The Road to Here (or Why I Gave up on Artichokes)

Anyone with an autistic child has an entire laundry list of therapies they’ve tried, researched, or been told about by well-meaning friends.  The average autism parent’s radar encompasses everything from Gluten-free diets to essential oils; occupational and speech therapies to applied behavioral analysis.  The parents newest to the diagnosis are the ones most likely to try out one or two of  the ‘miracle’ treatments – things like rubbing artichoke hearts on their children’s foreheads or procuring the rare and valuable milk from a camel for their children to drink.  Most of these miracle treatments are aptly named – it would be a miracle if some of them worked.  But it doesn’t stop us from clinging desperately to each one we try.

Go, go artichokes!

"You want to milk me??"

Don’t judge us too harshly for the seemingly ridiculous things we put our children through.  In those early stages, we’re all still in that nightmarish honeymoon period, bargaining with God (and likely several other deities).  It’s a rite of passage.  If a single person in the wide world has proclaimed something to be beneficial for autistic children, we have to see for ourselves that it won’t help ours.

The truth is, if I started rubbing my son’s forehead with artichokes nightly and he began showing signs of improvement, I could care less how ridiculous you think I am. 

What works, works. 

And that simple phrase is the reason this rite of passage is so all-encompassing.  There is no right answer.  What worked for your friend’s son might not work for yours.  What the medical journals recommend changes every few years.  It comes down to a process of elimination, as you filter out occupational therapy, or gluten-free eating, or, yes, even artichoke-rubbing. 

When we received my son’s diagnosis in June 2012, my daughter was four months old, and had severe colic, and my husband was weeks away from deploying. That is how my heartsick honeymoon commenced.

My Baby Girl in the throes of colic.

We tried it all.  At one point, we were seeing two occupational therapists, two speech therapists, an ABA therapist, and attending weekly playgroups for social skills.  It was too much.  I entered survival mode as we flitted from appointment to appointment, rarely spending time at home as a family those precious weeks before my husband had to leave.  My son had massive breakdowns because of the number of transitions we were putting him through.  His little engine was overclocked with the amount of stimuli at each new location.  He was miserable, and I was mentally checked-out – attending only to the physical needs of each person and situation in my life.  

My husband deploying forced me to prioritize.

 

I watched Kiddo carefully in each situation I involved him in.  The therapies that yielded no progress after three consecutive sessions were cut.  Period.  When the smoke cleared, we were left with a speech therapist who came to our home twice a month, and a wonderful ABA therapist who has changed our lives and our expectations.  When my son turned three, he began attending a developmental preschool three days each week – another God-send for us.

First day of preschool.

I wish I could tell other parents out there to learn from my mistakes, but I can’t.  It’s a process all autism parents must go through.  What I can say is you’ll get there.  You will find that balance – that perfect formula – the one that only works for you and your child.  Be patient as things come together.  Be patient with your child as he adjusts to the new routines.  Be patient with yourself.  You will get there.