The Special Needs or the A-Word Discussion

My son, Nick, takes everything so literally. It started with his teeth brushing. I have always told him that if he doesn’t brush his teeth that they will rot out of his head—true, true! So issue number 1 is how long should he spend brushing his teeth—literally. He will then come to me and show me his teeth and ask if they’re clean—and since I know that he had been in the bathroom for what seemed like forever just scrubbing away, then I know that they’re clean.

He is like this with almost everything. It’s either a lack of confidence, or his OCD. Or maybe a little bit of both. I’ve been thinking lately that it is probably because he is becoming more aware of himself and of his surroundings at school and the other kids. Which is good, but it also brings up the why am I in a special needs class issue.

I’ve never actually had the full discussion with him about his special needs. As far as he’s concerned, he doesn’t have any real issues. I have NOT told him that he has what is considered “special needs” or that he is suspected of having autism. He wouldn’t believe me if I told him, anyway. Put it this way, if I said to him that we think that he has mild autism, then he would probably follow with: What! You think there’s something wrong with me!? He sees autism as a disorder only like his sister, Meghan, has—a severely impaired person who has trouble understanding and cannot talk. I just didn’t want to put a label on him or have him feel that he was different.

But recently he has asked me about a girl in his special needs class. He asked me why everyone was so nice her. I knew that it was his way of asking me more about her. I told him that she has Down's syndrome. I then told him what that was in terms that he could understand. I also mentioned another boy that he knows who also has Down syndrome. Then I brought up the name of another boy that he knows, he is older and in the high school that Nick will be attending next year. I told him that this boy has a type of autism called Asperger’s. I told him about these kids—all in one breath—because he had asked (in his way) and I felt that it was time. And he was just amazed. I could tell that the wheels were turning and he was starting to see people in another light.

I have now come to believe that he is thinking more readily about why he’s in a special needs class. Again, we do not talk heavily about the subject. I have always said to him that all kids learn differently and some kids just need extra help--and left it at that. So he has always referred to this classroom as the classroom with the special helpers.

Recently I’ve told him that I, too, was sent to a special class. Once for lisping, and that I needed speech therapy, and then a year later—4th grade—I was daydreaming in class so I was pulled out for "needing to learn to concentrate better"—whatever that meant!?

But what was even more impressive to him, was that his cousins: one older and one his age, and both of whom he likes to talk about and looks up to, also go to special classes. I told him they have a disorder called Dyslexia and cannot read well. Again, I described it as someone whose brain works differently.

Well wouldn’t you know that he had the biggest smile on his face, as if he was thinking that everyone needs special help to some degree and at some point in time. Which is true!

I guess we really did need to have this discussion!

What about you? What do you tell your special needs kids about their special needs?
And do you agree with how I handle this issue with my son?

Music to my Ears

Nick is improving before my very eyes—or ears, rather. A couple of years ago he would be a nervous wreck going off to school, and he had the need to ask the same questions over and over to both me and to his teacher—he would perseverate. He was in 5th grade when it all came collapsing in. He was found sitting under his desk, yes, under. The teacher called me in for an emergency meeting to tell me what had happened, and I had requested Dr. C to join us. Our school system was very fortunate to have a PhD of Psychology (Dr. C), who specialized in autism, working for our school district—a blessing because he helped me with both my kids and was very talented in working with autistic kids and their behaviors, and I trusted his instincts. He told me that he was certain that Nick needed medication for his anxiety. I, at that time, was still very much against medications if other therapies could work, but in this case, he clearly needed the help.

Upon finding Nick a good psychiatrist and a good therapist (two different people), his psychiatrist is someone who is only following his medication (and someone who I and the other therapist suspect of having Asperger’s Syndrome, himself—interesting!).

The aforementioned therapist is a woman who has specialized in helping children and adults with autism spectrum disorders and has been in her field for many years.

It was advised by both of these professionals that Nick should go on medication to help him with his anxiety and perseveration proclivity. We put him on Fluvoxamine (or Luvox), suggested by the psychiatrist and the therapist agreed that it was a drug known to work well for kids on the spectrum.

As I once mentioned, in a previous post (s), that it had worked remarkably well for him, he even asked me: “Why does this make me feel better, I don’t want to feel better because now I have to got back to gym.” (Note: he didn't have to attend gym while we were searching for the therapists and meds because it made him more anxious.) Interesting psychology here, though—and smart boy. No, my kids are not sport enthusiasts beyond swimming and trampoline jumping.

I blame myself because I, too, hated gym growing up. I mean who the heck invented dodgeball? Or the sports-enthusiasts mentality that sports matter more than friendship does and if you don’t catch the high flying ball while standing in center field, then You Suck!

So before meds, Nick would tell me that he hated gym at least three times while just walking to his bus (van) in the morning, and, now, he’ll tell me maybe once that he hates gym or school if he happens to think about it—this morning and yesterday morning he didn’t say either one. Hmm, I knew something was different!!

His conversational skills have also improved, significantly. He used to go on and on about a certain topic until I would tell him that he needed to talk about something else—anything else. I mean he would just say the same thing over and over again (perseverate) and not let-up. I remember how I would just want to scream, but I wouldn’t; instead, I would try to tell him that it was time to talk about something else as calmly as possible w/o making him feel more self-conscious than he was. It was funny because, before the meds, the therapist told me that I was being henpecked all day long. I laughed. Not just a regular laugh, but more like a hysterical-like laugh because she was right! Ah, people who understand and truly get it!! Love therapy, just LOVE IT!!

But, today, he hardly ever goes on and on about a topic or asks me the same questions over and over—at least not at the same time.

So is it the drugs?—even though he is only on 50 mg per day, a very low dose, and has grown at least 5 inches and has gained at least 20 pounds since he started the meds. Or is it the school that he attends? Or is it just the fact that he is growing up? Time will tell in a year: after he starts high school and after we take him completely off the meds to see for ourselves.

So stay tuned …