A Rant on Cures

So, it's been a while. A long while. And I promise I will explain that.

Next posting.

This posting, I'm going to take a second and just...rant. I'm going to rant because the subject I'm going to rant about really, really, REALLY bothers me.

BLEACH ENEMAS TO CURE AUTISM.

Okay, first of all, I am NOT a supporter of autism as a disease. I do not view it as a disease- you cannot catch autism, you cannot spread autism if you are autistic, you cannot surgically fix or remove autism, etc. It does not fit the parameters of a disease. Autism is a DISORDER. A neurological DISORDER, not a DISEASE. As such, I don't believe it can be cured. I believe each autistic individual should be given all the tools they can possibly receive to lead the fullest, most successful they as individuals are capable of. I believe that no autistic person should be told they can't be independent or succeed at their own goals in their own time simply because of autism. (Naturally, there are autistic individuals who cannot live independently, but I believe that independence should be encouraged to each individual's specific abilities.)

Those tools, however, should NOT include cleaning agents as enemas! In what world does that make sense!?

"Bleach? You mean, like the stuff I use to clean my floors and make my whites whiter? Insert it into my child's body to cure them of a neurological disorder? That sounds like a GREAT idea! Here, take my money!"

The hell, guys????? Come on! I understand, I do, I really truly do, that there are parents out there whose children are non-verbal, who cannot self-care, who are aggressive, who encapsulate the worst traits of autism as seen in the media and described by books and articles- and I get that these parents are desperate to help their children. My  heart hurts for them, because Kai WAS that kid. He's STILL that kid in many ways.

But seriously, how on EARTH does inserting a cleaning agent into your child's body get even momentary consideration!?

There are so many other ways to help. There are controversial things, like ABA. There are proven therapies, like music therapy, occupational therapy, even art therapy. There are medications for those who are open to them that can help with the aggression. There are other forms of communication you can (admittedly pain-stakingly) help your child learn to use besides their voice! (As special as that is; as mom to a formerly non-verbal child, I totally get that!)

Please, people, PLEASE, for the love of whatever you hold to be holy, STOP INSERTING CLEANING AGENTS INTO YOUR CHILD'S BODY IN HOPES OF CURING THEM!

That is all.

To my autistic son for Autism Awareness Month/Day

My baby,

They say autism affects 1 in 68 kids. One in 42 of those kids are boys.

You won the lottery, kid. You are my special 1 in 42.

You are considered high functioning. I hate that phrase. It sounds like someone's trying to sell me a new computer that still runs on Windows 95.

You straddle a line between two worlds: your world, where sounds and smells and tastes and sights and people and crowds are too much for you, and the world your brother inhabits, where you're expected to deal with it by people who don't understand. They see a little boy who can talk and seems friendly and don't see past it to what's in your mind. They don't see how hard you work every day to "fit in," how you fall apart when we're in the car because it was too much to expect from such a little boy for whom even the sound of the car door shutting is too loud.

They look at you and they think "Brat. Spoiled. Overly indulged." if they have the misfortune of watching you fall apart. If they've caught you on a good day, they think "Intelligent, but 'normal.'" They don't see what I see.

I see a fighter. I see a ball of energy rolled into one little boy. I see a little boy who had the odds stacked against him for so many things, and showed them all what the odds meant: exactly nothing. I see green eyes that look so much like mine, and dark brown hair that curls when we let it grow and makes you look so big when we cut it off, and a smile that lights up my world.

I see the little baby they laid in my arms the day you were born, and the handsome two year old who toddled into my kitchen for a cookie the day they took his casts off-the first time you ever walked, even when they swore you wouldn't, all because you wanted that cookie.

I see my saving grace.

You are beautiful in every way. Even on your bad days, I still, at some point in the day, thank God that you are mine.

I love you moon back to pizza, baby boy, and I will fight your fight with you until all the pieces fit.

~Mommy