Monday – Cacophony
Dec. 7th, 2010 12:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermore.
.
.
Last week my husband and I were given a draft of the report that will be presented at Wednesday’s ARD/IEP meeting. The psychologist went over it with us, and gave us a overview of what her conclusions are about our son. By in large, her conclusions are kind of inconclusive; he straddles all of the lines of ADHD, Autism, and Emotional Disturbance. She picked Emotional Disturbance – a vague catch-all category that covers everything from anxiety disorder to bi-polar disorder. She said he barely missed the criteria for ADHD on the scale she used to rate him, but that if she had used the scale her own son was classified for ADHD at his school, Sweet Pea would have fit the criteria.
“My gut instinct is that he may be ADHD,” she said, “But he fit the profile for Emotional Disturbance better, so that is what I put down as his classification.”
For the time being, I will accept this. After we have our own assessment done, we can have the IEP adjusted next year if need be. Right now, they need a classification to justify the expense of the paraeducator (a teacher’s aid who supports Sweet Pea one on one) and all of the extra therapies they are prescribing. As long they give him the help and accommodations he needs, the label they use to justify it is of minimal concern.
My gut instinct is that he has ADHD with a heaping scoop of Sensory Processing Disorder on top. The ADHD doesn’t surprise me; there is also a strong family history on my side for ADHD (I can’t count how many of my cousins have been diagnosed with it). Sweet Pea does not sit still for very long (if at all), and his attention span maxes out at about 5 minutes. The sensitivity to noise and sensation doesn’t shock me either; I've noticed it in my husband. Apparently, my DNA is like vinegar and Jeff’s is like baking soda; when put into the same container, the interaction is something to behold.
The Psychologist told us how sweet and loving Sweet Pea is one-on-one, which I knew already but I liked getting her validation of the fact. In a controlled environment in the company of an adult he likes and trusts, with no other children, he amazingly charming if a bit fidgety. But as soon as they step out into the hallway where a crowd of other children are making noise, he changes drastically and often becomes violent.
The report showed the results of the questionnaires that Sweet Pea's teacher, Jeff and I had filled out. The results of the one for autism were particularly interesting when you view our answers side by side. Jeff answered the questions in such a way to indicate that Sweet Pea was pretty much average; because of Jeff's work schedule, he mainly sees our son at home in a calm environment. I answered them in such a way to indicate there were issues that may or may not be autism; I see our son at home and also how he changes in a crowded environment. His teacher described a very, very autistic child. She only sees him in a school setting when his senses are overloaded, and under those conditions, he looks very autistic. Take him out of that environment, and Presto!, he’s cured. Which means the problem is not autism, but something that mimics autism under certain conditions. Which brings us to Sensory Processing Disorder, which is enough to give anyone an anxiety disorder.
Sensory Processing problems are common in both autistic and ADHD children. One of Sweet Pea’s triggers is noise: he can handle a few voices and sounds at a time, but no more. He has always objected to high-pitched sounds, and a room full of kindergarteners speaking is a cacophony of little voices all talking in the range of tones that has driven him nuts since he was a baby.
There is some controversy about whether Sensory Processing Disorder is real, since Occupational Therapists describe it but medical doctors don’t yet accept it. I would like to point out to them that my younger brother has Asperger’s Syndrome, which was not recognized until 1994. My brother showed signs of it from the time he was a toddler in the early 1970’s. He did not become a high functioning autistic in 1994; that was just when the condition he had lived with all of his life was validated by science. I would like to submit my son as Exhibit A for Sensory Processing Disorder. That it is co-morbid with ADHD does not make it any less real.
A person with sensory processing problems lacks filters for incoming sensory stimuli. In a room full of voices and sounds such as the ones in a kindergarten classroom, most of us can focus on the ones that matter such as the voice of the person talking to us. We filter out the noises that don’t matter, like footsteps in the hallway, the sounds chair legs scrapping across the floor, the hum of the air conditioner, the click of the teachers heals, the rustling of papers, and so on. We filter out the voices of the conversations around us, too. But imagine if you could not. Imagine if your ears were particularly sensitive and you picked up every sound, even the quiet ones that other people missed, and they were all equally loud to you because your perception of volume didn’t work right. Now imagine that your sense of touch was also super sensitive, and that you are acutely aware of the vibrations of these sounds make through the chair you are sitting in and the table you are trying to write on. It’s kind of hard to focus with all that racket and shaking going on, isn’t it?
Sweet Pea is a bright little candle, burning nicely in his holder until these sensations wash over him like a bucket of gasoline tossed onto his flame. The laws of his own personal physics give him no choice but to explode when this happens.
Our mission, should we chose to accept it ( and it's not like we have a choice), is to teach him to cope with sounds and sensations and not go ballistic when he feels overwhelmed. I don’t think he will ever like loud, crowed places. His father certainly doesn’t. But when he finds himself in one, he has to learn alternatives to punching, kicking or biting people. To him, the sounds and the jostling feel like an assault, and he responds accordingly. If we can't teach him to filter, we have to teach him to compensate for not being able to. There are techniques for doing this, but they don't work overnight.
