A brief update on Chrissy.

Lots of progress since I last posted.

Seizures and behaviours are now more stable than they've been in years. We finally got there! Chrissy has been able to go out and about, and is really enjoying life.

She now has the continuing healthcare funding that we fought for over such a long period. This should mean that she will get a better quality of care in the community.

She has a bungalow in Winchester through social housing and last week we selected a care provider, so it's all systems go. We hope to complete the transition by Christmas.

I'll post again when Chrissy has moved in.

Being Chrissy's mum

A beautiful day...

But behind the scenes, I'm struggling with feelings of sadness and loss. We were so thrilled to get Chrissy back at the end of last year - to see the return of her zest for life and her enthusiasm for doing jigsaw puzzles, to take her on holiday, out with family, and shopping for new shoes, her grandma's reaction when we took her up north to visit her for the first time in years.....

Now, Chrissy's slipped away from us again and I'm gripped by the green-eyed monster whenever I see or hear about other adults with learning disabilities going out with their parents. It's routine for many such families but for us, outings and holidays with Chrissy are rare and precious events, often fraught with drama, to be celebrated when they go well. Chrissy just can't manage them at the moment and I realise that we're running out of treatment options. Her epilepsy no longer responds to monotherapy and nearly every secondary antiepileptic drug out there has been tried. She is so acutely sensitive to the neurological mayhem these drugs can cause that they stop her living her life. She isn't complying with bathing, teeth-cleaning etc and is still refusing food. Mood swings continue to be marked - one minute smiling and calm, the next screaming and shouting. She is disrobing on the unit but we haven't seen this at home - just shoes and socks off. She has bruises all over her body again from self-injurious behaviour - the only way she can express her distress. Two weeks ago I'd noticed bruising on her neck & had to raise my concerns at a higher level. I've never seen bruising there before & we're now awaiting the outcome of further investigations into how & when it happened. The explanation I got was too vague for comfort.

The weekend before last when that picture was taken Chrissy was so excited to see her brother, Jamie. His girlfriend, Penny, looks a bit like her sister, Alex. Chrissy thought she WAS Alex - & not just fleetingly. When Alex herself turned up later, Jamie and Penny had left. Chrissy transferred the name seamlessly to the real Alex. I'm uneasy about her confusion. She's always known who close family are even if she forgets other people's names. Another point to mention to her neurologist on Thursday when her antiepileptics are reviewed. The deterioration in Chrissy's health & mental state is something that he will be trying to resolve. The unit has no epilepsy specialists - the neurologist is based at a local NHS hospital. There's nothing more the unit can do for her now and, given the current situation, it's detrimental for her to stay there. So why is she still there?

Some of the housing barriers we've faced have shifted but new ones have popped up. We made a successful bid on a council house in the village but, although we were never given the chance to view it inside, we went with the professionals' views that it was unsuitable due to a number of safety issues in relation to where it was situated and the internal layout. The more housing options we consider the clearer we are about non-negotiables but it's hard to keep having your hopes raised only to have them dashed again. There are very few houses that become available in this area but Chrissy still has priority banding so I will keep checking the social housing website. The other option that's starting to look promising is shared ownership. A specialist housing association has finally come on board and we're having discussions about a house for sale nearby that meets their budgetary requirements. They are concerned about the noise impact on neighbours from any house with a party wall, even with sound-proofing, but a detached property is out of the question due to cost. The noise/disruption to neighbours issue must be a common theme with most people being moved out of assessment and treatment units into supported living and the Winterbourne View Joint Improvement Programme needs to address this.

The tendering process for providing the care package is also moving painfully slowly. I know we'll get there eventually but Chrissy has now spent 3 1/2 years in a locked ward. "What must it be like for her?" I asked Ian recently in a tearful moment. "We'll never know," he said. "You try to put yourself in her shoes but you can't see it like she does and there's no point even speculating."

He's right of course and I need to get a grip - but what mum wouldn't feel like I do? My heart is always at war with my head. I long to kidnap Chrissy and bring her home but I know the situation would be unmanageable, and certainly not in her best interests.

Last week Alex asked: "Do you ever resent Chrissy?"

"No," I answered as honestly as I could. "None of this is her fault. It's the situation I resent."

Reflecting on this question today I can recall times when I've felt fiercely resentful, but only in passing, the same way that I resent Ian when he keeps does something infuriating no matter how many times I ask him not to - like dumping his work briefcase on the kitchen floor!

Alex has just started work as a tutor at a unique school for children with autism, using ABA (Applied Behaviour Analysis) http://www.ambitiousaboutautism.org.uk/page/treehouse_school/teachingandlearning/aba.cfm She's very excited about this new opportunity. She has always felt helpless in the face of Chrissy's suffering, even as a small child. Now she feels able to channel her conflicting emotions, and to use her valuable family experiences and training as a psychologist and teacher to improve the lives of other young people who struggle with autism and learning disabilities. Perhaps we can, in consultation with Chrissy's support team, try some ABA strategies once she moves into supported living.

Naively perhaps, I'd once hoped that similar autism-specific approaches would be used in assessment & treatment units & residential homes that claim to specialise in autism. Maybe one day.....



I support Unique http://www.rarechromo.co.uk/html/home.asp & I'm a SWAN (syndromes without a name) blogger

Happy Times!

