One is Silver and the Other Gold

This is the third installment in a series on interventions. Installments one and two can be found here, here, here and here.

***

Part of PDD/SPD/A Little Bit Autistic, what have you, is a deficit in socialization. In my view, what to do about social impairment draws on medical science, treatment philosophy, but also norms, in the general sense. From a normative perspective, I'm of the mindset that it's okay to not be social. If Brad likes solitude, then I don't want to project my preconceived notion of happiness (having a lot of friends) on him. Also, if Brad is quirky, I have no interest in de-quirkifying him. Normal is overrated.

That having been said, I want Brad to be happy, and if Brad wants friends but doesn't know how to make friends, then I want him to have the facility to make friends and if school can further that goal, then I welcome the help. My goal then for Brad is the facility to make friends.

So that's a high level description of our goals, from a parenting perspective.

As for interventions, at school Brad's speech language pathologist joins Brad in class (including on the playground) and focuses on social pragmatics. In english, this means she facilitates play, including greetings, turn taking, sharing, and the like. Sample progress note, from his SLP:

Bradley did a GREAT job today on the playground! I was on the playground and I didn't even have a chance to go up to him to ask him if he wants to play hide-and-seek or tag. He came right up to me and said, "I want to play tag!". There were already two boys playing tag, so I told him to join them, and he just ran right up and joined in the game. He played for a few minutes and only needed a couple of prompts from me to keep going. Then, the boys started playing with a kickball, so I prompted him to keep after the ball in the group. The group then went over to play basketball and he needed prompts to keep up with the ball (someone throws the ball and all the kids run after it -- he just needed prompts to be more assertive and stay with the ball). He was actively engaged in games all of recess and feeling connected with the other kids. When you play tag at home, try having him chase you, and then teach him to run up to you and say in a nice loud voice, "Now you chase me!". After playing tag for a few minutes where he was chasing other kids, he wanted someone to chase him, and we practiced going up to a friend and saying, "Chase me!".

And this:

When I was in class today, I sat with Bradley and made bat, cat, and pumpkins with him out of play dough. We used the language for rolling, pulling, pushing down, etc. Then, I prompted him to show friends what he made, which he did when I prompted him to do so. I prompted him to use a louder voice when talking to friends. He also told his friend that he liked his cowboy costume!

To me, this seems like a nice, safe way to introduce Brad to social situations. I don't see any downside.

That having been said, there are a two social interventions which I disapprove of for Brad, from a normative perspective, and my disapproval is actually in Brad's IEP: (1) no "look me in the eye"; and (2) no social scripting.

Regarding "look me in the eye", at issue I believe is working memory. If you asked me to do long division in my head, either I wouldn't be able to do it, or I'd have to close my eyes or look away while I think about it. This is a normal response. For children who have a weak working memory, a lot of ordinary interactions tax them from a sensory perspective like long division taxes me. That's the way I see it. Also, I've read enough first hand accounts of autistic adults who recall being forced to look so-and-so in the eye, and it's a source of anxiety and instills a sense of failure. When Brad was two and a half, the specialty provider who came to administer Floortime starting doing the face touch, where the therapist gently touched Brad's face under the chin when he wouldn't make eye contact. I told her to stop.

As for social scripting, I just don't like it, and I don't think it's necessary for Brad. Social scripting refers to teaching a child to say, for example, "do you want to hold my hand and walk with me?" the idea being that typical children know to do this naturally and atypical children need to be taught. My thought is that holding another child's hand should come from a place of joy and affection, and not from a place of "if I do X, I'll get external reward Y." But, again, this is normative, in part, so I say live and let live. If another parent prefers that their child learn social scripts, that's fine. For me, I don't want that for Brad. As for prevalence, I don't know about other school districts, but I know that a few children in my district are taught social scripts (and it shows).

Life is a Highway: Part I

This is the second installment in a series of posts on interventions. Last week, I explored a speech therapy exercise that Brad has tried. This week, I muse about something we haven't tried. This installment is divided into two parts.

* * *

"[I]t is remarkable that an intervention that is easily defined and implemented can have important lasting benefits at least to the end of middle school for all students."

To what is the quote referring? Floortime? Occupational therapy? Behaviorial therapy? Diet? A supplement?

Answer: None of the above.

The excerpt is referring to an intervention that is elegant in its simplicity: classroom size. Science Daily reports:

Small classes in early grades improve test scores in later grades for students of all achievement levels, but low achievers get an extra boost. That's the finding of a study on the long-term effects of class size in the November issue of the American Journal of Education.

The study followed 11,000 students and found that:

...small classes—13 to 17 students—are most effective when they are consistent from kindergarten through third grade. Students in consistently small early classes had substantially higher test scores in grades four through eight than students who had been in larger classes. Students at all achievement levels benefited, but low achievers showed stronger benefits in reading and science.

Which is interesting because at least one noted blogger has hypothesized that "sensory processing disorders are probably among the most common reasons children underachieve in school."

Which is also interesting because my school district is amidst a budget crisis and a school crowding problem. The town I live in is having an override vote in December to fund some needed school repairs. If it doesn't pass, the children from the sick building may be forced to fan out into the already crowded grammar schools.

While I can't control how my town spends its money, I can control how I spend mine. Which is to say, I can send Brad to private school, if he can get over the admissions hump and can function without an aid.

