I'm Artistic?

“I’m Artistic?”

It’s about one in the morning and our daughter is stood at the side of the bed. Tonight she has not wet herself but it’s just been a bad dream. I know that I should put her back to bed, but I’m a dad and even though she is seven and built like an eleven year old I still let her jump into bed.

If I’m honest I’m a bit selfish. I’m tired and I really like the cuddles.

It’s the third night she’s come in. The first two she had wet the bed. She’s on Desmopressin tablets (wee tablets we call them) and we laugh about how much she has wet the bed.

I can’t get mad or show concern because I know it will make her really anxious and as I have to be up in 5 hours it’s not a discussion or argument we need to be having at that moment. Besides she can’t help it and after the clean down there’s dad cuddles to come and like all “little daddy’s girls” it won’t be long before she doesn’t want to cuddle her dear old dad.

The annoyance time comes at about eight o’clock (on school nights) when it’s time for the “teeth, wee tablet, inhaler and bed” routine. This is then followed by the putting on of the colour changing night light and then either the “kissing hand” story CD or the Jonas Brothers. Chances are she’ll be downstairs within ten minutes (if we put on a film you can usually know you’re going to be pausing it on the ten and twenty minutes mark like clockwork).

It’s annoying and it’s exactly how every other seven year old acts every night in every house. The difference is we know that bed time is when she’s trying to make sense of the day, she’s working over every little conversation, interaction and action she’s had in the day. It’s usually perceived slights she’s had from other kids and adults, it’s the usually unimportant stuff we all experience everyday but to her it’s the most important things ever.

We know it’s her autism and anxiety but do we sit down and discuss it or do we dismiss it as unimportant? Would we be feeding her anxiety, are we dismissing her feelings as “silly?” or are we just selfish adults who just want to have a sit down and watch T.V. at the end of the day?

I (like many others) know the tossing and turning that comes in the dark replaying every conversation that might have happened that day or year before, sometimes speaking out loud the way I wish I’d had a conversation or catastrophising to the enth degree each of my life’s actions occasionally the physical crunch of regret turning in my stomach. It’s been a constant throughout my life. I can’t count the days I’ve given over to worry. It began to come to a head when my daughter was born and sometimes, if I let myself, I worry that she caught worry off me but even I know it doesn’t work like that.

But I know what she’s going through at night and I want to take it away from her. I can’t take away autism but I can help take away the anxiety.

Anyway let’s not make this about me.

As my wife’s blog will tell you we’ve were waiting a while for the “diagnosis.” But when it finally came it was a bit of a bombshell. I was at work with one of “the lads” laying some turf. I’ve recently left teaching and become a landscape gardener (but that’s a different story). My wife phoned me a bit teary and told me our daughter was autistic. I don’t mind telling you it deflated me a lot and after getting off the phone I lit a cigarette.

Immediately I got, “Stop f’ing smoking and bring me some turf.” “Sorry mate,” I said (or words to that effect), “I’ve just found out my daughter is autistic.” What followed was a strange, misinformed, rude and uplifting “pep talk???”

“So f’ing what?” came the reply, “It doesn’t f’ing matter, people with autism are always dead f’ing bright. I wish I had f’ing autism!”

I didn’t want to go into the nuances of my daughter’s problems with anxiety and social interactions but you know what I couldn’t help admire the lad’s positive spin on the situation. “She’s not f’ing Rain man.” I replied.

I realised later that this comparison was wasted on him as that film was made a good ten years before he was born.

“Yeah but they’re always dead good at stuff. Being autistic isn’t a problem it’s f’ing great.”

If I’m honest I have been kind of agreeing with him for some time. I have to admit that I’ve been hoping for an “autism thing” for a while, you know, some hobby that she fixates on to such an extent that she makes her fame and fortune at it. I had visions of her being interviewed in the future and saying something like, “Yes I am the world’s greatest millionaire, musician, composer, astronaut and it’s all thanks to my autism!”

So this kind of brings me neatly to the title of this blog, “I’m artistic?” The diagnosis came before Christmas but my wife and I had decided to wait till the New Year before we told her expecting a “full on” angst ridden melt down. We were sat in the car going on a longish journey and her brother wasn’t present. We decided this was the time to break the news. We recalled the assessments she’d done in school and at the children’s centre and held our breath for the reaction to the big reveal.

“Well, after seeing you in school and at the children’s centre the people have decided that you are autistic.”

“What? I’m artistic?”