Broad Autism Phenotype Quiz

In my research I came across a term that I think fits my place in this whole autism debate swirling in my head.
The broad autism phenotype (BAP) is a term used to describe a wide blanket of  social, behavioral, language, and personality characteristics that are not clinically autistic, but close enough to establish a pattern among those related to autistics. So, if you fit the broad autism phenotype, you have some problems and are perhaps quirky, but you are still normal.

I googled it and found at the ever reliable website for all your psychological testing needs (Okcupid)

Field Trip, Part 1

Yesterday, I accompanied Tyoma on his field trip to Currier Orchards. It was a stressful event for both of us, really. Sometimes I wonder if I am not entirely right in the head. I was freaked out by the whole thing, despite the smiles and joking. I felt judged by the other mothers, many of whom were with their typical kids. I felt judged by the good teachers working with T, as if I was not able to manage his behavior as well. And, I judged myself, too. fortunately, there were some moments when I was able to shove all that out of my mind and enjoy the trip. I tell you,  it was hard work.

Why am I suddenly complaining about all of these feelings? Honestly, I've always had them, but I have been so embarrassed and ashamed to share them. writing this confessional is liberating. by learning about tyoma's atypical neurological wiring i am encountering page after page of material that applies to me as well. it is truly shocking to realize that there are other people out there who feel like i do i feel compelled to write this down in case some other person finds themselves as lost anxious and depressed as i have. i don't even know you but i also don't know the folks whose blogs i read. maybe this lends my like some sort of purpose outside of my usual mommy/housewife role. i find value in this role, but sometimes i feel sop tired and bored and completely without accomplishment i had such dreams as a young woman and with utter consistency imanaged to bail on all of them well, not all. here i am in a lovely home with a superlative husband and a probably profoundly gifted child. my health is good but i do need some extra something  i am trying to find this in my art, painting, watercolor etc, but since the first sweet week on fontessa being here, all i can think to do is organize my art supplies or rip pages out of books for collage. it seems to me that i excell in collecting and organizing but that i am paralyzed by the actual creating i think that is what makes art hard while we have a guest in the house.

i know that fontessa is bored and that i am overwhelmed and this situation is not good for us. i don't have any energy left for her i can't even think in Russian let alone have a conversation all i wanted to do was to work on my project quietly in  my little room, but she tracked me down, what are you doing, oh how nice, blah, blah blah, how do i explain that she's not welcome? no one is welcome. i clench my fists  and jaws walking in to may art room. i feel anxious picking up the paints and trying something and I almost begin and i have a visitor, no an intruder. i'm angry at both of us. i know that my reaction is not right, it must be incomprehensible. please no people, no comments don't even look until i am ready to share. that's what is is about-- the control creating something is very private to me and i need my time to be with it and sharing is a choice. this is me trying to build an expression of myself withing a fortress of anxiety apprehension and self doubt and i want to need to be alone with it. so i really resent her presence. it seems as if i can go no where without her following me. she is seeking me out because she needs and thrives on contact. i am avoiding her because she is draining the tiny bit of resources i have to cope with tyoma and the house. i have taken to avoiding her in the extreme, pleading sickness and headaches and holing up in my room without paints looking at books and aching to create. i disgust myself. i don't have the strength to confront her i don't think she'll understand i fear that I'll hurt her feelings she's my husband's mother that's golden. i loath myself for pretending sickness to escape it feels false and i am certain that she must know this but if she knows i need my space why can't she give it?  I encounter  her in the hallway and we waltz. she edges closes and closer. there must be a cultural difference because she always looms inches from my face and it completely unnerves me. I've taken to walking around with a white melamine tray which i angle between us when we talk she will step right up to it and look straight in my fidgety eyes and continue talking at top speed. i can't understand her does she realize this? doesn't she know how fast she is talking? I'm going to crack one day and tell her i am too tired and cant understand her what I'm afraid of is that i will say this in such hysterical way that she will be mortally offended.

