Raising Buckshot: A Family’s Experience With Autism

By J. Tau

The family’s second child, Gareth, weighed in at nine pounds, six ounces and was healthy, but it was soon evident he wasn’t like other babies. With few other comparisons, it took a while for the family to realize that Gareth’s strange behaviors were more serious than simple eccentricities.
At the age of five, Gareth was diagnosed with Pervasive Developmental Disorder, or PDD, a form of autism. Finally, the family had a name to put to Gareth’s tantrums and defiance—but the battle was far from over. Now, with a deeper understanding of his mental state and abilities, the family was better equipped to understand his unique needs. But what about the rest of the world and what would his future entail?
In Raising Buckshot: A Family’s Experience with Autism, a loving mother shares the story of raising a child with special needs. Seasoned with humor and hope, J.Tau reminisces over the trials and victories bringing up her autistic son, a story that is sure to inspire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Dec 13, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483420196

Book preview

Raising

Buckshot

A Family’s Experience with Autism

J.Tau

Copyright © 2014 J.Tau.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-2020-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-2021-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-2019-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014918912

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 12/8/2014

Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1

Meeting Gareth

Battle Of The Breast

Rationalizing Gareth With Ancestry

Play

Relating To Others

Coming To Terms

Preschool

Edward In Charge

Gareth’s Silent Demand For Independence

Chapter 2

Traveling With Gareth

San Francisco

Southern California

Disneyland

Universal Studios

The Tale Of Zwei (Two) Twix

Pismo Beach—A Little Slice Of Paradise For All But One

Possible Perils At The River

Halloween At Age Three

Children’s Parties

The Barbecue From Hell

Going To Church With Gareth—Far From A Religious Experience

Gareth And Susie—A Match Made In Heaven

Susie Runs To The Rescue!

Chapter 3

New Orders: Bound For Germany

New Life In The Old World

Diagnosis

Merging Gareth Into Kindergarten

A Bowling Disaster

First Grade—The Awakening

Introduction To The School And Mrs. Theodore

Preparation For The First Day Of School

Showtime!

Chapter 4

Getting Gareth In The Picture

Mom’s Presence In School Is Strictly Intolerable

Thanksgiving 1999—A Sign Of Good Things To Come

Gareth’s Adventure Continues At Mannheim’s Christmas Market

Gareth Abhors Absences

The Grace Of The Amazing Ms. Eliza

Gareth Gets Rammed

Momentary Setback And Great Triumphs

A Creature Of Habit—March 15, 2000

Pure Impatience—March 2000

A Series Of Triumphs—March 2000

A Parent-Teacher Conference Never To Be Forgotten—April 20, 2000

A Dance On Easter Morning—April 23, 2000

Chapter 5

School Year 1999-2000 Winds Down

Europa Park

Special Olympics 2001

Europa Park Revisited

Florida Bound

Disneyworld

Meeting The Teachers

Finding A Dentist

Tables Turned On Gareth

Pushing Gareth’s Buttons

A Trial Of Zoloft

Changing Schools

This Appointment Is Adjourned

One More Move

Sixth Grade At Stapleton Elementary

Mainstreamed From The First

Camp George

Birthday A Go-Go!!

Thoughts To Leave You With

To Edward, Ross, and Gareth

and

all those searching for answers about

the autism spectrum

Introduction

T his book is a compilation of stories about my son, who was diagnosed with Pervasive Developmental Disorder (PDD), a form of autism. Shortly after his birth I realized he was different from other babies. Much of his first five years of life left me frustrated, confused, and continually questioning why he was dissimilar to others his age. Smiles and giggles are the elixir babies give their parents that help them carry on during difficult times of raising children. Gareth rarely awarded me those little gifts; however, I knew he was an astute and intelligent child. Often distraught over his embarrassing and humiliating public displays, I was left questioning how we would carry on as a family and what his future held for him. I held to my personal belief that he would one day coexist with his family and peers in some positive way.

When Gareth was three, thoughts of jotting down our stories came to mind. The day he started first grade was when I seriously put pen to paper, writing about our most memorable experiences. As the manuscript grew, it was obvious we had already overcome many obstacles.

In writing this book, I want to reach out to those who have children that are different from their peers. As a parent with a child who never fit in, I feel for parents who may be experiencing the same, but aren’t sure where to turn for answers. I encourage them to seek out other people dealing with related issues and situations and join the groups of parents, caregivers, and interested individuals who come together to address concerns and give support to one another. Their experiences are invaluable in understanding and coping with the trials, obstacles, and roadblocks one feels when raising a special-needs child.

