Change can be an enemy. Change disorganizes, disrupts and confuses.  Change can also refresh and relieve.

For over a year, Tyoma has exhibited strange and inconsistent behaviors that did not respond to conventional or intuitive interventions.

At times T is super-charged– as if he inhales pure electricity and discharges it in torrents of motion and sound.   He hops, skips, twists, shrugs and nods. Even in sleep his body twitches.  He snorts, grunts, clacks, chomps and spouts random words.

In our household, this seems rather normal.  Papa and I exhibit motor idiosyncrasies: I am seized by bursts of frenzied finger snapping while Papa smooths phantom wrinkles out of his trousers.

Moreover, our house is rarely quiet (despite the name of my blog). Someone is always making noise. My husband trains his voice with strange and exciting vocal exercises, which I echo with delight.  Orchestras of self-soothing sounds emerge from me as I cook, clean, or fold laundry.

It was natural to assume autism explained all of Tyoma’s energy and sound.  We, his parents, brim with energy and sound ourselves.

When the cursing began and did not end, we knew something was different. This final clue sent us seeking answers. Now we have some and change is afoot.

November 9, Tyoma was diagnosed with Tourette’s syndrome (TS). His motor and phonic tics are classic indicators.  Cursing—the Tourette’s symptom the media hypes—is actually uncommon. Only 8% of Touretters curse involuntarily.

Maybe not every mother says, “Yay! It’s Tourette’s,” but I feel like it.  I fancy baking my son a “Welcome Farty” cake to celebrate.

By identifying TS, our family’s quality of life improves—especially Tyoma’s.  Neurological conditions like Tourette’s require unique and specific behavior management plans.  TS tics are not the same as garden-variety mischief.

In fact, we used many TS behavior strategies intuitively over the past year. When I learned that ignoring tics relieves their severity, I was buoyed.  I can dismiss fears of our parenting creating unrelenting cursing and shenanigans.

We do not intend to “beat” or “defeat” Tyoma’s TS.  Tourette’s is as much of him as autism. We will focus on solutions and insights to promote quality of life for Tyoma and our family.

Come to think of it, this is not as much change as I first expected!

Bad Language: Summer of the Swearing Schoolboy

Bad Language: Our Household History

Compulsive Pestering and My Asperger’s Child

The Monkey-Shower Dream

A few weeks into summer vacation, Tyoma came home from an afternoon of swimming with a new word: Fart.

Coincident with this, I was no longer “Mama.”

My son christened me “Farty.”

I should have ignored him, knowing attention feeds certain behaviors–but I love to lecture. I preached appropriateness and cultural norms. I discussed disrespect and hurt feelings. I diagrammed charts to organize his behavior.

Tyoma attended solemnly and gave every indication of having learned his lesson. Victorious, I gave myself copious pats on the back–my child would never call me “Farty” again.

The next day at breakfast, T blurted out, “Get me some juice, Farty!” I reeled, dumbstruck. He shook his head, “Uh-uhn, Mama.  Mama, may I please have some juice?” I examined his little face for mischief. None. I complimented his manners and made a mental note.

Three days later, the stupids arrived. Mostly, it was just the word “stupid” by itself, but not always. I heard a few “Stupid Mamas” and plenty of “Stupid Farties”.  Appalled, I wondered where this came from.

My encyclopedia of behavioral interventions failed to eradicate offensive words. Recalling his boozle hinking episodes, I decided to ignore him. This choice reduced both our anxiety, yet I was still awash in a sea of stupids.

Midsummer brought the shut ups. No amount of lecturing, positive reinforcement, or consequences helped. In fact, everything I did worsened the shut ups. He began shouting “Shut up!” at the TV and computer. He whispered “shut up” to himself as he read. And of course, there was “Shut up, stupid Farty,” addressed to me, or the cat, or Papa.

Bewildered, I scoured forums, took data, and read books. At last, I consulted our respite provider, Michelle.  A blessing from the start, Michelle is a skilled school psychologist, savvy to all things autistic. Many of Tyoma’s baffling behaviors, she explained, stem from compulsions—irresistible urges.
If a sainted spot in heaven awaits wise and peppy school psychologists, the angels have a berth just for Michelle. Some form of OCD must underpin Tyoma’s behavior, since OCD-specific interventions remedied many behavioral incidents.

OCD should not be a surprise. It thrives in our family.  I take a dash of meds to keep me from repeatedly checking the front door at night.  Nonetheless, after scrutinizing three childhood OCD books, I realized that OCD and autism did not explain our behavioral issues.

Tourette’s syndrome and autism, however,  matched our experiences with uncanny accuracy.

To be continued…