Field Trip

Yesterday I accompanied Tyoma on his fieldtrip to Currier Orchards.

It was a stressfull event for both of us, really. Sometimes I wonder if I am not entirely right in the head. I was freaked out by the whole thing, despite the smiles and joking. I felt judged by the other mothers, many of whom were with their typical kids. I felt judged by the good teachers working with T, as if I was not able to mangge his behavior as well. And, I judged myself, too.

fortunately, there were some moments when I was able to shove all that out of my mind and enjoy the trip. I tell you,  it was hard work. Why am I suddenly complaining about all of these feelings? Honsetly, I've always had them, but I have been so embarassed and ashamed to share them. writing this confessional is liberating. by learning about tyoma's atypical neurological wiring i am encountering page after page of material that applies to me as well. it is truly shocking to realize that there are other people out there who feel like i do i feel compelled to write this down incase some other person finds themselves as lost anxious and depressed as i have. i don't even know you but i also don't know the folks whose blogs i read. maybe this lends my like some sort of purpose outside of my usual mommy/housewife role. i find value in this role, but sometimes i feel sop tired and bored and completely without accomplishment i had such dreams as a young woman and with utter consistancy imanaged to bail on all of them well, bnot all. here i am in a lovely home with a superlative husband and a probably profoundly gifted child. my health is good but i do need some extra something  i am trying to find this in my art, painting, watercolor etc, but since the first sweet week on fontessa being here, all i can think to do is organize my art supplies or rip pages out of books for collage. it seems to me that i excell in collecting and organizing but that i am paralyzed by the actual creating i think that is what makes art hard while we have a guest in the house. i know that fontessa is bored and that i am overwhelmed and this situation is not good for us. i don't have any energy left for her i can't even think in russian let alone have a conversation all i wanted to do was to work on my project quietly in  my little room, but she tracked me down, what are you doing, oh how nice, blah, blah blah, how do i explain that she's not welcome? no one is welcome. i clench my fists  and jaws walking in to may art room. i feel anxious picking up the paints and trying something and I almost beging and i have a visitor, no an intruder. i'm angry at both of us. i know that my reaction is not right, it must be incomprehinsible. please no people, no comments don't even look until i am ready to share. that's what is is about-- the control creating something is very private to me and i need my time to be with it and sharing is a choice. this is me trying to build an expression of myself withing a forteress of anxiety apprehansion and self doubt and i want to need to be alone with it. so i really resent her presence. it seems as if i can go no wherer without her following me. she is seeking me out because she needs and thrives on contact. i am avoiding her because she is draining the tiny bit of resouses i have to cope with tyoma and the house. i have taken to avoiding her in the extreme, pleading sickness and headaches and holoing up in my room without paints looking at books and aching to create. i disgust myself. i don't have the strength to confront her i don't think she'll understand i fear that i'll hurt her feelings she's my husband's mother that's golden. i loath myself for pretending sickness to escape it feels fals and i am certain that she must know this but if she knows i need my space why can't she give it?  I encounter  her in the halway and we waltz. she edges closes and closer. there must be a cultural difference because she always looms inches from my face and it completely unnerves me. i've taken to walking around with a white melamine tray which i angle between us when we talk she will step right up to it and look straight in my fidgity eyes and continue talking at top speed. i can't understand her does she realize this? doesn't she know how fast she is talking? i'm going to crack one day and tell her i am too tired and cant understand her what i'm afraid of is that i will say this in sucha hysterical way that she will be mortally offended.

Pearl

vet appointment shelter 3/17/09

Boston, Day 2

Thank heaven we had a GPS.

