Autism Story: One for the history books

Nolan likes swimming.  Like many others living with autism, he is drawn to the water.  So, it’s fortunate for him that his school provides pool therapy once per week.  It’s fortunate for me that the therapies are performed at the Mitchell Therapy Pool, which just happens to be located on the Vermont Achievement Center campus where I work.  Nearly every Tuesday I try to sneak down to the pool on the other side of the building to see Nolan, if even for just five minutes.

A couple weeks ago I missed visiting with him, which in itself doesn't man much; I've missed a Tuesday here or there before.  However, I found out later that I would have seen a rather amazing thing, had I visited this one particular swim session.

Ann, our very hard working pool director, is in love with each of the kids in all of our programs.  She has also become attached to the visitors to our pool, including those from outside organizations.  She makes it a point to learn about each one, including their names and a little about them.  Nolan is no exception.

One day when my own student was visiting the pool, Ann shared with me what I missed the previous Tuesday.

As I've found him in the past, Ann told me Nolan was sitting alone at the end of one of the picnic tables enjoying his snack after a usually rigorous swim session.  At the other end sat an anatomical rescue dummy, seated in an upright position, just as a kid enjoying a snack would be after a usually rigorous swim session.  As Ann thumbed through a catalog, she watched Nolan watching the mannequin; his eyes would return to his snack, then back to the dummy, and back again.

Slowly, Nolan inched closer to the mannequin, obviously curious and interested about the new addition to the table.  Ann set the magazine down on the table as she walked away to answer the phone a few feet from the picnic table.  When her attention turned back to my son, she couldn't believe what she saw.

Nolan had slid himself all the way over, and he had placed Ann’s catalog in front of the dummy; his hand was patting the back of the doll and he was turning the magazine’s pages as he repeatedly asked the inanimate object, “Are you okay, baby?”  He thought the adult-sized puppet was a baby!

She was floored by the adorable scene, and I was amazed.  When I told Lori about it later, we were both delighted that this kid, who three years ago couldn't so much as say his name, had now engaged in spontaneous play with a full-sized doll and had acknowledged its presence --- and had read it a book!

Sniffle.

~Jon

Choices We've Had to Make

Any of us in the autism community knows that, in order to achieve really substantial success, our kids need 25-40 hours per week of intensive therapy. Ideally, this comes from therapeutic centers and licensed, school trained providers. Hopefully, they are able to receive services at in a clinic environment, filled with tools and equipment specifically designed for speech, occupational and physical therapies. At one time, this was the situation we were fortunate to be in.


Sadly, as with all good things, over time this perfect situation came to a slow but inevitable end. First, the amount of time allotted for their therapies whittled down. From a couple times a week, to barely once every other week, the services soon became glimpses in time.

Next, the clinic closed. A unilateral decision was made that in-home care would be of the most benefit to our kids. The gym, equipment and tools were considered overkill and unnecessary; according to the private therapy organization that provided these services, the therapists themselves could offer all the tools needed for our children’s successes.

Then, these home visits every other week went from a one-hour session to 20-40 minutes per visit. Our providers would show up, spend about 7-10 minutes doing administrative work on their laptops, then our kiddoes would engage in twenty or so minutes of therapy, and finally, 10 more follow-up minutes would be taken to wrap up the computer’s administrative needs.

It was then that we made the unilateral decision to pull our kids out of these formal services. Twenty minutes every other week was doing them no good, and was becoming more of a pain than benefit. We had to break our day up that one time every other week, with basically no benefit from the meeting. Fortunately, we have, over many years, developed a fairly well-stocked therapy gym and have a pretty good supply of tools. Lori and I have been very consistent with our own therapy schedules for the kids, and they get a pretty good array of help from their school.

It’s been a little over a month since we parted ways with the ‘clinic’. The sun still rises and moon still shines. And --- can you believe it? --- the kids are still developing in in ways we never could have imagined.

While we’ve had some pushback from here and there regarding a lack formal services, we don’t see the problem.

Anymore.