autism · Down syndrome · family · parenting · special needs parenting

Let’s Talk About Self-Care

It’s a topic I go round and round with; self-care.

I love the idea of self-care, putting my oxygen mask on first makes perfect sense, if it was actually that simple. The problem is that there is nothing about parenting a child with complex developmental, behavioral and medical needs that makes the oxygen mask analogy work the way it’s suggested.

Having worked with oxygen as a paramedic, if the person receiving it exerts themselves, they need more oxygen. The delivery system is cumbersome and the person is tethered to it in order to get the benefits of the blessed gas. That makes for serious limitations. To put on your oxygen mask adds the burden of obtaining and maintaining the equipment necessary to do so.

Today is the first day in months that I haven’t felt like I have more to do than I could possibly accomplish. Sleep was pretty decent last night, I was only up once with Ben, and this is the first week of 2019 when Ben has no appointments and, unless something completely unexpected happens, no snow days. That means I have a whole week to get work done, work that has been waiting since last year to be touched.

I’ve often live in survival mode. Treading water so to speak. Prioritizing self-care feels like lugging around an oxygen tank in order to keep my oxygen mask on. If you have never tried metaphorically wearing your oxygen mask while treading water, I don’t recommend it.

Like when you’re broke and need gas to get to work to get a paycheck and you put in only as much as is absolutely necessary and just pray it gets you through the week.

Or when you need to get groceries and have to wait for the money to hit the bank account so you make do with leftovers and the odd items at the back of the cabinets for days on end.

Most people have been there (if you haven’t, stop right here and steep yourself in some serious gratitude), and parents, especially moms, of kids with complex needs, live there when it comes to meeting our own needs.

I do what I can. I get outside to soak in sunshine, and field the never-ending phone calls from doctors, teachers, insurance, and more on my little outing.

I take short little trips to see family and get away, clearing my schedule and notifying as many people as possible to not contact me. To do so I have to cram in impossible amounts of work before and after and still manage urgent communications, which often have the bonus of being at odd hours if I get to visit another time zone.

Please hear me, I despise complaining. Kvetching feels dirty to me. I strive for resilience and optimism and strength. I bathe in gratitude for what we have on a moment by moment basis. I find joy in the little delights of the day, like when my pileated woodpecker friend visits my suet feeders or the belly laughs over the antics of my kids and pets and even my husband. There is so much that I do to keep keeping my head above water.

I’m not a whiner.

But as I tread water and continue to do everything in my power to keep my nose out of the water, my oxygen tank was kicked off long ago as more of an anchor than anything beneficial.

Having the resources for self-care, much like having the bank account that allows you to fill the gas tank all the way up every time it’s low and load up a shopping cart with goodies as the need arises, is just not something that everyone can just do. Not everyone can find the time, money and energy necessary to take care of herself.

And being told how important it is doesn’t help. I’m not diving to the bottom of the lake to retrieve my oxygen tank, that’s precious energy I can’t afford to expend. Every single fiber of my being is dedicated to staying afloat.

I like to wrap up posts neatly, whenever possible on a lighter note. I’m not comfortable being this vulnerable and blunt. It’s nice to leave my readers with a warm fuzzy for their day. But this is truth. Not just for me, but for so many of us. We’re out here just keeping on. I just want you to take a minute to see us.

adoption · Down syndrome · special needs parenting

The Next Step in Pro-Life

This weekend marks the 45th anniversary of the landmark Roe v. Wade decision which legalized abortion nationally. I am not even going to attempt to discuss the law, rather, I’d like to examine the next step.

What happens after birth?

What happens when children are born with disabilities, and in an instant a parent becomes a caregiver?

What happens when a parent gets addicted to opioids or dies of an overdose?

What happens when parents hurt their children because of human frailty, or neglect, or substance abuse?

What happens when children have enormous medical challenges?

What about services and support for people living with mental illness?

And so much more.

Wouldn’t robust support of families caring for children with exceptional needs be pro-life? Would women be less likely to terminate a pregnancy with a child who has a prenatal diagnosis of disability if they knew that access to everything their child would need to thrive would be available and affordable?

Wouldn’t it be pro-life to fund research and resolution for opioid addition? And while we’re at it, there are record numbers of children in foster care at present, in large part related to opioid addition, being a foster parent is, in my humble opinion, the most stunningly beautiful example of pro-life imaginable.

Do you get what I’m saying here?

There are dozens of ways to embody a full-circle, lifelong pro-life stance without even bringing abortion into the conversation.

But it’s hard.

It’s easy to talk about changing a single law, and to carefully hand select politicians who have a certain box checked on their platform. But if that’s your stance, can you answer what should happen after the children are born?

Adoption.

But wait, is it right to separate a child from their ancestry for life? Biology is enormously important, and while infant adoption is sometimes necessary, far too often it’s a lifelong solution to a short term problem when better solutions for both the child and parents are available.

I don’t claim to have answers, in fact, it’s the questions that overwhelm me.

But as a person who has spent my adult life focused on the children who are already born, the ones with disabilities, the ones whose parents are addicted, the ones who have been orphaned, the ones with mental illness, the ones with so little support. I have come to believe that if everyone who made sure that they voted for the pro-life candidate took a step or two to care for the children once they’re born that it would transform everything. We have the ability and the obligation to fill in those vast gaps for the children who are already born.

adoption · autism · cancer · Down syndrome · special needs parenting

Welcome to Holland? Or Welcome To The Amazon…

 

There’s a popular poem about the experience of parenting a child with a disability called “Welcome to Holland“.  It was an apt description of how I felt when we found out and processed the fact that Alex has Down syndrome.  However, I find it lacking for the more significant disability Ben has, so here is my own analogy:

When you walk through the woods near your home, you’re exploring. It’s fun, interesting, and exciting. While doing such things I have come across snakes (the Eastern Hognose variety), raccoons, unknown dogs (one who attacked my dog and me) and occasionally people I don’t know. Doing that exposes me to more variety and slightly elevates my danger from that of staying at home.  It’s a good, wholesome, fun, enjoyable, and completely normal thing to do.

