet, standard kid stuff. Check out Billy’s first day of kindergarten! Sadie scored a soccer goal! Maria is nervous for the sixth-grade dance! Nothing threatening there.

What I dread are the conscientiously self-effacing triumphs of the über-mom. She’s usually a figure from my distant history whom I know today only on-line. A mom whose fashionable kids have highfalutin names, speak in clever quips, and misbehave only in adorable ways. A mom who prepares elaborate meals not because a recovery regimen demands it, but because once her little Aristotle discovered wasabi-infused ginger puree over sashimi skewers and pea cakes, she just had to make them weekly. A mom with perfect hair who doesn’t have to deal. With. Autism. (This is an amalgam. The über-mom is not one. She’s many. And she’s all over my Facebook page.)

I don’t know why posts about perfect kids bother me so much. Resentment? Bitterness? Deep down I know that if über-mom’s life were really so great, she wouldn’t be spending so much time on Facebook posting about how great life is. But when I’m worried about Martin, I don’t live deep down. I’m on the surface, where every wunderkind update feels like a dig against me and mine.

Before Martin’s diagnosis, I had two big experiences, one good and one bad, using a social network to address a child-rearing issue. The good experience arose in the morass of Martin’s early sleeping trouble. Adrian was away on business. At 9:30 pm I had just got Martin back to sleep for the third time. In frustration I signed onto Facebook and posted what was happening. Within half an hour, at least a dozen other parents (in this case, actual friends, people I know, not just disembodied Facebook presences from past life) responded with empathy, common experiences, and possible solutions. Already by the time Martin woke again, around 10:20 pm, I was feeling more confident, and accompanied by my misery’s company.

The bad experience arose in the context of a local “mothers’ group” I joined when Martin was born. This group met from time to time for coffee or to go walking, which I had done once or twice. (It felt awkward trying to become friends with other women based only on the coincidence of giving birth during the same season.) The group’s main function was on-line communication, stuff like babysitter wages and mommy-and-me classes. Around the time that our kids were moving to solid foods, I posted an inquiry about whether the group included any other vegan or vegetarian families. If so, I said, I’d like to get together to talk about nutrition and menus, and maybe to let the kids play so Martin wouldn’t think he was the only vegetarian in town. (I have vegetarian friends, but none with children who live in New York City.) The group’s moderator responded immediately and vehemently. She demanded to know why I was trying to split the mothers’ group along dietary lines. Did I think I was better than mothers who let their children eat meat? Did I have a problem with her giving her son chicken? What was next—would I be letting Martin play only with children whose parents are Democrats? I removed my post, befuddled, wondering how I’d managed to provoke such a reaction, and also why everyone assumes vegetarians are Democrats.

If I could get a cyber-beating for trying to connect with vegetarians, heaven only knows the peril of raising ASD recovery in a social-networking context. After seven weeks of blogging, already I can identify myriad ideas of mine that will cause some folks to bristle. Let’s start with my basic premise: that recovery from autism is possible. On the Twitter feed associated with this blog (@findingmykid), I follow at least one account with precisely the opposite take: that biomedical treatment of autism is “quackery.” And frankly, I have respect for that position. There are days when I myself just can’t believe that the mainstream medical community is suppressing the means to recovery from a condition that affects one in every 70 American boys. By now I’ve talked to enough parents who recovered their children to keep me going, but barely. (Quack away, my friends—it’s just enough to keep the skepticism at bay.)

So anyway, I’m not social networking. I’m blogging. The site is open for comments (I’ll “approve” any comment that is neither spam nor profanity-laced), and I expect to receive some that express disagreement. I hope to, even; that’s what makes a forum. Still, blogging feels less vulnerable than social networking. Maybe it’s because knowing that I’m expressing controversial views prepares me for backlash. Maybe it’s because I’m anonymous. Maybe it’s just because the blog is mine, as if I’m in control.

As if I’m in control of anything at all.

