Autism, Hope, and Jenny McCarthy

Thanks to some extra Audible.com credits, I downloaded Jenny McCarthy's books "Louder than Words: A Mother's Journey in Healing Autism" and "Mother Warriors: A Nation of Parents Healing Autism Against All Odds."

I can tell you that my expectations for these books were not high. I had seen Jenny's article in defense of Dr. Andrew Wakefield, maintaining that there is a link between vaccines and autism. I had heard her incredible claims that kids were recovering from autism. And...she was Jenny McCarthy, a B-list celebrity and former Playmate. Why would I have anything BUT low expectations?

But, my curiosity got the better of me, and I used those bonus credits on Jenny McCarthy instead of Ayn Rand. (Seriously, that WAS my consideration set!)

And I have no regrets.

First, I'll say this: Jenny McCarthy is an awesome story teller. Don't let the blond hair and ginormous boobs fool you - this woman can write. She is passionate, funny, and surprisingly articulate. She had me hooked from the first minutes of  "Louder than Words." (Credit must go to narrator Tavia Gilbert, as well - she's fab.)

The story of Jenny's struggle to recover her son Evan from autism is tragic, but inspiring. It had me counting my blessings - I'm so fortunate that our boys never suffered from seizures as Evan did. We never had to hospitalize them for anything relating to their autism. Apart from their asthma and Ig's chronic ear infections, our kids have been in good health. She had to watch her baby go into cardiac arrest before her eyes. I can't even fathom what that was like.

Question all you like Jenny's decision to pursue alternative biomedical treatments. She offers disclaimers left, right and center, and credits ABA, speech therapy and OT for Evan's improvements as much as anything else.   It also has to be clarified that she is not anti-vaccine, although this has been broadly publicized. She questions the vaccine schedule. She questions the cookie-cutter approach we take to delivering all vaccines to all children on this accepted schedule. And she questions the use of thimerosal in vaccines. I'm not anti-vaccine, but I have to admit, I've questioned all these things too. Why are Gardasil and Chicken Pox vaccines mandatory in some states? How did the flu vaccine, which is predictive and has a history of quality control issues, become mandatory for preschoolers? And if thimerosal isn't problematic, why are there thimerosal-free vaccines (and why the hell aren't they covered by insurance?)

What I love about Jenny McCarthy is that she delivers hope. Sure, GFCF diets and B12 shots won't work for all kids with autism...but they might work for some. What's the harm in trying alternative treatments that are safe, non-invasive and inexpensive? Especially if you can get you pediatrician on board to help you monitor. Why not try to gain some control over something that's taken over your life and your child's, if it can only help?

Jenny McCarthy made me realize that I had accepted Ig's autism as inevitable. This is how he is. This is how he will be. We'll do ABA and speech, and OT if we can afford it. We'll try to get him into an appropriate school. Hopefully, this will help him improve. Then we won't have to worry about him running into the street or disappearing at recess if he's mainstreamed at school.

When I pictured Iain in the future, I saw someone  who probably wouldn't be able function independently in the world. Ever.

I'd accepted. And in acceptance, I'd become complacent.

Jenny made me realize I don't have to accept. I can do more. I can change the outcome. I have power. I can help my little boy become typical - better than typical. I can help him put that bright little mind to use in a way that will help him achieve the greatness I know he can!

I don't know that we'll get into hyperbaric chambers and chelation.... but we're starting a GFCF diet soon, for Ig, his oldest brother and me, if not for our whole family. And I'm researching supplements, too. Baby steps...and we'll see how it goes, documenting every step we take.

So... you may think she's a quack, you may think she's a ditz, you may think she's the devil, but I owe a lot to Jenny McCarthy. She gave me hope I didn't even know I needed.

Ig's not feeling well

Ig: (Big sigh) "Mom...I'm not feeling well."

Mom: "You're not feeling well?"
Ig: "No."
Mom: "I'm so sorry, Sweetie! What hurts?"
Ig: "My feelings hurt. My feelings hurt, so I'm not feeling well."

Pants

It's October, officially autumn. Leaves are turning orange, the sky is a bright cobalt blue, and the air has a slight chill to it. We're all happily pulling on our jeans and sweaters and hading out to pick apples and pumpkins.

All, that is, except for Ig.

Ig will not wear pants, at least not voluntarily. Ig, for the last three weeks, has been fighting me tooth and nail every single morning because he wants to wear shorts. He doesn't like long pants. Left to dress himself, he will appear in the living room wearing pull-on shorts, a t-shirt and sandals, despite the fact that the outside temperature is 55 degrees.

Every day, it's a battle. We'll pick out clothes the night before, and I'll often compromise and let him pick out a short-sleeved shirt to wear with the super-soft track pants I bought him. But when the morning comes, the fight ensues. 

I took the proactive measure of hiding all his shorts, which you'd THINK would have been effective. But no. The morning after I did this, Ig dressed himself in short pajama bottoms with a favorite t-shirt. Then he dug a pair of shorts out of a Goodwill bag.

For a few days, the morning battles were reduced in intensity because we agreed that Iain could wear the pajama shorts when he got home from daycare. Fair enough.  Unfortunately, after about 5 days of wearing them (he will pull them out of the hamper), they absolutely needed to be washed! And as a working mother with three boys, I am, admittedly, not always on top of the laundry. The shorts are still waiting to be washed. Ig is not pleased. 

Yesterday, I attempted to reward/bribe my son for putting on a pair of jeans. I told him if he put them on, he could have a lollipop. (Yes, it was 7:00 AM, but a mom's gotta do what a mom's gotta do!)  First, he held the jeans up to his waist, in front of him, and asked for the lolli. Nice try.  Then,he actually did put them on, but said "he wasn't ready" to go to school, because he didn't want to wear long pants. For about the thousandth time this month, I tried to explain that:

• We need to wear LONG pants when it's cold. 
• Look, Mommy's wearing long pants!
• Let's look at "The Snowy Day" (again). See the snow? It's cold, right? Is Peter wearing shorts? No! Peter's wearing (say it with me!) LONG PANTS!

...But to no avail. 

There was endless crying. And Ig's cry, in situations like this, is almost identical to an infants cry - but with the power and volume of a four-year-old.

I offered him his lolly for keeping the pants on. "I don't want a lollipop! I want a push-up pop!" "But honey, we don't have any push-up pops. And I offered you a lollipop." "NO!!!"

Okay, so we left without the lollipop. Not that leaving was so easy. There was still resistance, screaming, continued crying. I cut my losses and let him wear crocs (forbidden in both daycare and preschool) and threw his sneakers and a hoodie into his backpack. Totally not worth the fight, when those could easily be addressed by the daycare staff.

Once we were about a block away from the house, Ig realized that he hadn't gotten his lollipop. Nevermind that he hadn't *wanted* it. The crying, at this point, turned to SCREAMING. Nearly ten minutes in the car (because, natch, we hit every possible red light), with a screaming child in the back seat. Nightmare. A friend pointed out that if a police car had pulled up beside me, it's very likely that I would have lost custody of my child. It sounded that bad.

He was still nearly hysterical when I brought him into daycare. Fortunately, for once, they caught on and pried him off me. Good thing, too - I had barely 10 minutes to catch my bus to work! I kissed him goodbye, knowing he'd be fine in a few minutes.

Anyhow....fortunately, our ABA therapist came last night. Needless to say, we asked her to spend a little time talking about this with him!