Wednesday, October 12, 2011

This and that

Ben's voice has changed!

We had a friend over Sunday and she pointed out that it had dropped -- his high-pitched giggles are no longer high-pitched. I think we'd noticed this but not acknowledged it. When he came home from camp, he had a bad cold so his voice was husky. But then the cold went away and his voice continued to be deeper, lower.

Here are some interesting articles. Louise

Stutterer speaks up in class; His professor says keep quiet

Disabled men at higher risk of sexual abuse than non-disabled men

Has Down syndrome hurt us?

Monday, October 10, 2011

'Don't change'















I read this quote this morning and thought it fit well with some of the themes discussed in Under the hero's cape and Outcomes: How to let go.

"Don't change. Change is impossible, and even if it were possible, it is undesirable. Stay as you are. Love yourself as you are. And change, if it is at all possible, will take place by itself when and if it wants. Leave yourselves alone. The only growth-promoting change is that which comes from self-acceptance."  Anthony de Mello, Jesuit priest

Happy Canadian Thanksgiving and American Columbus Day! Louise

Saturday, October 8, 2011

When nothing can mean everything

Check out this great piece on Motherlode, which seems written in response to some of the discussion we had to the posts Under the hero's cape and Outcomes: How to let go.

Here's how it begins:

"I would do anything to help my child." Who hasn't said that and followed up their words with actions? But the parents of special needs children get to prove it on what seems to be a daily basis, since there is always a new therapy, medication, school or tutoring option being presented to us. And we often leap before we look. Even when a program doesn't sound quite right, hey, like the lottery, you never know. What if this one thing you choose not to try is "it?" Aside from fearing that, we get afraid of being branded as the mother who doesn't care enough to go through the wringer as well as her life savings.

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Meet Mitchell

















Here is a second guest blog from Lori Beesley, who sits on Holland Bloorview’s family advisory committee. Every year Lori goes into her son Mitchell's school class to educate the students about Fragile X. She shares her speech below. I love the way she describes things about Fragile X and Mitchell (above) in a way that any child could relate to. The day she gives her talk, a note is sent home to parents, including Lori's speech and her phone number. "After the first year, I was asked to speak with all the students in the school, so I moved from class to class," Lori says. "As the kids got older, their questions went from things like 'Can I catch Fragile X?' to 'Where will Mitchell live when he's all grown up?' and 'Will he ever be able to get married?'"

Meet Mitchell

Hi there, my name is Lori Beesley. I came here today to talk to you about something called Fragile X syndrome. It is the most common cause of inherited mental impairment in the whole world. In fact, there are thousands of boys and girls everywhere in the world that have Fragile X. To tell you the truth, I had never even heard of Fragile X until many years ago. Then a doctor told us that our son Mitchell had Fragile X syndrome. I know that some of you already know who Mitchell is, because you have been in his class, or from daycare. I’m here to tell you a little about Mitchell, Fragile X, and how it affects our family.

When someone has Fragile X, it means that before they were born, a tiny part inside their brain didn’t grow the same way that most people’s do. Their brain is the same shape and size as everyone else’s, there is just a little, tiny part inside the brain that is different. That tiny part makes them act differently and  learn differently.

Have you ever been in class and the teacher is explaining something, it might be science or math or spelling, and you just don’t get it? You are trying to understand and you just can’t? Put up your hand if that’s ever happened to you. I know it used to happen to me too. You know what I would do? I would ask someone else to explain it to me, a friend or another teacher or my mom or dad. When that new person explained it to me, I would get it. I’ll bet that you know what I mean. The reason that you “get it” is because that other person explained it in a different way, and another part of your brain understood.

People with Fragile X can have a really hard time learning things in the classroom. Sometimes they have to learn the same thing over and over, explained to them in lots of different ways before they “get it." When we were teaching Mitchell what a dog was, we had a book with a picture of a dog and we’d point to it and say “dog." After a while, Mitchell knew that picture was a dog. Then, one day we were at the store and there was a dog tied up. I pointed to it and said “dog." Well, Mitchell looked at me like I was CRAZY.

I knew that he thought that “dog” meant the picture in the book. This dog in the store was brown. The one in the book was black and white. This dog said “woof” and the one in the book didn’t say anything. This dog moved and wagged his tail, and the one in the book always stayed in the same spot.

We decided that we had better try something else with the picture in the book. Next time, when we looked at the book, we said “woof.” Then Mitchell learned that dogs make a noise. Every time we saw a real dog, we said “woof” and one day Mitchell said “dog.” He finally got it. It took Mitchell a long time to learn about dogs, and we had to figure out a way to explain it to him so he could “get it.”.Now he knows and understands all about dogs, and lots of other animals. Sometimes he learns things faster, sometimes slower, just like all of you.