America's Most Challenging Cities to Navigate

Getting to know a city is a big job, but getting through a city shouldn't be. Unfortunately, some of America's metropolitan areas present a navigational challenge for even the most intelligent, savvy drivers. In fact, according to a recent study conducted by "Best Places to Live" expert, Bert Sperling, Boston is America's "most challenging city to navigate", followed closely by Washington D.C. (2), San Francisco (3), Baltimore (4) and New York (5)*.
Following the national launch of Avis Assist, a mobile phone-based navigation system powered by Motorola's VIAMOTO software, Avis Rent A Car and Motorola teamed up with the city study specialists at Sperling's Best Places to analyze how difficult America's largest 75 cities are to navigate. Many popular business travel destinations ranked high on the roster, including Los Angeles (7), Seattle (8), Chicago (12) and Orlando (15), while other business travel hot spots such as Salt Lake City (61), San Antonio (64) and Las Vegas (65) were dubbed "driver-friendly."


Sperling evaluated the nation's top metro areas according to the following criteria:

-- street layouts (grids, diagonals, windiness, one-way streets); 

-- overall design and layout (how spread out the market is);
-- travel time index; -- percent of congested freeway and street lane miles;
-- bodies of water (rivers, lakes, oceans, bridges);
-- complexity of directions needed to travel from major airports to city center;
-- annual delay per person (person hours);
-- days of snow exceeding one-and-one-half inches; and
-- days of rain exceeding half an inch

Bert Sperling's Top 10 Most Difficult Cities to Navigate

1. Boston, MA
2. Washington, DC
3. San Francisco, CA
4. Baltimore, MD
5. New York, NY-Northeastern NJ
6. Ft. Lauderdale-Hollywood-Pompano Beach, FL
7. Los Angeles, CA
8. Seattle-Everett, WA
9. Providence, Pawtucket RI-MA
10. Norfolk-Newport News-Virginia Beach, VA

Additional Consumer Survey Findings -- When it comes to asking for directions, the age-old gender divide still holds true. 64 percent of women report that they are the ones who have to stop and ask for directions compared to 41 percent of men. -- 68 percent of Americans agree that getting lost causes tension with other passengers in the car. -- Women (71%) are more likely then men (56%) to feel stressed when they don't know where they are.


 I feel a bit too tired to relate our driving mishaps, but they were realy quite amusing. More to come...

Valentinichka!

When the florist rang today to say he was bringing MORE flowers, I was aghast! Fontessa received three lovely vases of flowers in only a week, this would be four! What love! What devotion! What jealousy from me!

When I heard more flowers were on their way, I never thought that they could be for me. This gorgeous vase arrived and I was on the way up the stairs to bring them to her when I noticed my name on them. I thought, “Why would Fontessa’s friends from Philadelphia send me roses?”

D’Oh! They were from Tennisfiend!!! A family first! I was shocked to see “Valenteenichka!” on the note. I took a photo to commemorate the occasion! Thank you Sweetheart!!! These are the lovliest flowers I've ever gotten!

XXOO

DB

Words

I feel like I am the only one who is concerned that Tyoma is not speaking much.  They say that mothers just know when something is not right with their child. So I wonder. Is his pattern of losing words and not saying much a big deal? Is he not learning to speak because I get and do everything for him?

Still,  when I consider my neurotic, imaginative disposition, I realize this is probably nothing. Mom thinks it's nothing. Tanya thinks it's nothing, too.  When we were in 'Cruces she said that E didn't speak until he was older than two.  Now she says she can't remember,  but boys always talk later.  She has dozens of anecdotes about it. I need to chill.

But!  When I consult google, I realize that he is behind. He is nowhere near using two word sentences, he barely uses one word consistantly.  It is so strange.  He'll blurt out some random word and it sounds incredible, but then its gone into the abyss.  I should not be too worried, though.  He knows what things are.  We have lots of picture books and he can point to the pictures correctly.  He also knows at least 12 colors--he can pick them out across a variety of places. He knows the letters of the alphabet, especially X which he points out with much enthusiasm everywhere we go.

Juniper Hell

Heh. I had gin and tonic last night at the hot tub party. Not that I had much, since gin has a nastiness that I associate with Whitechapple and dead prostitutes.  Brrr. Anyway, before I fed Tyoma this morning, I did my usual thing, washing my hands and making formula. Blah. Gin smell.

