Would I Medicate My Child?

Halfway through the whole ASD diagnostic process, when comorbid ADD (and less strongly ODD) came into the picture, someone raised the question of medication.

Ryan and Ian on the way to Sports Day in June.  (This IS our chilly winter weather gear!)

Why was I getting a diagnosis?  Did I think medication would cure her?

Was I trying to cure my child?

Do I even consider autism a disease in the ordinary sense?

It is not only part of my daughter's genetic make-up but a large part of her personality.  She is who she is in part due to her autism.

Would I change her?  No.

Would I like her to be more easy to deal with sometimes.  Absolutely.

Is this a reason to medicate?  Absolutely not.

Sports Day at Kurwongbah State School

Would it make her situation easier?  Probably not.  Her doctor would only suggest it if SHE thought it would help her with attention difficulties later on in a classroom setting.  But she does fairly well - has always done fairly well - without medication.  Well enough that she escaped detection all these years. 

What my daughter needs is understanding, acceptance and alternatives to traditional teaching practices, not medication.

On the other hand I know a child who not only benefits from his medications, but cannot be himself without them.  His mother, after pulling him out of the stresses of a traditional school and home schooling him, after gluten-free, sugar-free diets and everything that she was told she should try, had such success with his behaviour that they tried stopping his medication.  Within a week he could barely function.

He told her that he couldn't find himself, that he couldn't see without his medication.  His condition was clouding his ability to see himself.

He was losing himself without medication.

That, for me, would be the gold standard with which to judge whether or not to medicate my child. 

Those of us who do medicate our children do it because the symptoms the medication alleviates hinder our child from finding himself.  We don't do it to make our children more manageable or because we are too lazy to apply proper parenting techniques.  We do it because proper parenting techniques don't work.

Did she KNOW there was a camera on her?!

We do it because we lose our child without them.

Medication or not, what all children on the autistic spectrum need are acceptance and understanding.

If we could put that in a bottle and sell it to the world we'd cure a lot more than autism.

ASD, ADD, AOK!

We had our last visit to the diagnosing paediatrician on Tuesday.

My daughter has Autistic Spectrum Disorder with comorbid symptoms of Attention Deficit Disorder: Inattentive Type. 

It is a permanent, non improving condition listed under legitimate disabilities by the Australian Government.  This, among other things, means she qualifies as special needs for schooling, and that we are entitled to free long distance state education  and extra financial help for home schooling a child unable to be traditionally schooled.  Our family also qualifies for a carer's allowance from the government - irregardless of income level - to compensate for the extra time it takes to care for a special needs child.  Ryan also qualifies for a health care card that entitles her to almost free medical care including medications as well reduced rates for public services such as transportation and also for reduced entry into attractions such as amusement, water and animal parks.

I shouldn't need the government to legitimise what I already knew but the acknowledgement is more important to me than the small financial compensation (although it helps, it does not drastically alter our life-style or our choices). It is acknowledgement of the extra work that goes into raising Ryan as a contributing member of society. 

It is acknowledgement that she is different, that it has been harder for us than for most, and that spending the extra effort to home school her is worth something to the community as well as to her.

It means that I wasn't just an overambitious mother looking for excuses for my daughter's lack of success at school or with personal relationships.

It means that my daughter CAN learn and CAN go to university, so take that and stick it up your asses, you pricks.

Oh sorry.  Still a little anger there!

No better cure for anger than a big "I told you so."  In third grade math you pricks.

It also means that Ryan is now starting to show more obvious signs of being different now that she is a teenager.  It means she won't be acting like a normal teenager, that she might not make friends like the rest of us, that she will need help with everyday tasks that take you through a day.  She might not marry (Temple Grandin says this is okay: deal with it Mom!) or make a brilliant career out of her many talents.  She might ride her horses for fun but never be able to make a business out of it or teach others.  She might be a brilliant artist but never get that work out of her sketchpad.  She will make beautiful music that no one ever hears, dance beautiful dances for herself alone.

She might need my support - and be my little girl - forever.

I have come to accept this gradually over the past year  and so no tears fell at the final say.  Let's face it, we knew she was different; were relieved last November when a new friend pointed out the obvious, were relieved when all of her signs exactly matched what was printed in the literature and on the internet (I mean, honestly Leute, HOW did you miss this in Germany?!  When I CAME to you with suspicions of ADD?!).  What it means for the future is still unclear, but it only shows me that nothing is certain, that I can take nothing for granted and that Ryan's future is hers, not mine.

Faces fall when you tell them you are home schooling an autistic child.  They are so impressed.  But there is nothing new about my situation, or about Ryan's, other than an official diagnosis.  We have both been struggling with this since she started showing signs around the age of five - even before that now that I know what to look for - and the only difference is that now we can give ourselves credit for our struggle.

We have both done amazingly well; so well that Ryan doesn't come across as autistic at a casual glance.  She is lucky; she will do quite well in the adult world, on her own terms and in her own way.  She won't be able to fit the mold, play by the rules, be like everyone else; mostly because she doesn't see the need to.

How awesome is that?!

How great is it that God saw exactly what I needed - a daughter who can't and won't fit the status quo - for me to finally be brave enough to escape from it myself?

And that Ryan, in turn, got a mom who is stubborn enough to fight for her, to advocate for her, to work with her even when it means working against her sometimes, a mom who loves doing it - despite the exhaustion and the burden - more than any other job she could do right now.

What does all this mean for Ryan?  Does she know what it means, what it will mean? 

It's hard to say. 

All I know is that she has been happier this week, since the diagnosis, than she has been in a while.  She has settled into her school work, babbles incessantly about the personalities, real and imagined, of the horses at the barn and jumps around - mostly joyfully - with her brothers.  She struts around the house with her hot chocolate in a travel cup like she owns the place; like any other normal teenager in fact.  (Although the turban on her head might be a bit out of the ordinary!) And then struts around the shops with a ball of yarn tucked under her shoulder looking like Quasimodo and attracting the stares of everyone walking towards us because she doesn't want to interrupt her crocheting while we shop.  NOT like a normal teenager,

Like Ryan.

My daughter has Autistic Spectrum Disorder with comorbid symptoms of Attention Deficit Disorder: Inattentive Type.

It is a permanent, non improving condition listed as a legitimate disability by the Australian Government.

And that's okay.