I sometimes feel I’m forever stuck in a storm of autism statistics. Raining down are brutal truths that affect all about bullying, exclusion, lack of provision, low educational achievement, poorly trained teachers, homelessness, unemployment, depression and more. Facts and figures that seem designed to floor people at worst or fuel their fight at best.
Then there’s the genetics research and studies around that swirl about in people’s peripheries and remain there until they become relevant. Like the likelihood of a younger sibling being diagnosed with autism.
The dilemma of a second child had weighed heavy on me and my wife. Not so much setting the weather of our well-being, but certainly unbalancing it somewhat. Pretty much from the day Isaac was born.
Isaac’s birth was barbaric. After a lifetime in labour, the doctors, brandishing ghoulish looking implements, set about extrapolating our distressed boy. Prodding, plunging, pulling. At one stage, the doctor was yanking at an instrument suctioned to my boy’s head in the manner of dislodging a particularly stubborn cork from a bottle of wine. With such force that his temples were throbbing, arms’ shaking, and veins pumping. Eventually, Isaac was dragged out of my poor, poor wife, resembling a bewildered creature washed up from sea.
I’m not aware of any conclusive research linking traumatic births with autism. Anyway, it’s not somewhere I can psychologically afford to go.
My wife talks of numbness and delayed shock. Of horrific memories. That, in some sort of perfect storm of parental crisis, surfaced violently and vividly at exactly the time Isaac started missing developmental cues. Whilst other mothers talked of amazing times, emerging from the first year with a fabulously alert and exploring child, Isaac seemed stuck. As well as being beaten by his behaviour and full of anxiety, my wife somewhat cruelly was given the added burden of terrible birth memories.
Being selfish and ashamedly self-pitying, I felt practically punished by being around family and friends jollily procreating at a rate of knots. Defensive and depressed, comments like ‘Isaac would benefit from a sibling’ cut through me. I felt sorry for myself, my wife and Isaac. My wife had more humility. But perhaps felt it more personally. A sense of failure swamped her. We were in a rotten place if truth be told. We had a distressed, delayed child who was disrupting our lives, if not to breaking point, then not far off. Did not having a second highlight our pragmatism or shine a harsh light on our inability to cope with parenthood?
Yet I don’t actually recall us dwelling on this in the days, weeks, and months after diagnosis. Perhaps autism had liberated us from the corrosive second child obsessing. It certainly ceased the questioning of our parenting abilities. What we were unified on was a steadfast focus on Isaac’s welfare. To embrace the condition; to fight for him; to make up for his troubled first years. And in doing so, we’d become a confident ‘one child’ family. Proud to say it to people. Solely concentrating on Isaac was the sensible thing to do. It sapped all our energy and time. It was best for us, and best for him.
That was the case for the best part of 18 months. It started to dawn on me though that I’d perhaps mis-read – or not read – my wife on the issue. Yes, I believed autism allowed her to dial down the intensity of desiring a second child. Yes, I witnessed her brilliance with Isaac and love for him, making a mockery of any mothering doubts she’d possessed. Yes, she had confronted Isaac’s birth and was dealing with the demons.
But behind our professing peace with having one child, had she really let go? Somehow I had assumed that, like me, she had. The risk of another child with autism was too great. Surely she agreed?
Confronting it not out of the blue, but certainly unexpectedly, I think I’d got things a little wrong. She welcomed the conversation. All conversation in fact. Indeed, back to that torrent of autism truths, one that’s particularly torrid is how many parents of children with autism split up. 7 out of ten. I by no means feel threatened by that, but it’s a useful tool to remind myself that where autism is concerned, transparent and honest discussion is encouraged at all times.
My concerns were now all centred on the not so solid stat (some say higher, others lower) of likelihood of autism in a sibling. She countered me at every turn.
Autism is a spectrum. Children with autism are as individual from each other as children without it are. So if a sibling does have autism, he or she will be different from Isaac.
Indeed, Isaac, as my wife puts it, now comes with his own instruction manual. We know how to handle him, what pushes his buttons, makes him happy, sad, calm, whatever. That manual won’t be applicable if we were to have another child with autism; it definitely won’t if we have a child without.
What about the stress of seeking signs that a sibling would have autism? Yes, she agreed, that would be something to watch for. But it’s totally and utterly out of our control and the likelihood is incredibly low. Remain strong. If something is out of sorts, seek help. So much strain with Isaac was because we didn’t know. Should these challenges repeat themselves with another, we will be equipped to a certain degree.
Seemingly swiftly, but actually deliberately and methodically, she had confronted the second child issues, the probabilities and problems, and emerged confident and content.
I was flummoxed. If she could accept the risk, I surely could too. What was stopping us?
Isaac knows there’s a baby in mummy’s tummy. He processed the information early on. Processed as opposed to comprehended. Even with the baby weeks away, what he really understands I’m not sure. However, his loving, caring behaviour with a baby nephew is reassuring.
The baby’s called Paul Isaac tells us, even though it’s a girl. A girl is statistically less likely to have autism, but more likely to be underdiagnosed. More information that is baffling and not enormously helpful.
I worry that when the baby cries Isaac will be upset because that’s how his mind works. I don’t fear jealousy or vying for attention though because that’s not really in his nature.
What I do know is that as a unit we are prepared as well as we can be. Which means, above and beyond, sticking to the rigid routine for Isaac and not swaying from it. Now, when the baby’s born, and beyond. To always appreciate his autism, so he and we can cope.
Maybe that’s what enabled us to eventually entertain the possibility of a second child. An awareness of Isaac’s autism not a fear of a sibling having it.
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