ASD Recovery Recipe: Noodles with Nut Sauce (Cheating Just a Little)

Posted on by findingmykid
Reply

Some foods I never cheat on when it comes to Martin’s diet. For example, I never slip in “just a little bit of soy” or “a pinch of refined sugar.” But every once in a while I do try to treat him with a scoop of an item typically off-limits. Tonight is one such occasion. As I’ve written, Martin’s diet now includes gluten-free grains, in moderation (typically no more than 1/4 cup per day). This is because he was getting some ketosis from all the fats, and because we’ve made good progress in eliminating yeast overgrowth. For dinner, I’ve made him buckwheat soba noodles with this nut sauce. The special ingredient? Chickpea miso. The original recipe called for sweet white miso, which as a soy product is totally off limits. I replaced it with chickpea miso. Chickpeas generally are too starchy for Martin’s diet, but hey, every kid needs to party now and then.  I use the South River brand, which is made with rice but gluten- and soy-free.

I’ve also sautéed some cauliflower in sesame oil with sesame seeds, which I will put on top of the noodles and nut sauce for a nice, complete meal.

I adapted this recipe from an old cookbook on my shelf, called The Peaceful Cook by Harriet Kofalk. One benefit of the cookbook, for us at this time, is that it uses nothing in the onion/garlic family. (According to the introduction, “These are stimulants, much like caffeine, and can negatively affect the subtlety of our internal processes.” Hmmm….)

1 cup walnuts or pecans, pre-soaked and dehydrated
1 cup vegetable stock, according to your child’s diet
3 tbsps chickpea miso

Roast the nuts in a dry pan until they are crisp. Combine the miso and stock in a blender or food processer and then, with the blades running, add the nuts a few at a time to form a saucy consistency. Toss with gluten-free noodles or pour over rice.

Martin Shoves a Book Into My Nose But Then Takes It Away. Hurray for Martin!

Posted on by findingmykid
1

Church went well this morning. Martin had two toy trucks—with soft plastic wheels, which are quiet on the sanctuary’s stone floor—a board book, and a sippy-cup to keep him amused. I carried my mother’s ASD-recovery-compliant coconut macaroons, and deposited one into Martin’s mouth whenever he got too chatty. Martin was a vending machine of sorts: for payment of a macaroon, he dispensed several minutes’ silence.

During the hymn of the day I stood and held Martin in my arms. Martin, in turn, shoved his board book into my nose, blocking half my face and forcing me to bend backwards at the neck. It was terribly uncomfortable. I met Martin’s eyes and shook my head at him. Actually, I rolled my head slowly side-to-side, as best I could with my nose compressed against the book. In any event, I meant, No. Don’t do that.

My hopes were dim that such a simple gesture could stop the behavior.

To my surprise, Martin obeyed. He removed the book, glanced at my face, and turned his attention instead to the parishioners around us.

Thirty seconds later, we repeated the same sequence. Book into nose. Head-shake no. Martin understanding and complying.

This was nice, very nice. I checked off what Martin had achieved. He’d correctly interpreted a non-verbal gesture, even recognized that I was serious. (Most shakes of my head are greeted with his laughter.) He’d obeyed. I knew he wanted to continue shoving the book into my nose, because he’d done it again. But then he’d obeyed again. Hurray for Martin.

The closing hymn, appropriate for 9/11, was This Little Light of Mine. The congregation sang slowly at first, then gained speed until everyone fired up and clapping. Martin stood in front of me. I held his arms above his head, helped him sway and dance. He was ecstatic. He looked around himself and up at me (joint attention!), his face contorted in smile. He shouted, “I’m gonna let it shine, let it shine, let it shine!”

We were on top of the world.

Of course, you can’t live in the real world and also be on top of it. At least not for very long. After church we needed to drive to Brooklyn. Fearing 9/11 street closures, we opted to take the Manhattan Bridge instead of the Brooklyn Bridge. This slight deviation from routine sent Martin into a frenzied tantrum, worse than we’d seen in months. I tried distracting him, making stern faces, ignoring, placating, hugging, to no avail. Martin was hanging out in that ASD place where every journey admits but one route.

