Normally Autistic

I am typing this from the 'Oxford Bookshop' cafe – one of the few places I can use my laptop apart from my room, courtesy of the bhakshi which I paid for a rather dodgy wire to be fitted to the bathroom light (and despite the 'hotels' regulations which stipulate that 'under no circumstances must guests do any business through our staff'). Next to my decrepit laptop, sits a book on 'autism and spectrum disorders'. It found me. It keeps doing that. Each time I stop to look at the section on yoga, for some reason this book waves at me. Perhaps its because it is not where it should be, or perhaps its because its the one word which is spinning around my mind. So now I have taken it on an adventure, across to the cafe, where I am reluctantly flipping through the chapters. Pausing at the sections including definitions and reading and comparing and constructing silent arguments. Why don't I want to believe that Deepa is autistic? Is it because she isn't? Because I want to believe in her – that despite all the off hand comments that compare her to those who have gone before her – that her limited speech development and reluctance to fully participate in the world around her, is a result of her abnormal conditioning.

I re-read emails from the Blind Children's Fund in the USA, reassuring that there is no 'normal' development for a child born without eyes and living in an orphanage. But each day of working with Deepa is so varied and constantly challenging. She is incredible, and will never cease to be nothing but brave and courageous, as she explores the world around her and manages to exist in an environment full of screams and shouts. But at times, I feel I am losing her to her mind. Most of the day seems totally with me. Exploring toys with me, touching my skin as she explores its texture, listening to my voice, pausing if I cough or turn my attention else where. But then she seems to disappear to a place which it is impossible for me to reach. She will laugh loudly for no reason, or flick her fingers on the floor and refuse to stop – possessed by repetition. She detests to 'play' with other children, if she finds my silver bracelet with the bells on she will fight for it until it is on her own wrist, protected by both of her hands, and she care of nothing else other than guarding her prize. Maybe this is 'normal' for a child growing up in a room full of chaos? Maybe not.

Again, I don't want to think she is autistic but why? There is nothing 'wrong' with being autistic, but it does severely limit her opportunities for a 'normal' life if she is. It is hard enough fighting for the rights of a healthy abled child let along one without eyes and working with autism. Everyday I see other autistic blind kids in the orphanage, who have no chance of finding independence, or of making sense of the darkness around them. I read sections of the book and then close it. Denial? Testing myself, I open again and read:

“The term autistic disorder applies to individuals who have social interaction impairments, communication impairments, and repetitive, stereotypic, and restricted interests and activities...Most children diagnosed as having autistic disorder are moderately to severely impaired, having IQ's that fall in the range of moderate to severe mental retardation.”

I close the book again. I feel so sad. I feel like a traitor. I believe in you Beautiful Amazing Deepa.