Whitterer on Autism

It's my fault, I shouldn't have called him at just that moment and then he wouldn't have become entangled in the chair. I wasn't paying attention to him, so as he walked towards the kitchen, my calling his name like that put him a step or two off course. He is unpeturbed by yet another set of multiple bruises and would be the last to cast blame in my direction. My arms encircle him at the kitchen counter as I check for damage, “what you are wanting anyways?” he asks, brushing off my ministrations. I am impressed that he is following through. So often when you ask either of them a question it doesn't penetrate the first time, or the second time for that matter. If you start a conversation [translation = exchange] you need to be persistent to extract an answer. Rarely if ever, can I recall him prompting me to finish what I started. I blink and try to remember why I called him over in the first place? Ah yes!

“Look I wanted to show you this!” He looks at the three little plant pots.
“Dey are light Chartreuse or maybe dey are pale lime.” Indeed they are. His interest in assigning the correct colour definition to all facets of his life is a challenge for me. [translation = limited palette]
“Yes, but can you see what is growing in them?” He peers, he thinks, he speaks.
“I know! It is dat time of year again!”
“What time would that be dear?”
“It is dah time of year to grow sticks.”
“Pardon?” I am distracted by a bevy of birds squabbling over the bird feeder, but try and remain focused.
“Last year you grow sticks when I was a little guy. Now I am a bigger guy and it is time to grow sticks again.” Fancy him remembering that!
“That's right. Now look closely, what can you see?”
“Er I see free lickle smokey black sticks.”
“Good. Anything else?” He peers and squints and squirms trying to come up with an acceptable response.
“Maybe you are giving me a clue?” Great problem solving!
“Can you see a little green shoot perhaps?” He looks from me to the pot and then back to me again to tell me solemnly, “I can see dah little aubergine shoots wiv dah forest green bumpy little leaves.” [Tranlsation = eggplant or purple]
I resist the urge to grasp his skull to my bosom, “you are absolutely right, what great eyes you have.”
“Now I can go?”
“Er sure. Where are you off to?”
“I need my electronics, er dah cable for dah power.”
I open the cupboard door and peer at the jumble of cables searching for one particular adapter in a sea of entangled wires, “Sorry dear, it's not in here.”
“It is, it is dere, look!” I look. I see a big messy mess, “nope, I think we must have left it in the other room.”
He sighs with one hand on his jaunty hip, shakes his head from side to side, amateur dramatics in action, “ okay, okay, okay, I do it by myself.” With that he clambours up on the counter and retrieves one cable of the many, deftly.

Strangely I have always considered senior daughter to be our family environmentalist. As we live in the States, she is there to remind us where we are going wrong. Her views are pretty mainstream as far as Europeans are concerned but extreme for our American cousins. For example, rather than use the car to go and collect the turkey for the holiday festivities, she cycled. She returned on her bike with the fowl in her back pack after a two and a half hour round trip.

I will avoid mention of her views on toilets, since I need to avoid scatological references as I am a Brit. I had not considered that there was a possibility that somebody else might climb on the band wagon, to ceremoniously beat our conscious and sub-conscious selves. It is therefore with some surprise that I engage my youngest son in conversation. I enquire why he is pinching his nostrils shut?

“Because of the badest smell!” he screams, keeping his distance. I struggle to gain a purchase on his person and park him on my lap to extract further details. He writhes and wriggles making retching noises. Loud ones.
“What is the badest smell dear?”
“It is you! You are the badest smell. You are worster than peanuts!”
My! That bad!
“You don't think I smell very nice?”
“NO!” I didn't really need clarification there, more a moment to gather my wits.
“What can we do about that problem?” He pauses to gaze at the ceiling awaiting inspiration.
“I know! You can be living somewhere else?”
“Where would you suggest?”
“In dah garden. You can be living in dah garden in a tent.”
“But I hate camping!”
“You won't be 'dah camping,' you will be dah living dere.”
So much logic! I need to re-configure my brain.
“But I don't want to live in a tent in the garden. I will be lonely. Won't you be lonely without me?”
What a stupid question. Any first year lawyer knows that you should never ask a question that you cannot predict the answer to.
“You will be lonely but I will be stinky free.”
I am somewhat flummoxed, not for the first time. Spouse sticks his head around the door to clarify:
“it's the Marmite! You didn't clean your teeth and gargle with mouthwash before you breathed on him.”