An hour or two later, I worked in the back yard and came into the bathroom to another gin smell. Blah. I figured that I was either loosing my mind or that gin was truly the most foul drink ever--lingering around my person in an eternal noxious cloud. When Ewbliette came over to visit and I compulsively washed my hands for the tenth time this day--more stink. Heh.

My handsoap is juniper scented! What a relief! I can guarantee that I will not sip a bit of the odious stuff for at least another year!

In other news, Tyoma is walking very well! Ewbliette spent time with him prior to the big trip next week. She will help out mom next Sunday and Monday. I gave Ewbliette all my neurotic legal papers, instructions and  imperatives. With her usual good humour, she laughed heartily over my juniper story. :)

As Predicted...

Well, that took longer than I expected. At 3:am I decided that the blurr near his neck just had to be his umbilical cord. Sigh.

 At 7:am, my sanity returned. Sheesh. Oh! And the sunroom flooded again! Water was six inches up the side of the house and an inch and a half deep in the house. So much for our new patio averting floodwaters. We don't have it too bad, though--the neighbor's chain link fence washed away. An arroyo sprung up on the periphery of their property; it looks like the Colorado River over there!

Sweet Relief and the 3D Ultrasound

I am so relieved to report that Artyom’s appointment with the perinatologist revealed that his heart arrhythmia was nothing to be concerned about. I was so worried for him! I spent most of the night sleepless and became almost hysterical when I could not feel him move first thing in the morning. Sheesh.

The drive to El Paso seemed interminable for everyone. I annoyed both Tennisfiend and myself being neurotic over driving and parking. Other mothers in the waiting room at the specialist’s office seemed sleepy and bored, except for the older pregnant lady in a wheelchair who looked completely miserable. I made a mental note to be more grateful for my life.

The perinatologist, Dr. Topgun, pretty much ignored me, except for the routine health related questions and struck up a conversation with Tennisfiend about North Korea and nuclear weapons. He intently studied the ultrasound, explained why Artyom had a slight heart arrhythmia and that it would disappear at or before birth.

He then examined the rest of the baby’s little organs, proclaiming him to be perfectly normal and healthy. I asked a question or two, and Dr. Topgun made me feel like we had regressed to the 1940’s, when the “little woman” shouldn’t worry when the doctor tells her it’s all going to be okay. I was so relieved that I didn’t even mind. In fact, I’m ashamed to admit that his attitude actually helped me to feel better at the time.

Although in retrospect, it still chaffed a bit, and a non-pregnant, unworried Bestfiend would have certainly asserted herself with dignity and aplomb. To pay me back for a sleepless night, morning panic attack and backseat driving, Tennisfiend (quite chummy with Dr. Topgun, who seemed genuinely impressed with TF’s work with lasers) made me ask the question that I was too embarrassed to mention concerning umbilical cord entanglement.

His answer was totally redeeming. He said, “You can’t let yourself worry over every little thing, bad things can and do happen. You’ll drive yourself crazy if you do. Just focus on being parents. That’s the best you can do.”

Cool. Adding to the warm fuzzy feeling I left the office with, they gave us a nifty 3D ultrasound picture of Artyom. That blurr in the upper right hand corner is his foot! I personally think that he looks just like Tennisfiend, look at those lips! Naturally, he inherited his flexibility from me (not!). I wonder how long it will take me to find something horribly wrong with this picture. I’ll keep you posted!

Heart Arrhythmia

I am so grateful to always take someone with me to my appointments. Today, my midwife, Sarah Seamstress, found a heart arrhythmia with Tyoma. Ewbliette was with me in the office, taking copious notes. All I heard were the words “heart arrhythmia” and I sank into despair and anxiety. I did not seem to hear that 90% of the time that this is developmental and indicative of nothing. After telling me about the arrhythmia, Sarah scooted me over to the ultrasound room “for my peace of mind.” When the tech confirmed the arrhythmia, I heard the concerned in her voice as she asked Sara about scheduling an appointment with a perinatologist. I was so overwhelmed that I spaced out while they discussed whether they should send me to Albuquerque or El Paso. The Ultrasound tech said she’d give me a call tomorrow (translation, in three days) to let me know about the appointment.

