Yesterday I attended a MyTime playgroup at my daughters’ school. It is a government-sponsored playgroup for parents of children with special needs. A morning tea is provided for the parents (to be politically correct, although it is usually just mothers that turn up) whilst the kids are herded off to the playground. Each fortnight a new presenter takes the floor to discuss issues such as toilet training, first aid or nutrition. This week we had a Speech Therapist go through Makaton, a simplified form of Auslan (signing) for children with special needs. But it is the time before and after, just chatting with the other Mothers that I find the most enjoyable. Sometimes when you have an autistic child you can feel very isolated, especially being a single mum.
I remember when Elizabeth was first diagnosed the play date invitations and chats over coffee suddenly drying up, although she was still same little girl as before the diagnoses (I understand why many parents don’t wish to have their child labelled). Similarly, last week her cousin had a birthday party with a reptile farm and all, something Elizabeth would have loved. However, I never knew about the party until after the event. This shunning of my daughter hurts bitterly, especially since Elizabeth is a happy, beautiful, gentle child who loves being around other little children.
Today at the Playgroup one of the minders didn’t show which meant one lady was in charge of group of six children, varying from eighteen months of age to five years, Elizabeth being the only special needs child amongst them. I had my reservations, as Elizabeth is a climber and has absolutely no fear. But she assured me that she had an autistic child herself who was very much like Elizabeth at her age. Two hours later she brought Elizabeth into the room, both knees and her face badly grazed. She was pale and shaky and as I picked her up she gave me that look of abandonment (if you’re a mother, you know exactly what a mean). The minder didn’t appear concerned and she was soon busily herding the other children into the playroom. I felt physically ill seeing Elizabeth in this state. Someone was always there to pick her up and give her a reassuring hug when she fell. Because Elizabeth cannot communicate verbally, I am always in a state of anxiety when she is left with strangers. If she had cried out for her Mummy, would she have be consoled and offered hugs?
I left the playgroup then, making excuses that Elizabeth was tired and I needed to get her home. Once home, Elizabeth flinched and cried as I applied Savlon to the cuts. The graze on her face started at her hairline and ended at the tip of her nose. I placed bandaids on her knees and checked the palms of her hands for any more grazes. Of course she recovered quickly, but later this afternoon when she had a minor mishap she put her arms out for me and cried and cried before falling asleep from exhaustion.
I do not blame the minder, there were far too many children to keep an eye on in such a large playground. But it reminds me of my role of being an advocate for my daughter, a role I may have into her adult years. This is why I appreciate the efforts of people such as Elizabeth’s teacher’s aide, Lydia. A loving, generous woman, Elizabeth feels completely secure under her gentle, guiding hands. So much so, that the once clingy, anxious child from three months ago now runs to her classroom every Friday morning and barely acknowledges her Mother as she kisses her goodbye. So whilst I sometimes feel defeated by the challenges my daughter faces, I know that there are many wonderful people in my life as well ready to pull me back onto my feet.
Despite the progress my daughter has made, let alone the countless appointments with therapists, I learned last Friday that Elizabeth is classed as being on the severe end of the spectrum and that she would mostly likely being attending the Special School full-time when she begins Prep (and here was me tossing up between two local Catholic Schools a few months ago). When I look at my daughter I don’t see a severely disabled child. I see a happy little girl that perhaps views the world a little differently from others. But this diagnoses, which can change again in six months time, made me sit back and really observe my daughter as an outsider would. When strangers bend down to greet her, Elizabeth usually turns away as if nobody is there. And when she does deign to greet someone it is usually with a little hand flap and excited squeal. Her play is limited to banging blocks together and jumping on the bed, although she does love being outside with the wind in her face. Her motor skills are such that she can’t ride a bike or use a spoon, nor dress herself (although she does really try). I also tend to avoid mainstream playgroups as the children can be quite cruel, and the parents, well what can I say about them? Just this afternoon a young neighbour made an innocent comment on how weird Elizabeth was, which really reminded me off some of the stories in ‘Chicken Soup For the Soul: Children with Special Needs’. I must have read this book at least five times and I cry every-time. It should be compulsory reading in all secondary schools. I patiently explained to the boy that Elizabeth has autism and that he should perhaps ask his teacher about it the next day. After this, as I was cutting out flashcards to be laminated I started crying, the first time in many months. But the tears quickly dried up and I got on with it, for what else can I do?