When I say special-needs individuals, I mean just that—their needs vary from the ordinary. These people think, perceive, and process the world differently. Perhaps they interact dissimilarly and to such a refined degree, we cannot comprehend their understanding. I can only imagine what talents and gifts have been ignored because people were only willing to look for typical standards of functioning.

I am grateful to live in a time where visionary individuals have made possible advances in educational systems and community programs. Their efforts hold these avenues steady for special-needs people and their families, allowing access where they were once denied.

I appreciate teachers who go the extra mile in trying to understand the complicated workings of these creative minds and the programs that have been initiated because someone saw the need and demanded more. I am thankful to those who show compassion, understanding, and unconditional love toward special-needs persons and their families—your efforts do not go unnoticed.

Note from the author: I have changed the names of the people in these stories.

CHAPTER 1

Meeting Gareth

I t was 1:06 a.m. when Gareth entered this lifetime, and it took a couple more hours to move from the birthing room into my assigned room. My husband, Edward, drove home and phoned our relatives in Idaho, England, and Germany to tell them I had delivered a nine-pound, six-ounce boy.

I had just set out on a magnificent journey of slumber when a blaring phone began to ring somewhere in the room. My parents congratulated me, but understood I was tired and kept their well-wishing short. I should have switched off the phone but, being too tired to think, laid down just to be blasted again by its ringing.

My German grandparents were next to congratulate me, laughing and wishing me well, the sound of a champagne cork popping in the background. It was difficult thinking of words in German. Finally, after feeling they had congratulated me enough, they wished me Gute Nacht!

No sooner had I put down the receiver when the phone began to ring again.

Good grief! Had Edward called all the people in my address book? I picked up the receiver and heard my German cousin Petra excitedly wishing me everything happy and wonderful in the cornucopia of life. Doing everything humanly possible without actually hugging me, she repeated her greetings several times. Mustering what I could in German, I apologized for my weary state and said good-bye.

It seemed my head had just touched the pillow when the phone rang again. I sat up with a jolt, squinting because of the sunlight pouring into my room through the window. Greatly agitated, I grabbed the receiver.

Hello? I stifled my grumbling, so as not to scare the unwary caller.

Mrs. Geddes? Oh, thank goodness, it wasn’t another well-wisher or relative.

Yes, I replied.

Come to the nursery and feed your son, a very firm voice ordered.

Apparently my request that Gareth be given his first feeding in the nursery hadn’t reached this person. Could you please give him some formula? I glanced at the bed beckoning me to rest a few more minutes.

It states in your chart that you expressed a wish to breastfeed. Gareth is hungry. Come to the nursery immediately. There was a click of the receiver. I carried Gareth’s breakfast in two preheated, non-disposable compartments on my chest, and no one could do it for me.

Feeling sore from the birthing process, I gingerly made my way through the maze of hallways to the nursery, presented my identification card, and was allowed entrance. I was shown a rocking chair, and feeling like a prisoner, readied myself for lactation. Their demands weren’t unfounded; in my state of sleep deprivation, and desiring nothing else but to be left alone, it was tempting to leave Gareth undisturbed while I got some shut-eye.

Under heavy surveillance of the nurse on duty, I situated myself in the chair and picked up my tightly wrapped son. He squirmed and whimpered at being disturbed from his slumber—I concurred. Opening his eyes, he looked at me as if to say, Now what do you want?

Are you ready for this, kid? I muttered under my breath so as not to be heard by anyone else and proceeded with the task.

Although I only had one other child upon which to base my opinions, Gareth seemed to be a normal neonate, except for one peculiar thing. After the last feeding of his first twenty-four hours of life, I wrapped him snugly in his blanket, placed a little cap on his head, and turned out the light.

No sooner had all the light in the room been extinguished when Gareth began to whimper and cry. Not having heard such a fuss during the day, I quickly turned on the light to see what was wrong. Without opening his eyes, he immediately settled down and slept. After thoroughly checking him and his bedding but finding nothing, I turned out the light again.

With the return of darkness, he renewed his cries of discontent. Again, I turned on the light and checked him, but he was fine, and once again his whimpering stopped. When it happened a third time, I decided the light was the key. I yearned for darkness, but craved quiet even more. Glancing at my quietly sleeping son lying in harsh, full-fluorescent brightness, I climbed into bed, covered my head with the blanket, and slept.