I went home and immediately googled everything I could find on heart arrhythmias, and made peace with myself, vowing not to obsess over the problem since I can do nothing. I did vow to give up my daily indulgence of a cup of white tea, since I had two cups today. With less caffeine that a soda, this should not be a problem, but at least I feel like I am doing something.

The best thing I can do for myself is to read Ewbliette’s notes and reassure myself that everything is okay. I am so thankful to have a no-nonsense, non neurotic friend. What a lifesaver!

Toe Gout!

I woke up an hour ago with the most intense pain in my right toe. The pain radiated from my toe knuckle. I got up to take some Tylenol, wondering what could cause me such pain, when it occurred to me that I must have gout. Since the warning flag for gestational diabetes was raised, I have been on a low carb-no sugar diet. That means lots of protien. Protein + painful toe = gout. Anyway, after consulting my medical library, I decided against gout. Then I realized my toe hurt from the awkward way I propped myself up on the Taurus when viewing fireworks. D'oh!

Why I Hate Needles

Every one has something that they dread enormously. After a loathing of black widow spiders, few things unsettle me more than hypodermic needles.

My dread originated when I underwent a glucose tolerance test in my teens. The afternoon-long test took place at our local hospital in a shabby trailer that was half bookmobile and half Big-O Tire Center. I clearly remember downing a nauseatingly sweet, gritty orange drink and having my blood taken at intervals by a variety of phlebotomists in-training. After the third draw, despite numerous frantic pokings, the specialist couldn’t find a vein (or something like that) and she called a nurse for advice.

The nurse recommended drawing from my ankles. The whole procedure seemed endless. Every half hour the jabbing resumed as over-concerned students and the Butcher of Dresden alternately tried to “find a vein.” By end of afternoon I was sore and nauseated. The sight of a needle sent cold prickles up my spine and an oily lurching in my bowels.

As if my transformation into a giant needle-fearing pussy was not complete, a veinogram at nineteen was the coup de gras. Returning late from a date with my Biology Lab instructor (shame on us) and Robert Mondovi (shame on me), I realized that I had locked myself out. I hopped the back fence and crawled in through the dog door to avoid waking my folks. The next day, the pain I experienced was more than a wine induced headache; my left foot and leg ached.

Three agonizing days later, x-rays revealed--nothing. Four days later, our concerned and cautious family doctor sent me to the hospital to have my leg injected with iodine isotopes to check for a deadly blood clot. In a battered room at the local hospital, I made the mistake of watching the nurse prepare my iodine IV. The needle seemed super-size, as if radioactive iodine was granulated like paving sand. I looked away as he inserted the IV and pumpded in what felt like ten million microscopic ants. Within seconds, the ants transformed into ipecac syrup and assaulted my stomach, producing the most intense nausea I have ever experienced.

I told the handsome linebacker-esque nurse that I might be ill. Brusquely, he instructed me to be still or the procedure might need to be repeated. With that, I fainted, transforming myself into a full-fledged trypanophobe . I vaguely recall regaining consciousness, feeling relief to the point of giddiness, and noting that the nurse seemed mildly disgusted with me. Fortunately, no clot was found and a second x-ray reading revealed an elusive stress fracture of my left foot. D’oh.

Since then, I am grateful for my fundamentally good health, as it has reduced my exposure to needles. When I must have my blood taken, I warn the phlebotomist of my squeamishness. Generally, the medical staff is kind to me and engages in my banter, helping me to recover some self respect.

Stranded In My Jammies!

One advantage to working at home is being able to wear your pajamas all day long, but I don’t recommend it.

 At 3:45 p.m. I slipped out the front door to pick a newspaper off the front porch. Unbeknownst to me, the front door closed behind me, and yes, it was locked. Stranded on the front porch in my unlovely but very comfortable J.C. Penney grandma-jammies, I had to resist the impulse to ring the bell repeatedly and scream at the dog for help.