Fragile X makes people act differently too. Their brain lets in too much information all at the same time, which can make them upset. I’ll try to tell you what I mean. Put up your hand if you like to watch TV. Have you ever been watching TV all alone, when all of a sudden your brother or sister starts talking to you, then your mom tells you to do something, then your dad starts up the lawn mower outside, then the phone rings and ALL you want to do is just watch TV? How does that make you feel?

Pretty upset? Kind of mad? Does it make you want to yell at everything? You know what? People with Fragile X feel that way a LOT of the time.

Right now I know that you are all sitting here and listening to me. If you have Fragile X, your brain has trouble focusing on one thing. That means a student with Fragile X might be smelling the floor cleaner, watching someone fidget, feeling the tag in the back of their shirt and trying to pay attention to me all at the same time. And that makes them feel the way you do when you get upset, trying to watch TV. T

Someone with Fragile X can be trying so hard to figure out how to handle all that stuff that's happening to them at once, that they forget how to act appropriately, or the way that they should. They might flap their hands like this, stand up when they should be sitting, or yell out something when they should be quiet. It is their way of dealing with the way they are feeling. Sometimes it can make them feel better, and then sometimes it can make them more upset. Sometimes Mitchell even gets upset about something that happened to him a little while ago, but it’s just sinking in now. That is part of the mystery of living with Mitchell. We have to try to help him learn how to handle things that upset him, in a way that can help him feel better next time.

I know that some of you have asked me why Mitchell won’t say "Hi" to you if you see him outside of school, maybe in the park at the end of our street or up at the plaza. There is a very good explanation for that. I want everyone to think of someone famous right now ---your hero. Maybe a sports hero, a movie or TV star, a singer.

Now picture that tonight you are sitting having dinner with your family and the doorbell rings. You answer the door and there is a huge stretch limo parked outside and the person you were just thinking of is standing right in front of you, saying "Hello!" Chances are you would not say “Hi, come on in.”Your brain would be so busy thinking “Why are they here? How did they get here? OH MY GOODNESS!”

The person would still be standing in front of you and you are still not saying anything. Well, to Mitchell, all of you are HIS heroes. When he sees you outside of school, he’s not expecting it and so it throws him a curve. Kind of like seeing your teacher at the grocery store -- you might be feel weird and awkward. What you don’t know is that a minute after you say "Hi" to Mitchell, he usually says "Hi" back to you, but you miss it. That’s why his dad or I say "Hi" for him. We know he really wants to, he's just overwhelmed at that moment.

The last thing I want to talk to you about is YOU! Mitchell’s dad and I want to tell you that we feel really lucky that Mitchell goes to a school where so many of you know him and try to help him. You are all the best teachers that Mitchell has. He will watch you, and see how you do things, then he will know how to do those same things. If Mitchell is doing something that he shouldn’t be, or acting silly, you can all help him learn the right way to do it, or a better way to behave. He will listen to you.

Even though Mitchell’s brain may not work in the same way as yours, his HEART does. He likes having lots of friends, to play and to laugh with, just like all of you. He likes to ride his bike and scooter, watch videos, and go to the park, just like all of you. He has his good days and his bad days, just like all of you. It’s nice to know that he has people here that care about him and help him through the bad days and laugh with him on the good days. Mitchell and everyone else who has Fragile X have special needs, but we know that as long as Mitchell has people like you around him, he will have a good life! Thank you.

His hero















This just in from Ben's English teacher. He is in an English class with other kids who are deaf and hard of hearing:

"Ben is doing really well in English class. He's reading the same material as the rest of the students. I gave him a bit of homework which he rolled his eyes at!!! I asked him if he could name 3 people that are his heroes. He said right off the bat that his dad is his hero! He is to give 3 reasons why he thinks each person is a hero.

I love Ben!

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

'I don't remember when I realized I was different'
















'I don't remember when I realized I was different'
By James Shea


I sat in the bleachers at the Dean Dome in Chapel Hill, N.C. last year. Erskine Bowles, the former president of the University of North Carolina and a presidential appointee to the National Commission on Fiscal Responsibility and Reform, gave the keynote address. I scanned the rafters and saw the multiple national championship banners.

“What a journey,” I thought to myself at age 40. “I have come so far.”

I was raised in a small farming community in Oregon and was born with one arm. I was in Chapel Hill for the annual North Carolina Press Association awards and surrounded by fellow newspaper professionals. I won first place in the “Best Breaking News” category and was at the event to receive the award. I had beat out dozens of other newspapers in the state and who knows how many reporters.

It was not my first. I have won a dozen writing awards. Some were as part of a team and others as an individual. I did this all as a disabled journalist, something that makes me proud.

The journey was not easy and required hard work and dedication. I had so many people along the way who doubted my abilities and even thought being disabled somehow made me stupid. Please! There is no relationship between my disability and my brain. I know that I am not the smartest person in the world, but I’m not dumb either. I have two bachelor’s degrees from the University of Oregon and survived 10 years in a dying profession – print journalism.