From the beginning, Gareth had to have things his way. He seemed to be like other babies, but not having close friends with infants, direct comparisons were few. Instead of fussing and wanting to be picked up when he awoke, he sat and stared at me as if he were studying me.

When working in the house, I placed him near me, glancing down occasionally at his peaceful, sleeping face. I’d continue with my task, but feeling as if I were being watched, I would spin around to find him quietly taking in everything. He didn’t smile or act like he was particularly happy to be in my company. I found his indifference odd but not bothersome.

Gareth didn’t babble like babies normally do, but instead developed a high pitch wail that could escalate into a scream if he so desired. The intensity set Edward’s and my nerves on edge and often directed us to satisfy our new son’s every whim.

To avoid hearing Gareth’s supersonic vocalization, I endeavored to predict the future. I knew what time he became hungry and prepared his meals so we didn’t have to put up with his siren. After he began crawling, I’d set a bottle on the edge of the coffee table where he could find it, thus avoiding the need for him to ask for nourishment. We realized we were being manipulated but could not endure the noise. Some days we swore we wouldn’t give in to Gareth’s demands, but it didn’t take long until we did anything to please him.

He often wanted what his brother, Ross, had, whether it was food or a toy. If Ross wasn’t willing to share, Gareth’s wails initiated parental action. Edward and I pleaded with our eldest son to give his brother what he wanted. Gareth learned quickly and became the master of manipulation.

Battle of the Breast

G areth weighed over nine pounds at birth, a trait of my side of the family. He appeared normal, but something about him was different. Children the same age seemed happier and made babbling and cooing noises. They interacted with people and had a desire to be held and enjoyed nursing.

I had grown up with parents who were very concerned with natural foods and understood breastfeeding to be a safe and healthy way to feed an infant. Having heard years of lactation stories, I knew it was my responsibility when I had children. After Ross was born, I had only two weeks with him before I had to return to work. I felt guilty for not being able to breast feed him for as long as I would have liked. Not being employed during this pregnancy, I decided Gareth would get all the benefits.

Gareth wasn’t a hearty eater and barely tolerated being put on the breast. I had heard and read about women who enjoyed sitting comfortably, sipping a glass of juice while their child sucked happily; I couldn’t say I shared their feelings on the matter. It is said some infants develop a favoritism of one breast over the other. This was untrue for Gareth, who detested either offered to him. He became more fidgety with time.

Each feeding became a wrestling match, pitting my will against his. I was determined he would get the nourishment and natural antibodies my body so bounteously produced. He was determined to have as little physical contact as possible with me.

When he was five months, Gareth and I fought our last battle of the breast. As so many times before, I took a seat in our recliner-rocker and mentally prepared myself for our usual tussle. He knew what was coming and began his buildup of resistance. I was determined he would eat. He had it in his mind he would resist my every attempt. Uncovering a breast, I could already see the defiance in his eyes as his body tensed for a fight. I attempted coaxing him to relax to make it easier for him to latch on, but he refused to be anything but rigid and nonconforming. Just touching my body enraged him.

As he screamed, I stuck an already leaking nipple in his mouth hoping the taste would get his attention, but it just encouraged the battle. I tried a couple more times and then suddenly, as if an idea came to him, he relaxed. His screaming ceased and his body became supple, enabling me to arrange it more comfortably. With eyes fixed on mine, he seemed to warn me, but strangely enough he opened his mouth. Happily, I positioned the nipple between his lips. Finally! Finally we had a breakthrough, an understanding that he would eat and receive the nourishment I had to offer. Perhaps all the wrestling hadn’t been in vain, I had gotten through to him and he conceded—or so I thought.

His mouth formed a seal, and for an instant I felt the victor. No sooner had I relaxed, however, than I came to know pain in its newest form. Gareth, thankfully still toothless, clamped his gums together with all his might, giving me his final message on the issue of breastfeeding.

My scream proclaimed my agreement to his terms and was accepted as a cry of surrender. Edward and Ross laughed, witnessing my agony and Gareth’s personal triumph. What was more unnerving was the fact that when Gareth unclamped his jaws, he laughed for the first time ever. And it wasn’t a baby’s giggle, but a full guttural guffaw. Watching him laugh, I wondered if he understood the humor of this situation.