I may look back at this very idea as crazy talk, but for now, it's something I'm at the very least considering down the road. Not for preschool, but for K-5 or K-8, when classroom size makes a preciptious jump in the public school setting. Private school offers small classroom size and appreciation of individual learning styles, and some "typical" private schools offer special ed-type services, including services for language and social pragmatics.

That having been said, my husband and I are both public school graduates and believers in the public school system. For most.

Life is a Highway: Part II

Education is a series of roadways. A metaphor. Indulge me.

Public school is a freeway, heavily trafficked and, at times, congested. There are several lanes, each with posted speeds. Drive too fast or too slow, and you're violating the law, which is strictly enforced by the police. The good news is that if you run out of gas or need help, highway patrol is there to assist. And if you need to drive in the slow lane, that option is available too. If you are at least a moderately fast car, the freeway is the best way to get to your destination.

Private school is a quiet country road. You can drive at your own pace; there is no minimum speed. You can drive fast on some stretches of the road, and slow on others. And when you drive slow on the country road, they don't call it "the slow lane." The problem is, if you need help or break down, you're on your own. There's no highway patrol, no one to assist. And on certain country roads, they won't even let you on the on-ramp unless your driving proficiency is at a minimum.

Homeschool is a parking lot. You can learn to drive expertly there, with zero risk of danger and no pressure to drive fast or slow. But you don't get to take in much by way of scenery, and you don't learn how to navigate when there are other cars on the road.

Syllogism-ism: Part I

As I blogged last week, lately I have been concerned about Brad's ability to make those higher order connections. Recall Brad's speech evaluation over the summer. I was a bit - shall we say - prickly in the immediate wake of the debrief with the speech language pathologist. As I blogged, she told me that Brad was rigid and lacked imagination.

So I was reactionary. That's my M.O. when some one tells me something I don't want to hear. But to give me credit, over time, I was able to be objective about the evaluation and appreciate what she was trying to tell me; my reactionary phase was short-lived. Herein lies what separates a denialist from a realist.

She also told me something I hadn't previously considered: he's impaired in verbal reasoning.

"What???" I asked. No, Brad has a communication impairment but his ability to reason is perfectly in tact, I thought. Reasoning and language are totally separate areas of the brain. I read that somewhere. He has a language impairment. And a sensory issue. And a social issue. And poor working memory. But reasoning is intact. It's that simple, I reassured myself.

I hate it when I'm wrong.

After originally dismissing the SLP, I have come to believe that she is correct: Brad does have an impairment in verbal reasoning. What that means (disorder versus delay) and how it will play out, I'm not sure. But that he has an impairment is pretty obvious now that it's been brought to my attention.

Syllogism-ism: Part II

Cue the syllogisms.

To "treat" his impairment in verbal reasoning, Brad's private speech language pathologist engages Brad using printouts like the one pictured above.

It starts with W questions, who, where and what.



Then it moves to "what happened".



And then what I call the syllogism prompt: "what will we do?"

Every week, they work on a new "story" that follows this basic interactive format. The column on the left (the W questions and the syllogism prompt) does not change. The SLP leaves me a printout so I can reinforce and practice in between sessions.

Goals, by their nature, should be something to strive for, not something already mastered, and that's why I really like this intervention. Currently, Brad doesn't really get it. He can't deduce, or problem solve yet. That last "what will we do?" question consistently trips him up. But he even though he can't formulate deductive reasoning, I think he is starting to comprehend these little syllogisms, perhaps in a passive way. But comprehension isn't for nothing. Little by little, I like to think that this type of intervention does exercise those tenuous "higher order" synapses, perhaps keeping them from dying off or causing them to flourish.

I will close with a proof point: I set the table the other day and forgot to set cups with the kids' drinks. Brad: "Mommy, you made a mistake!" (Ha! And it won't be the first, Brad.) Now that's deductive reasoning.

Added: The printouts pictured above were created with BoardMaker.

"Pruning"

When it comes to interventions, much is written about "rewiring" the brain - the theory (and, for some, hope) that intensive interventions can cause an atypical child to be more neurologically typical. Is rewiring possible? I don't think anyone knows for certain.

But it is well settled that you can work with the wires you already have. During childhood, the brain undergoes a pruning process, during which underused neurons and synapses simply die off. This is perhaps the best argument for early diagnosis and early intervention. With early intervention, perhaps we can prevent some of those tenuous synapses from dying off, and the sooner we start, the better the chance for a positive outcome.

With that in mind, in the coming weeks, I will blog about interventions that we have tried. In the upper right, I indicate that we use "moderate interventions." I'm going to try to give that vague statement a little more shape, speaking of course from a parenting/anecdotal POV.

First, a prefatory note about goals. Because, of course, as any special needs mom or dad with an IEP knows, you need to start with goals. About one year and nine months ago, if you had asked me about my goals for Brad, I might have replied that there is only one and that it is that he acquire speech. Flash forward about six months later, I started thinking more about social pragmatics and empathy. I added warmth and humor to the list of goals for Brad. Today, on a high level, my goals for Brad have shifted to intellectual capacity, i.e. making those higher order connections and doing whatever we can today to avoid intellectual disability down the road. Not that communication and warmth and humor aren't goals for Brad - they most certainly are. But I no longer fear that Brad won't acquire speech or develop empathy.