I am a HUGE proponent of ABA therapy. When I think back to those early days just after my son’s autism diagnosis I know that I was lost. Lost and wandering. In need of something, anything, to guide me to safety. But I was not even certain that safety existed anymore. And then something incredible happened; we found ABA therapy. And ABA was the thing that pulled us to safety. Day by day we started to feel present in our life. In our new normal life. A life we never imagined.
I cannot think about ABA therapy without thinking of the little green note card that started it all. If I am certain of anything, it is that I will never forget that green note card. For almost a year I had been struggling to talk to my son. Resorting to gestures and guessing games to understand his wants and needs. And then our ABA team rolled in with their magical green note card and changed it all. The card simply said two words “I Need.” I remember going downstairs to participate in therapy during his second week of ABA. My son grew frustrated and was not communicating with us. The technician held up that green card and my son responded instantly “I need a snack.” I was in a total sensory overload. My eyes and ears were stunned.
From that moment forward I was a believer. I was Team ABA all the way. And I still am today. ABA has brought so many wonderful gifts into our lives.
But there is a side of autism treatment that people rarely talk about. No one talks about how hard it is to find services. Or the struggle to find consistency. Or the time and energy parents spend advocating for the services their children need.
As an autism mom I have to walk the line every day. And, parents to children with on-going medical needs know exactly what line I am talking about. The line between diligent mom and crazy psycho path. And you would not believe just how difficult it is to stay on the right side of that line. Because when it comes to our kids it is easy to feel a little crazy. And when our kids are in need it easy to act a little crazy. And slowly but surely you start to feel like Shirley McClain in “Terms of Endearment” screaming for your child to receive the medical care that he so desperately needs.
I call these “my terms of endearment moments”. And if I am being completely honest, I have had a few. Because any parent navigating a long-term medical journey with their child will tell you that when push comes to shove, they choose their child every time. And sometimes that means we go a little crazy. Sometimes we yell when we should whisper. Sometimes we send off reactionary emails when we should calmly meet to talk. Sometimes our instinct to protect makes us pounce when we should shield.
Nothing makes me want to flip a table faster than unnecessary obstacles placed in my son’s path. I know that obstacles are inevitably a part of this journey. And I accept obstacles that arise from unforeseen circumstances. But, I do not have time or patience for obstacles that could have been avoided.
I am not a doctor. I am a mom. A mom taking a crash course in autism. A mom majoring in love and minoring in navigating an autism diagnosis. I know more about fidgets and sensory tools and behaviors strategies than I ever cared to know. But I am not a doctor. So I need to trust the medical staff around me. I need to believe that my son is more than just another patient to them. I need to have faith that our best interests are always in mind.
But sometimes this is hard. Because sometimes it does not feel true. Sometimes we feel like just another family with a required number of hours needed to check all of the boxes.
The truth about autism treatment is that it just is not good enough. Bottom line. Services are too few. Resources too sparse. Waitlists too long. Funding too limited.
We started ABA Therapy in June of 2015 after spending two months on a waiting list and another month on-boarding. In our 26 months with the program we have had 2 case managers and 14 behavioral technicians. And each time we lose a member of the team we lose history, we lose momentum, and we lose progress. We begin the training all over again. And each time we train a new person our son backslides. Once extincted behaviors re-appear and new behaviors multiply.
And everyone tells us to see the silver lining. To welcome the “fresh” energy on the team. To focus on “new” experiences with the eager and ambitious replacement. But maybe I am just too tired and too jaded from the 13 other technicians we have trained to revel in the fresh newness of it all. It is hard work. And it is hard work that we will endure time and time again.
The reality is that this is an entry level position with minimal training requirements and minimal wages. New technicians only train in our home 3 times alongside another technician before beginning one-on-one sessions. The turn-over is high and the cancellations are frequent. And as a mother so desperate for the best for my child, I struggle accepting this. I push back. I ask for more. I fight this battle.
But this is a battle I cannot fight on my own. It is a battle so many parents face every single day. The battle for the quality and quantity of treatment and services and care providers that our children deserve.
ABA therapy is an incredible and life-changing experience for us. But on this journey even the good comes with struggle. So we keep pushing forward. I keep walking the line. And from time to time I step off course. I let my inner mommy psycho path shine through. I give her a pat on the back and then I keep on keeping on. Because there is no map. And, there are no rules. So I am just walking the line. One foot in front of the other. Diligent Mother. Crazy Psycho Path. And everything in between.