When the tantrum was done, Martin returned to top form. We drove home and he accompanied Adrian to the park, charming and obedient. I resolved not to let a single blemish taint a magnificent day.

This little light of his, we’re gonna let it shine.

Anonymity. It’s Not Just for Criminals Anymore

Posted on by findingmykid
4

This blog’s “About” page states that I will explain the reasons why I am blogging anonymously. I have three reasons.

First, I am blogging anonymously for Martin’s protection. You may have read my various references to “Track One” treatments, or “Track Two” doctors, and so forth. The mainstream medical community does not accept that recovery from autism is possible. Only doctors on the cutting edge—the DAN! project and beyond—are willing to treat autism biomedically. Adrian and I have decided to exploit both traditional medical care (which I call Track One) and more radical biomedical intervention (which I call Track Two). Martin, therefore, sees not only his excellent Track Two doctor (and his N.D./allergist and his homotoxicologist and his cranio-sacral therapist) but also a battery of mainstream medical professionals at a preeminent New York-area facility, a/k/a the Big Imposing Hospital.

I have grown increasingly dissatisfied with the Track One doctors. I want to be able to state that fact, and the reasons why, without fearing that those professionals could read this blog and recognize Martin. Hearing angry or dissatisfied thoughts from Martin’s mother could cause a Track One doctor, knowingly or subconsciously, to compromise his care. I am not alleging that any Track One doctor is either prone to or even capable of changing a child’s care based on complaints from a parent. Although their approach does not work for us, I have great respect for the professionalism of Martin’s Track One doctors. I simply think it doesn’t pay to take chances. That’s probably the risk-averse lawyer in me.

Second, I’m not yet sure whether the story of Martin’s recovery is mine to tell. Really, it’s his story. If Martin does recover fully, will he want others to know he ever had autism? Is it fair for me to be so public with his struggles? Adrian and I reveal Martin’s autism to our closest friends, and to others who spend significant time with him. But we don’t tell everyone. Far from it. Even some family members don’t know. Adrian’s sisters don’t know. Martin’s condition doesn’t shame or embarrass us. We’re just dealing with it in our own way, which does not include a PA system.

Third—and this is the least of the reasons for anonymity; that I’m even revealing it falls under my promise of honesty—I want everyone to be able to relate to our journey, so that this blog can touch as many caregivers as possible. That includes eliminating what might unnecessarily make us seem different from other families. When I started this blog, Adrian and I discussed what names I should give him and Martin. No name works across every ethnicity, of course. But we felt like “Adrian” and “Martin” crossed about as many lines as one could expect without tending toward clear identification of any particular ethnicity. They are solid, attractive, and in the context of the 21st-century United States, reasonably generic names. (Adrian’s and Martin’s actual first names make it hard to mistake that, as any faithful reader of this blog already may have suspected, we are a Hispanic family.)

So that’s it. I’m blogging anonymously to protect Martin from repercussions; because I don’t know if Martin would want this information revealed about him; and in an effort to make us as much as possible like you, and you, and you and you and you.

Quote of the Day (or Week) (or Month?)

Posted on by findingmykid
5

I’ve written already about songs that are helping to keep me going. Every so often I stumble across a quote that helps, too. I’ve decided to post some. Here is the first in what should become an occasional series:

I looked at him with surprise. “St. John,” I said, “I think you are almost wicked to talk so. I am disposed to be content as a queen, and you try to stir me up to restlessness! To what end?”

“To the end of turning to profit the talents which God has committed to your keeping; and of which He will surely one day demand a strict account. . . .”

Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre. Sure, variations on this theme pop up in the Bible (“From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked.” Luke 12:48 (New International Version)), and Spiderman (“With great power comes great responsibility.”), and goodness only knows where else. The Jane Eyre version, with the keeping of accounts and such, feels both academic and motivational. Odd combination.

I won’t try to explain how this quote relates to the fight against autism. I’m probably giving my writing too much credit, but I aspire to post stories that tend to make such explanation unnecessary.