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As I am writing this I still have tears welling in my eye. Not tears of sadness,or pain, but tears of understanding.
By ten o'clock this morning I had received emails from three different people telling me that the cover story for this week's Time magazine is about autism. By eleven o'clock I left work to go pick up a copy, and have just finished reading the article and all the sidebars over lunch.
Much of what was in the article was things I already know first hand. The statistics are terrifying when you look at them. When Ben was diagnosed seven years ago the rate of autism was assumed to be around 1 in 10,000 people. Current studies are showing that the rate of autism in children under age 10 could be as high as 1 in 150. Five years ago the level of research into autism was basically nil, but finally now there has been an explosion in research because of the pressures being placed on the system by parents, teachers, and doctors.
There is a sidebar in the article that shows brain scans showing the neural activity of an autistic child when being shown pictures of strangers, and then pictures of parents. For decades it has been the prevailing thought that autistics simply could not compute facial recognition, that they don't see other people as any different than a teacup or a wooden post. The discouraging news is that the brain scans show that this is true when it comes to strangers. The good news is that when an autisic sees a picture of their parents their brain lights up just like any other kid.
The part that really brought tears to my eyes, though, was a sidebar by the adult brother of an autistic. When he was three he used to play with his younger brother, wrestling on the ground and tickling. That's the last time he ever played with him, though. He got older, but his brother effectively stayed a child. He is now 35 years old and institutionalized. The family comes to visit on the weekends, but this child in his thirties will never lead an independant life. When people as the writer what it is like to have an autistic brother, his only response has been "I don't know any other life. I have no other brother." That was what shook me to the core.
I don't know any other life.
I have no other son.
By ten o'clock this morning I had received emails from three different people telling me that the cover story for this week's Time magazine is about autism. By eleven o'clock I left work to go pick up a copy, and have just finished reading the article and all the sidebars over lunch.
Much of what was in the article was things I already know first hand. The statistics are terrifying when you look at them. When Ben was diagnosed seven years ago the rate of autism was assumed to be around 1 in 10,000 people. Current studies are showing that the rate of autism in children under age 10 could be as high as 1 in 150. Five years ago the level of research into autism was basically nil, but finally now there has been an explosion in research because of the pressures being placed on the system by parents, teachers, and doctors.
There is a sidebar in the article that shows brain scans showing the neural activity of an autistic child when being shown pictures of strangers, and then pictures of parents. For decades it has been the prevailing thought that autistics simply could not compute facial recognition, that they don't see other people as any different than a teacup or a wooden post. The discouraging news is that the brain scans show that this is true when it comes to strangers. The good news is that when an autisic sees a picture of their parents their brain lights up just like any other kid.
The part that really brought tears to my eyes, though, was a sidebar by the adult brother of an autistic. When he was three he used to play with his younger brother, wrestling on the ground and tickling. That's the last time he ever played with him, though. He got older, but his brother effectively stayed a child. He is now 35 years old and institutionalized. The family comes to visit on the weekends, but this child in his thirties will never lead an independant life. When people as the writer what it is like to have an autistic brother, his only response has been "I don't know any other life. I have no other brother." That was what shook me to the core.
I don't know any other life.
I have no other son.
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