It didn’t start off so well. I barely graduated high school and have struggled with depression as an adult. I have screamed at the world, pissed at the cards I was dealt. But nothing will change my situation.

I am disabled, and I will be that way as long as God allows me to walk this earth.

I don’t remember when I realized that I was different. While I have one arm, the disability goes much deeper. My entire right shoulder never really formed in my mother’s womb. I have a small finger that protrudes from my partially formed shoulder. Anyone who looks at me sees my disability. It’s rather obvious. I see it in people’s eyes, especially young children. They stare at me in the grocery store or the park.

“Look mommy, that man has one arm,” the child often says.

It makes me feel uncomfortable even to this day, but I have come to terms with that. I will not hide from the world. I have a right to earn a living and find happiness just like anyone else. I just have to work a little harder.

I never really planned to be a journalist or a writer. It just happened. I did a few freelance articles after college and took a job at a small community newspaper in Colorado. I was not very good at first. I mostly covered city council and county commissioners. My editors were patient with me. They taught me better ways to tell a story and how to dig deeper into a subject. And through that process, I had to deal with the awkwardness of being a disabled journalist. But I adapted. I had to place my notepad on my knee, when others held it with their hand. I never let the odd looks and uncomfortable situations get in the way. I had a job to do.

When I was young, I told myself, “I’m normal.” This story worked until puberty. Then, my friends got girlfriends and kissed them for the first time. I know girls, especially teenage girls, had a problem with my disability. I understand. That didn’t make it easier. But my junior year in high school, I met a young woman who looked past my disability and dug herself deep into my heart. We dated throughout high school and are still friends today. As I got older, the dating became easier as women matured, and I became more confident in my own skin.

For my parents, it was hard. They saw my struggles and wanted to help.

As a reaction, they often sheltered me from the consequences of my actions. I did something dumb, and my parents, especially my mom, would make excuses. I went unpunished.

If I can give parents of a disabled child any advice, it’s this – don’t be over-protective. You need to be as hard on them as you are on any child. Yes, growing up with a disability is hard. I won't say it's not. But don’t make excuses. A child is a child. He or she makes bad choices, and they must understand those actions have consequences.

A couple of years ago, I wrote a memoir about my experiences as a disabled person and a dog who helped me through a tough period in my early 20s. I had several New York agents read the manuscript, but none chose to represent me. My friends who read the manuscript pressed me to find a home for the manuscript. I recently published the manuscript, Plucking Wolf Fur, as an ebook on Amazon. I want parents of disabled children to learn from my experiences. Life can be bad, you can make bad choices, but in the end you can find peace and your place in the world.

James Michael Shea is an award winning-journalist and is the author of Plucking Wolf Fur: A story of one arm, one dog, and an American family. He blogs about his book and media convergence at http://www.jamesmichaelshea.com/. He can be reached at jamesmichaelshea@gmail.com.

Monday, October 3, 2011

Outcomes: How to let go?

An interesting dialogue follows Friday's post about Jennifer Johannesen's book: No Ordinary Boy.

Jennifer notes that her pursuit "of optimal ways of being in the world" for son Owen (that pursuit that I believe every parent undertakes to give their child the richest life possible) was worthwhile and she has few regrets because of it.

But she notes that she could have approached intervention in a healthier way, one that didn't consume and exhaust her and lead to burn out.

"I would have had a healthier/happier time of things if I wasn't attached to outcomes," she says. "And if I'd felt a welcome place to voice the futility I was feeling."

I've found it hard to come to terms with the fact that I can't control the outcome of my son's life; that I may invest innumerable resources in therapy, equipment, life opportunities and one-on-one time but "results," if any, may not be related to the efforts I put in.

I've been told that I need to measure myself on what I put in (e.g. did I make the best possible effort to promote Ben's speech?) -- not what comes out (he never acquired speech).

That's not a common way of thinking in our culture.

A popular platitude is that if you work hard, anything is possible, and that we get what we deserve.

Therapy is increasingly goal-oriented (with our commitment to evidence-based care). For parents whose children don't meet the hoped-for goals, it can seem like a set up for failure.

Do you believe that it's possible to live in our culture and rehab system and not be devastated when our children don't make the progress we hope for?

I wonder how we can change our definition and understanding of rehab -- and our common concept of success -- so that it isn't so black and white, so that there's more room for grey?

How could rehab professionals counsel parents so that they don't fall into the trap of 'more therapy is better' when their child isn't making any meaningful progress?

And finally, how could rehab professionals better 'hear' parents like Jennifer, who says in her book: "I want to cringe, cry, yell when I think of my 30-something self. I worked so hard, and yet underneath it all I felt the futility...I could pick just one thing of the 50 and do only that one thing for 10 years and it would still never be done. It's all too much, and it will never be enough."

How can we, as parents, better speak up?