It would appear that the health and well being of a fellow human being, is less important than a pollutant free environment. [Ref 1]

[Ref 1] ecocentrism

after ECOCENTRIC adj.
The view or belief that environmental concerns should take precedence over the needs and rights of human beings considered in isolation.

Many moons ago my child, when I was just a wee young thing….I would sign my name in the book as I arrived at work at the bank, where I was am employee, every working day. On one strange day, I was called into the under manager's office. [translation = always a bad sign] He displayed the 'sign in book' because this was in the days before the 'clock in' machine. [translation = or possibly something more to do with snobbery, the 'trade' v. 'profession' debate.]

“Well McEwen!” he said in a fatherly tone. “What do you have to say about this?” He riffled the pages and pointed to my signatures. Week upon week, there is was, my own personal scribble. I sought clues. None were forthcoming.

He prompted, “don't you see?”
“Er, I'm not on time every day?' I squeaked.
He snapped the volume closed and sighed,
“what is it about Wednesdays?”
“I don't know? What is it about Wednesdays?”
“Every Wednesday you have a squiggle.”
“A squiggle?”
“This is not your signature, just a squiggle.
Every Wednesday for nearly a year. What is it about Wednesdays?” [translation = what exactly preceded the observed event? N.B. See how much I have advanced since those days of youth?]
I didn't know then, I don't know now. I suspect it's something to do with circadian rhythms or some other phsychobabbledom.

Today nearly thirty years later I am struck by a curious thought. That bank manager was a Brit, three decades ago? What kind of a bank manager was he? A rare breed. Someone sufficiently in tune with his employees, to even notice such a detail in the first place.

I notice traffic on the web.
Alerts are quiet.
What do you do on a Wednesday?
Mid week.
Not the 'get into gear Monday' nor the 'wind down Friday.'
Think about it? What is it about Wednesday? I can see the evidence of my own eyes. What did you do today? How did you feel? What makes Wednesday different from Tuesday or Thursday? Is Wednesday the forgotten day? Is your battery flat?
Is it in limbo?
Why?
Don't ask me.
I have no answers. Only questions.

[translation = here sooner than anticipated {sub translation = senility, that is to say}]

Oooo enough of this 'hidden disease' malarkey. Far too tiresome, and certainly anything but hidden. It's all to obvious around here I'm afraid. There might be many reasonable and logical explanations for what you might observe in the confines of this, our home, but the most obvious cause is autism.

How do I mean? Well, lets start with a small example and we can compare notes. Sounds like a plan? Good.

Here are the basic ingredients. [translation = add or subtract as you deem fit. {sub translation = minus}] Take one child or the smallish variety, ideally male. [translation = lower incidence 'female.'] Sprinkle the following substances over the said child and observe reaction. [translation = for some subjects it is best to avoid the 'head and shoulders' area with there is a higher incidence of receptors]

Take and eye dropper. [translation = haven't the foggiest, please supply at your earliest convenience] Fill with blood temperature water. Drop one droplet on subject. [translation = insert earplugs prior to commencement]

Take talculm powder and drift one siftlet over the child at a height of approximately 5 feet above head. [translation = a step ladder may prove useful for this portion of the programme.]

Thirdly, expose child to the sound of the fire alarm sensor. [translation = the soft beeping noise that the contraption emits when the batteries are low] Ensure that the device is the greatest distance possible from the said child. Do not be alarmed that you are unable to really hear the same noise yourself, until you are standing 3 feet beneath the dratted machine.

Fourthly, take your favourite foodstuff. [translation = any one will do, just as long as it is universally agreed by mankind, that it is delicious] Ask subject to a] look at food. B] smell food. C] touch food [translation = not necessarily with finger, due to tactile defensiveness] D] lick food. E] taste or eat food. Let me know if you get past A].