That’s what having a typical child has been like for me.

When I visited Arizona I went for a run on a public property near the home of my in laws. There were cacti all over the place, and I made mental notes that snakes that I might encounter would be of a venomous type, and that even such things as ants, which in Michigan are fairly benign, could cause me real grief.  It was a bit more nerve wracking, a bit more exciting, and overall a great experience.  I recognized that I was outside of my comfort zone, but it was within a reasonable proximity of normal, and it was more of a mindset change than anything else.

That has been my experience parenting a child with Down syndrome. We took normal and kicked it up a notch.

The territory we unknowingly entered with Ben is more akin to an equatorial jungle. The vegetation is so dense that making headway is arduous, slow, daunting and barely manageable. The variety of the flora and fauna is stunning.  And terrifying.  It’s crucial to remain focused and attentive every second, even sleep is a luxury during which a certain vigilance must be maintained.  Specialized equipment is necessary to survive. Dangers lurk on every branch, flying, crawling, swimming.  A brief break from watchfulness could land you in a life or death situation.  It’s incredible it’s not for the faint of heart; only small populations live there, and tourists are few and far between.

This is life parenting a child with complex medical, developmental and mental health needs. It’s life on the edge.

We’re a highly specialized bunch, it’s adapt or die here, and adapt we do.  We develop skills and equipment to manage our extreme environment, always looking for the next breakthrough. We’re capable and savvy, though a bit more fierce than most civilized populations.

In the welcome to Holland poem, the comparison is Italy to Holland, but if you were planning a trip to Italy, imagine how woefully unprepared you would be in the jungle.  Even for us, planning another trip to Arizona, would be completely lacking in equipment and skills for the actual journey we’re on.

That’s where this analogy differs from the Holland analogy.  This isn’t a trip that we’re fairly well prepared for, this is being dropped into a place where we don’t have the knowledge, skillset or equipment to survive, we have to ad lib the whole thing; our only skillset is improvisation and the will to survive.

The most implausible part of it all is that we actually succeed at it; by sheer determination, fueled by passion and love.

special needs parenting · Uncategorized

Choosing Battles 


Today is June 30. It’s a beautiful summer day and my boy put on a stocking cap to go to therapy. I wanted to stop him because you don’t wear a stocking cap in the summer, right? 

But I paused before saying anything. Ben already had to do half a dozen things he didn’t want to before breakfast, and it’s a 70something day today, not a 90something day. So I offered his baseball caps, but no, he wanted this hat, and I let it go. 

If I say no, I keep my no until the bitter end. I make sure my no means no, so I think twice before saying it. 

As it turns out, Ben took the hat off once we got to the office, and we avoided an unnecessary meltdown, which is my true bottom line for each day. 

But it also pays to remember that his little mind works differently and he doesn’t have the language skills to express why he chose that hat, for all I know it might have been quite important to him.  So a stocking cap in summer it is, and a good start to therapy too. 

autism · Down syndrome · Uncategorized

Our Own Drummer 

You know time crawls on when you’re waiting for your song to start so dance alone to the beat of your heart.

~Fall Out Boy, Phoenix

Autism spectrum disorders are known to occur in individuals with Down, and statistics show that ASD is more common in Down syndrome than the general population. It’s hard to nail down, but a reasonable estimate, per the NDSS, of the incidence is 5-7% of the Down syndrome population having co-occurring ASD.  I would estimate that number to be on the low side.

Of those people with co-occurring disorders there’s a pretty clear description of the common presentation, which includes, but isn’t limited to; frequent stimming, little interest in social interaction, and often the individual is nonverbal.

Suffice it to say, after reading about Down syndrome and ASD, I didn’t have any indication that Ben had autism in addition to Down syndrome. In fact, you could have knocked me out with a feather when we got his diagnosis.  I got the book, “When Down Syndrome and Autism Intersect“, which further confused the matter by describing the standard presentation of DS/ASD, which was nothing like Ben.

Ben with his cars

 

It took me quite awhile to wrap my mind around the ASD diagnosis. In fact, it was at last year’s local Down Syndrome Association picnic that the reality hit home like a sledge hammer. Ben was disregulated and riding the meltdown train the whole time, and the difference between him and the rest of the people with Down syndrome at the gathering could not have been more obvious.

Ben is very social, in fact excessively so. What he lacks is reciprocity.  He’s far more characteristic of what used to be considered a PDD-NOS diagnosis.

Alas, Ben is an island. He doesn’t fit in the general Down syndrome community, nor does he fit in the DS/ASD community.

I certainly don’t know what it’s like parenting other children with co-occurring Down syndrome and ASD, but I do know that it’s awfully lonely parenting our little man. The resources are not designed for us, they don’t address our challenges.  Ben is who he is, and I love him in all of his quirky individuality, but man would I love to find a kiddo with a similar presentation. I could just imagine sitting down to coffee with his or her parents and comparing stories, watching their eyes light up as we all realize what we have in common.  We bypass the standard Down syndrome, ASD, and DS-ASD resources, because none of them address our situation.

For now we do alright on our own. Ben has his own drummer, and he sure is cute marching to the beat on his own.