After Wednesday, I’ll have an idea of how much support I can expect from the school.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
Last week my husband and I were given a draft of the report that will be presented at Wednesday’s ARD/IEP meeting. The psychologist went over it with us, and gave us a overview of what her conclusions are about our son. By in large, her conclusions are kind of inconclusive; he straddles all of the lines of ADHD, Autism, and Emotional Disturbance. She picked Emotional Disturbance – a vague catch-all category that covers everything from anxiety disorder to bi-polar disorder. She said he barely missed the criteria for ADHD on the scale she used to rate him, but that if she had used the scale her own son was classified for ADHD at his school, Sweet Pea would have fit the criteria.
“My gut instinct is that he may be ADHD,” she said, “But he fit the profile for Emotional Disturbance better, so that is what I put down as his classification.”
For the time being, I will accept this. After we have our own assessment done, we can have the IEP adjusted next year if need be. Right now, they need a classification to justify the expense of the paraeducator (a teacher’s aid who supports Sweet Pea one on one) and all of the extra therapies they are prescribing. As long they give him the help and accommodations he needs, the label they use to justify it is of minimal concern.
My gut instinct is that he has ADHD with a heaping scoop of Sensory Processing Disorder on top. The ADHD doesn’t surprise me; there is also a strong family history on my side for ADHD (I can’t count how many of my cousins have been diagnosed with it). Sweet Pea does not sit still for very long (if at all), and his attention span maxes out at about 5 minutes. The sensitivity to noise and sensation doesn’t shock me either; I've noticed it in my husband. Apparently, my DNA is like vinegar and Jeff’s is like baking soda; when put into the same container, the interaction is something to behold.
The Psychologist told us how sweet and loving Sweet Pea is one-on-one, which I knew already but I liked getting her validation of the fact. In a controlled environment in the company of an adult he likes and trusts, with no other children, he amazingly charming if a bit fidgety. But as soon as they step out into the hallway where a crowd of other children are making noise, he changes drastically and often becomes violent.
The report showed the results of the questionnaires that Sweet Pea's teacher, Jeff and I had filled out. The results of the one for autism were particularly interesting when you view our answers side by side. Jeff answered the questions in such a way to indicate that Sweet Pea was pretty much average; because of Jeff's work schedule, he mainly sees our son at home in a calm environment. I answered them in such a way to indicate there were issues that may or may not be autism; I see our son at home and also how he changes in a crowded environment. His teacher described a very, very autistic child. She only sees him in a school setting when his senses are overloaded, and under those conditions, he looks very autistic. Take him out of that environment, and Presto!, he’s cured. Which means the problem is not autism, but something that mimics autism under certain conditions. Which brings us to Sensory Processing Disorder, which is enough to give anyone an anxiety disorder.
Sensory Processing problems are common in both autistic and ADHD children. One of Sweet Pea’s triggers is noise: he can handle a few voices and sounds at a time, but no more. He has always objected to high-pitched sounds, and a room full of kindergarteners speaking is a cacophony of little voices all talking in the range of tones that has driven him nuts since he was a baby.
There is some controversy about whether Sensory Processing Disorder is real, since Occupational Therapists describe it but medical doctors don’t yet accept it. I would like to point out to them that my younger brother has Asperger’s Syndrome, which was not recognized until 1994. My brother showed signs of it from the time he was a toddler in the early 1970’s. He did not become a high functioning autistic in 1994; that was just when the condition he had lived with all of his life was validated by science. I would like to submit my son as Exhibit A for Sensory Processing Disorder. That it is co-morbid with ADHD does not make it any less real.
A person with sensory processing problems lacks filters for incoming sensory stimuli. In a room full of voices and sounds such as the ones in a kindergarten classroom, most of us can focus on the ones that matter such as the voice of the person talking to us. We filter out the noises that don’t matter, like footsteps in the hallway, the sounds chair legs scrapping across the floor, the hum of the air conditioner, the click of the teachers heals, the rustling of papers, and so on. We filter out the voices of the conversations around us, too. But imagine if you could not. Imagine if your ears were particularly sensitive and you picked up every sound, even the quiet ones that other people missed, and they were all equally loud to you because your perception of volume didn’t work right. Now imagine that your sense of touch was also super sensitive, and that you are acutely aware of the vibrations of these sounds make through the chair you are sitting in and the table you are trying to write on. It’s kind of hard to focus with all that racket and shaking going on, isn’t it?
Sweet Pea is a bright little candle, burning nicely in his holder until these sensations wash over him like a bucket of gasoline tossed onto his flame. The laws of his own personal physics give him no choice but to explode when this happens.
Our mission, should we chose to accept it ( and it's not like we have a choice), is to teach him to cope with sounds and sensations and not go ballistic when he feels overwhelmed. I don’t think he will ever like loud, crowed places. His father certainly doesn’t. But when he finds himself in one, he has to learn alternatives to punching, kicking or biting people. To him, the sounds and the jostling feel like an assault, and he responds accordingly. If we can't teach him to filter, we have to teach him to compensate for not being able to. There are techniques for doing this, but they don't work overnight.
After Wednesday, I’ll have an idea of how much support I can expect from the school.