Lastly, try and cuddle subject when he's not expecting it. [translation = bandages are in the bathroom]

Advanced programme. [translation = program {N.B. not for the faint hearted.}] Repeat as above, but this time use yourself as the subject. Observe the enhanced agony of your child, as you expose yourself to the same elements. [translation = cannot put oneself in another's shoes {sub translation - rats to the theory of mind}] [See Ref 1] If the observer of the subject reacts as follows:

“No, no, no. Doe not do dat! Agh! Agh! Agh! You will be hurted! No! No! No! I will hep you!” then you may gain some small reassurance that the theory [as set out below] is not always the case. [translation = in all situations] It is sad, as always, to observe the callous attitude of the mother. [translation = prima gravida]

Have I convinced you?

Oh! You think it's more 'sensory integration issues and a bit of speech delay' huh! Or maybe you adhere to the theory that he’s a wimpy little nerd who needs to ’shape up?’ A valid observation as always on your part. Luckily we're all entitled to our biased opinion. [translation = especially me]

A child with too many nerve endings? [translation = maybe just a bad wiring job]

{sub translation = whoop de doo!
/jolly good show Mr. Eye Contact}

[Ref 1] The Theory of mind from Wikepedia [thank you] According to Simon Baron-Cohen et al,[7] [ translation = I love him and all his pals really] many autistic children appear to lack a “theory of mind,” which is the ability to see things from another person’s perspective. This is a behavior cited as being exclusive to human beings above the age of five and possibly, to a lesser degree, to other higher primates such as adult gorillas, chimpanzees and bonobos.[citation needed] Typical 5-year-olds can usually develop insights into other people’s knowledge, feelings, and intentions based on social cues (e.g., gestures and facial expressions). An autistic individual may lack these interpretation skills, leaving them unable to predict or understand other people’s actions or intentions. [translation = a load of old codswallop {Sub translation = rhubarb}]

Oh dear me no! Well this is frightfully irritating. I don't like this one at all. I'll swap this for the old one. [translation = trade] This is not an obsession that I'm happy with at all, as it's so impractical, not to say intolerable. [translation = for both of us] Can't he have a practical obsession for a change? Who needs to wash their mouth before they eat or drink? [translation = the inside of it, the oral cavity itself] It's not as if we don't already have enough problems with eating and drinking. [translation = challenges] What's this all about then? Where did this one spring from? Why didn't I nip it in the bud? [translation = anticipate and ward off] Why isn't water of just the right temperature more freely available? [translation = tepid] Why isn't there a water fountain at just the right height at 50 yard intervals in America? [translation = not metres in this instance] What a dreadful country? [Note to self = contact City Planning department with helpful suggestion. N.B. remember to be polite not obsequious]

Why aren't their taps in every room of the house? [translation = faucets] What idiot architect do I need to track down and pummel? [translation = berate] Why don't I have sufficient supplies of flannels [translation – wash cloths] for this exercise? Why are so many of them faulty? [translation = sub standard with little strings and threadbare bits] Why is the laundry maid so negligent? [Note to self = research American term for 'Water Board'?] Why isn't the sink the right height for him to reach in an emergency washing session? The poor child will have knees like aubergines at this rate. [translation = eggplants] Why can't I see this supposed 'fur' in his mouth? Why don't I have x-ray vision instead of bifocals? Why am I so badly designed?

There again, although the meltdowns are all level 10 in volume, he's not static. [translation = horizontal] He is proactive. [translation = trying to fix the problem himself] The flannels have a handy way of muffling the noise a bit. At least I have over 50 flannels already, which I should be able to recycle, if I get my act together. [translation = fire the laundry maid] The flannel and water, help to desensitize his mouth, which makes eating easier for him, when he eventually gets around to that evolution. [translation = starvation is imminent] It's a positive step in the direction of oral hygiene, which is especially beneficial for someone with a smattering of British genes.

He has to use his hands. He has to use both of his hands. His hands have to co-operate with each other. They have to get wet. Dribbles sometimes run down his arms, almost reaching his body. I wouldn't go as far as to say he's tolerating it, but he's getting there, and at current rates of speed and frequency, he's going to get there jolly fast. [translation = quickly]

His hands have to use the taps, manipulate them to get the water in advance of receiving the reward. [translation = relief] That's a challenge for someone with poor fine motor skills and planning. [translation = dodgy fingers and difficulty with seeing ahead] That involves waiting, [translation = delayed gratification] a condition that many struggle with.

Note close proximity of delicate digits to averse texture!
Thank goodness for gravity.

I suspect another bravery award is in the offing? [translation = appropriate]