My options were to climb the tall fence that surrounds the back yard and then slowly squeeze through the dog door or go to a neighbor’s and call for rescue. If Sioux, my favorite neighbor, had been home, the decision would have been an easy one. I’d pop over to her place, enjoy some exotic tea, juicy gossip and willfully delay my rescue call by an hour or two.

I determined that the only thing that would have put my pajama-clad self on any other neighbor’s doorstep was a gunshot wound. Surveying the fence, I decided that scaling it would result in a frantic 911 call by whoever found my crumpled body. Then as luck would have it, Sioux pulled up in her golden Taurus. She was quite startled when I ambled up to her and explained my predicament.

Amused and sympathetic, she invited me in just as Egor drove up with a very puzzled look on his face. I had forgotten that he was leaving work early for an eye exam. D’oh! Anyway, I went home and immediately changed into jeans and a tee-shirt. Ten minutes later, I began baking muffins to bring over to Sioux’s. I think they will go well with tea and gossip. I intend to hide a key on her property, in case the next time I lock my fool self out, I’m in my underwear.

Insomnia Toe

At two a.m., an excruciating pain in my big toe woke me up. I lay there, half-asleep and thought, "Toe cancer. I’ve got toe cancer." The pain lingered and sleep would not return. My brain began to turn, "…toe pain = what?…toe pain = what?…toe pain = gout. Gout! Yikes!" I was fully awake then.

I immediately recalled a recent conversation with . High protein diets like Atkin’s can cause gout. I waited ten more minutes in bed, hoping the pain would diminish, thinking, "Gout…gout…gout… I have been eating lots of meat. ….Gout, gout, gout. This really hurts. Gout…" I hobbled to the library and consulted the Readers Digest Book of Illustrated Illnesses. After perusing it and the rest of out health library, I decided I was not afflicted with gout (or even pseudo-gout). It had to be toe cancer.

Only incredible self-restraint prevented me from going online to google "toe pain." From past experience, I know that searching the Internet at three a.m. will guarantee me more than a sleepless night, I’ll be awake and tormented by visions of my own impending and agonizing death (Visit Wrongdiagnosis.com!).

Why do I ponder my mortality so morbidly at night, when at noon I feel immortal? Does the sun have rationality rays intermixed with UVA and UVB? Can I buy a reality screen with SPF 15?

Perhaps this is a valid theory. Consider the effects of lengthening nights on our population’s holidays. Halloween celebrates the longer days with an innocent festival that only the sensitive embrace with frenzied abandon. The derangement culminates around the solstice celebrations (Christmas), when it’s clear that people have collectively lost their minds (the traffic, the tension, the potpourri at Dillard’s). New Year’s drunken revelry and unrealistic resolutions echo the relief everyone feels when the days begin to lengthen again.

Whew. I know someone else has certainly made this connection. Is it paranoid to wonder why the government isn’t doing something? I wonder if the government offed them. Will they off me too? Hmm. I think I’ll buy a full-spectrum bulb sometime soon

Singin' A Song

I was organizing the multitude or washers, nuts, bolts and screws associated with our Big Fence Project in our garage when I heard the Taurus pull up in the driveway. Being in a jolly mood, I sang an improvised "La Cucaracha," expressing my joy over E’s arrival home and tonight’s dinner menu. Without a thought to his being home over forty-five minutes early, I trotted out to greet him at the front door (still singing loudly).
Instead of a smiling E, I encountered the cringing boyfriend of our neighbor Sioux. Apparently he was re-positioning his motorcycle trailer and needed to temporarily park her Taurus in our driveway. The poor fellow was red-faced with embarrassment for me. I laughed and waved. Sioux is well accustomed to my goofy antics--I swear I’ve heard muffled laughter at my vocalizations of "The Broom Song" and "Diggity-Doggy Diarrhea." I hope her guy recovers from his shock.  I’ll compose something special for him this weekend to mark the occasion.