Autism and love

"Don’t push, Mikey – Grandma will fall down the stairs. Do you want Grandma to fall down the stairs?”

“Yes!” he responds.

I should not have asked the question. It put the idea of falling down the stairs into his head. I don’t think it was a desire to hurt me: It was more his insatiable curiosity about The World and wanting to know how things work. He was having Yet Another Tantrum at bath time. These started a few weeks ago, and now – curses! – they seem to be part of his “routine.” We are working on breaking the routine.

Mikey is a mystery wrapped in an enigma. He is autistic. He is *very* intelligent. He – as all children do – has learned what it behooves him to learn, at least as far as he is able. Autism is a neurological disorder. They even know some of the parts of the brain that are affected. They don’t know what causes it. They know that, if you have a child with autism, and have another child, that child is likely to be “on the spectrum.” So genetics do play a role. Mikey is one of a pair of identical twins – and his brother David is high functioning.

There is no blood or other chemical test for autism. It is diagnosed behaviorally – and that is why someone can be on the “autism spectrum.” It includes a lack of social interaction and a lack of the ability to “read” other people. Autistic people have to be taught to recognize things that neuro-typical (NT) people “pick up” – like emotions, irony, and those indirect, kind things people say that mean “bug off” or “don’t call me.”

Treatment is behavioral. That is, they use a reward and withhold-reward system, rigorously repetitive, designed to get them to the highest possible level of communication (many autistics never talk, read or write) and to get the behaviors to a more socially acceptable level. There are attempts to “teach” emotions and recognition of emotions and things of that ilk.

Does Mikey love us? I am not sure. He trusts us. He knows he is “safe” with us. If you read the blog about camp, you know that Mom and I were nearly hysterical worrying about his being in a strange new environment for the first time. Mikey was not. I think he would have stayed forever, or at least until something did not go enough his way. (His camp counselor, Spencer, told him he had to stay in bed until 7 am and he did.)

Mikey very seldom acknowledges anything you do for him. On those rare occasions when he says, “Thank you” or some equivalent, we are astounded and elated. But they are rare. While most relationships have a coinage, even if unspoken (I do this for you; you do this for me – if there were not some exchange of giving, the relationship would not exist), what we do for Mikey is done with almost no “return.” We feel for him. He does not feel for us.