Our Boy Oscar: A Mother’s Perspective of Parenting a Child Newly Diagnosed with Autism

By Durrelle Madeleine Sklenars

A raw and emotional account of a mother coming to terms with her son’s life-changing diagnosis of Autism. Told with sensitivity, honesty and humour, Oscar’s parents begin their rollercoaster ride with their very different son and find joy in the new community they settle into.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Aug 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664105621

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Copyright © 2021 by Durrelle Madeleine Sklenars.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

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such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 08/13/2021

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to first thank my parents. They have always

encouraged me to write and provided support and guidance

when needed. Thank-you for always believing in me.

Thank you to my best friend Angela, who has quietly

supported my crazy ideas for 20+ years.

Thank you to my wonderful hubby, who goes along with whatever

project I attempt to tackle and supports me 100%.

Lastly, a very special thank you to all the characters in this book.

Without your wonderful personalities, I would have a very empty page.

And to Mum and Lyn, for your thoughtful and thorough editing.

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Durrelle Madeleine Sklenars

2019

PROLOGUE

I had always wanted a large family. Noise, chaos, laughter, tears. In my mind, I would be sharing a dinner table filled with interruptions, bickering and shared stories. I came from a family of five (mum, dad and two sisters) and our lives were filled with arguments, laughter and tears. It wasn’t uncommon for Dad to walk in from work some days and see us all (including Mother) huddled around the TV crying at a particular scene from Anne of Green Gables, of which he would mutter; ‘not this shit again’ and walk away. Three girls will do that to a man.

We would often locate him later, nestled in the tiny corner by the dining room table, next to a shambled bookshelf reading Gerald Durrell or excerpts from his favourite poetry book.

So, I guess I wanted to recreate this life again. And being a teacher, well, I thought I’d be all over this parenting thing. I would have it made. So, like a little template I held that image as the end game for when I was ready, and I wasn’t ready, for a looooooooooooooooong time. Until I met John. I ended up marrying into the classic cliché; doctors and nurses, teachers and headmasters… we were the hostess and pilot one. Sigh.

In 2006, I took a break from teaching to try something new. I had always admired my cousins for being flight attendants, so thought I’d give it a whirl. It was wonderful at first. We flew only to the Pacific Islands, and the layovers were relatively long in comparison with now. On my second trip I flew with John. He was funny, clever and light-hearted. He was easy to be around, and after three years of friendship, we started a proper relationship. We had a lot in common, including our usual knack for being lucky. At the risk of sounding obnoxious, things just seemed to fall seamlessly into our laps. We had money, education, freedom, health and we were well travelled.

So perhaps God thought it was time for a dose of reality.

In July 2012, Oscar was born. He was amazing. Everything was once again too easy. He slept well, ate well, laughed at my hilarious noises. We were very happy. But then, I never thought otherwise? We’d always had good luck and he was just another example of this. God he was beautiful. I remember saying to people as I boarded regular plane visits to family - ‘oh don’t worry, he’s not that kind of a baby.’ The mid-twenty something man sitting next to me with tight jeans and a fashionably semi-grown beard, would make a half smile, and adjust his headphones. Oscar wasn’t like most other babies. He sat in my lap, either sleeping or just staring. My blissful flight to NZ would pass with many a heartfelt comment from the hostesses, asking what my magic trick was. I would smile benignly and say he’s just even tempered (but then silently congratulate myself on being an awesome parent).

There is an old saying: pride cometh before a fall. This saying couldn’t have been truer for the situation we were about to face.

At six months old, things began to change with Oscar. He started to do something that was very un- Oscarish - he tantrummed and perhaps more disturbingly, he started to zone out. John and I would joke about his facial expression during walks in the pram. We would jest; who am I? Then make a vacant face. The tantrums I put down to age or frustration at not getting his way. But they became so frequent, that I started to wonder if I was missing something. At around one-year-old, he became obsessed with spinning wheels, fans and anything that moved in a circular way. We would take him to Bunnings, and the massive fans on the roof would mesmerise him for the whole visit. We tried valiantly to get him interested in things around the shop - the machines, flowers, anything. But the fans were always the winner. At this point we started falling behind our milestones. I would avidly check these off from a book my friend had given me. But I began to feel tense every time I picked up the book to see where we were at - or rather should be at. It was at this time that I also started worrying intensely about going to mothers’ group. By now, the kids were walking, talking, and all were interactive and receptive to communication with their mothers.

