My older brother Bill is autistic and tomorrow morning my sister and this bitch (co-guardians) will attend his annual plan meeting.
Imagine Snakes on a Plane in a conference room with bad coffee and no pastries.
Anyhoo, some of y’all are kind enough to send me articles and news items about autism like a certain reader who was kind enough to forward an article on Jenny McCarthy’s new book about a cure she found for her son's autism.
Now, a bitch couldn’t pick Jenny McCarthy out of a line up if I had to. I’ve got no ill will towards her or that book. And as much as I agree that autism is a spectrum disorder I also agree that some of that shit can be treated. So, I hope she did find some sort of cure or treatment for her son.
Having said that, this bitch has been down the “this will work…oh no, my bad - it won’t” road and it can be an emotional monster.
Catch that knee…I said catch it!
My brother is 37 years old. That’s right…God willing, autistic kids grow up into autistic adults. That’s nothing to sob about…each year is a blessing not a failure of research. As the youngest child of three I grew up witnessing my mother trying to cure Bill while never coming to terms with her son and who he is…that’s the emotional monster I’m talking about.
There was the oh yea of little faith stage.
Some minister told my mother that Bill was born autistic to punish her for her sins, but if she prayed hard enough God would forgive her and cure him.
My mother tumbled into a massive depression that she fought against by searching for that magical treatment…that blessed cure…the fix that would take the autism out of Bill and the blame off of her shoulders.
She prayed…our family prayed…multiple churches prayed.
Bill remained autistic.
It took me damned near 30 years to realize God answered us all…loud and clear.
Ummm, then there was the get rid of caffeine, artificial coloring and sugar diet.
That shit was a royal beating!
Mmmhmmm, the nutritional method hit our house when this bitch was around 7 or 8 years old and I hated that motherfucking smug ass dietician with a fierce passion. It was bad enough that I had to spend summers hanging out at a school for autistic kids with my mother (Lawd, have mercy) but to be denied sugar after having sampled the magical elixir of the gods (artificially flavored sparkling grape soda, of course…wink) was criminal!
Oh but we did that shit…and the no dairy shit…and the dark leafy green vegetables followed by prune juice diet…and the no caffeine diet too…even the no wheat oh wait let’s try only wheat diet was road tested.
Bill remained autistic.
And who could forget the Psychomotor Patterning experiment.
Talk about some creepy assed shit!
My mother decided that all her chil’ren would benefit so we had to participate…and my hatred was split equally between that smug dietician and the 'you need to sleep in one position all night wrapped tightly in a blanket so that you can fully experience your infant state again' therapist.
I would wake up at 3 o’clock in the morning to find my mother looming over me trying to reposition me in my bed because…gasp!...I had shifted out of the fetal sleeping pattern and my life was going to be ruined for ever. And this bitch couldn’t even indulge in a cup of coffee the next day.
Bill, who didn’t require sleep (part vampire, to be sure), remained autistic.
I could go on and on but I won’t. Don’t get me wrong…I support families exploring options and trying new treatments.
Hell, a bitch saw Lorenzo’s Oil too.
But I also think it’s important that autism not be the thing that must be fixed or cured for any parent or family to be at peace.
I can’t imagine the misplaced guilt that a parent may feel when their child is ill…nor can I imagine the anxiety and frustration that comes with being told your child has a diagnosis that contains more unknowns than understoods.
But I can honestly tell you that loving and accepting Bill has been a hell of a lot easier than sleeping in the same position wrapped tightly in a blanket for 8 fucking hours (wink).
Bill is a great guy…not a cure that didn’t happen.
That's what helps me survive Snakes in a Person Centered Plan Meeting every year!