But not Oscar.

So, I began writing, recording, researching and graphing everything to do with Oscar. I had always been a closet diary writer, beginning at age 12. My mother instigated this with her own passion for recording every detail of her teenage life. I remember reading her diary with such curiosity, mixed with confusion; How could this be my mother’s thoughts? Had she really been this passionate? My mother was the stable, unwavering figure in my life. Rarely raising her voice. Always there at the end of a long school day with a cup of tea and biscuit ready to talk. Or not. Maybe just to sit.

My first entry came at the end of 2013:

November 11th, 2013

‘Oscar’s tantrum lasted four minutes, because he was not allowed to drown himself in the river by the park. 6/10 scale. I cried all the way home once I’d strapped him in the pram.’

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These diaries became my solace, just like when I was a teenager recording the heart-wrenching breakups of my little life. Every day I would record the worst event, and always end with at least one positive event. The graphs helped me exert some sort of control over what was happening to Oscar, if I could just graph it, then I could figure out the problem. Easy! But, of course, it wasn’t that easy. Thankfully our move to Yansi Street came at the right time, and this is where the saying: It takes a village to raise a child - really came into action.

In June 2013, we purchased our first home, a solid brick ‘n tile, in quiet, affordable suburbia. Oscar had started to walk (for which I was very grateful), and we were becoming established in our little riverside community. Here, some very influential people and their uniquely distinctive characters started to play a prominent role in our lives.

Vlad

Our next door neighbour. Appears rough as guts, but in reality he’s as soft-hearted as a kitten. He would fit well into a scene on board a fishing trawler next to chain-smoking, beer-swilling men, who could swap stories as wild as your imagination. That’s Vlad. I don’t believe I’ve actually had the pleasure of meeting someone quite like him before. It’s one of those rare times where you make your mind up on someone, and then have the pleasure of being completely wrong. Completely. Vlad was a tradie in a former life. He fixed foundations, and now worked casually with his own homegrown business. His garage was like the cupboard from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardobe; surprisingly endless, with masses of well organised items like hedge trimmers, pipes, hammers, chainsaws (of an alarming number) and lawnmowers - for possible use in the case of a severe world lawn-cutting emergency.

Daily, he sat in his garage at the top of a steep driveway and looked over his cul-de-sac kingdom. Bintang tee-shirt and well-worn shorts, (often with holes in slightly inappropriate places), Vlad sat on his double-reinforced deck chair at the back of the garage. It was sort of dark back there. From the street you wouldn’t be able to tell if anyone was there. If the roller door was up - he’d be sitting there. Bar fridge at the ready. You needn’t feel worried about a possible robber - Vlad could spot anything and everything that was slightly out of place. God help anyone who thought they could rob a home on Yansi Street. It was here that neighbours from all along the street, would make the pilgrimage up the drive with beer or wine (never non-alcoholic). They’d pull up a pew and just sit. Sometimes deep and meaningfuls were had in that garage, especially after a few. But mostly you would hear raucous laughter and a lot of ‘Maaaate’ or ‘on ya!’ type language. This man Vlad adored our son. And that was no easy feat.

Oscar ignored the plight of those around him and rarely smiled when people tried to engage with him. But Vlad never gave up. He saw the wonder in everything he did. Even when I was out of positives, he would show me up with some small attribute that Oscar had and shout it from the roof tops. We were blessed to live next door to him - even though the garage parties lasted deep into the night, ending with a crescendo of beer bottles into the yellow bin at 2:45am. I loved Vlad, and so did everyone