Ian was away on business so it was just Chrissy & I this weekend. From the moment I picked her up she was jolly and chatty. Throughout her visit there were fewer shouting episodes and, unlike last week, no swearing.

Overall, Chrissy was more compliant and able to focus on the task in hand. This morning I let her take things at her own pace. She chose to play on her laptop before doing anything else. She then let me know when she was ready for her bath and, after I got her dressed, I left her to eat her breakfast on her own with no distractions. Her obsession with food vanished when she came off antipsychotics - but surprisingly she hasn't lost weight. Hopefully we will be able to address her diet when she is living in the community and no longer eating communally.

I was even able to have a shower while Chrissy played quietly downstairs on her laptop. Unheard of! I sneaked downstairs to check that she wasn't stalking one of our cats and was reassured to see that she was sitting contentedly at the kitchen table selecting a DVD. This ability to entertain herself is new - usually, if she is left alone in a room, she seeks us out and shadows us so closely that we get stuck in doorways and fall over her whenever we turn round. She has taken up old hobbies like drawing and writing again.

'My Dinner' by Chrissy

On our morning stroll to the village shop Chrissy clutched her banana-&-chocolate-mousse-in-a-bag and posted my letters then stopped for chats with a lady that used to work behind the till and my neighbour. It reinforced my view that she should move into a familiar community where she will be among people that know her.


As I drove her back to the assessment & treatment unit she kept smiling at me and stroking my shoulder. These genuine shows of affection have been increasing over the past few months. She often spontaneously kisses Ian and I, and says: 'I love you sometimes.'

Only downside is that she's had two nocturnal seizures this week but one or two a week is fine and may account for her calmer behaviour.

Tomorrow Chrissy starts on vitamin B6 (pyridoxine), which may curtail some of the negative behavioural effects that we've seen since she's been on Keppra. I was pleased that her psychiatrist took it upon himself to do his own research & agree to a trial of vitamin B6. Chrissy's neurologist hadn't been convinced.

So this weekend Chrissy's behaviour, ability to engage, alertness, focus etc. were as good as they were just before she went on Keppra but was having too many seizures. Have we finally achieved the successful balance we've been seeking for so long?

Only time will tell....




I am a SWAN UK (Syndromes without a Name) blogger

Epilepsy & Behaviour (2)

I first posted on the reciprocal relationship between epilepsy & behaviour a year ago http://jgregorysharingsstories.blogspot.co.uk/2012/01/epilepsy-behaviour.html This post is on the same topic with a different drug.

At the end of last year I told how we'd got Chrissy back at last. Unfortunately her seizures took over and, just before Christmas, Keppra was introduced as an adjunctive antiepileptic to Epilim. Since then perfect seizure control has been achieved but her behaviour has become increasingly bizarre. Since Keppra's most serious adverse effects are behavioural, we need to closely monitor its benefit-risk ratio for Chrissy.

Ten days ago I agreed with Chrissy's doctors that we should halve the dose to try to achieve a better seizure/behaviour balance. Last week I thought things had levelled out when her ward manager said that she seemed much more herself. Trouble is he'd only called in to see her in passing, & appears to have reported a snapshot view. Other ward staff have reported similar behaviours to those we've seen - shouting, swearing,& inability to focus. Yesterday her nurse told me that she was too distracted to take her morning meds - although they somehow got her to take them eventually.

At the weekend we, too, were unable to get Chrissy to focus on the task in hand. We were dismayed to see how bad things had got. She had periods of being herself then suddenly exploding into staccato roars & shrieks: 'Mummy! Shut up! Bastard shit! Fucking bitch! I spit at you!' It's like someone with Tourette's Syndrome on overdrive. She either stalked us as if she was trying to goad us or took herself off to a chair on the landing, still shouting. These shouting episodes can last for an hour or more, and even when she settles she's still very restless and whingey.

On Saturday morning I had a struggle to get her to focus long enough to climb into the bath, take her tablets or eat her breakfast. She kept up a constant stream-of-consciousness commentary as if she was on speed. She eventually exhausted herself, & my patience. At one point she said: 'Chrissy's poorly & screaming.' (In fact we haven't seen any screaming, stripping behaviours.) 'Poor Chrissy,' I said, & signed: 'Are you cross or sad?' As she answered & signed 'sad' my heart melted & my irritation with her evaporated.

Eventually she sat cross-legged on her bed & said: 'Who's that? What's that name?' I followed her gaze to the foot of her bed. Did the pattern in the rails look like a face to her? 'There's no one here,' I said. 'Is it a witch?' she asked. (A new word she uses frequently but not always appropriately!) She leaned forward & pressed a gold circle in the pattern that looked like a button. 'It doesn't work,' she observed. Then she started shaking the curved rails at the end of her bed as if she expected to bring them to life!

Since all the medication changes Chrissy has been far more aware of everything around her but this was very odd. She then asked me to 'do' her covers, burrowed into them & said 'goodnight mummy.' I left the room & when I came back 10 minutes later she was fast asleep. It's unheard of for Chrissy to get into bed fully clothed without asking for her curtains to be closed, whatever the time of day.

All these changes in Chrissy's behaviour & normal routines make me feel very uneasy. It's as if her personality is being sabotaged.

I had first discussed the timing of the dose with her ward manager 11 days ago. We'd agreed that it made sense for the dose to be given in the evening, as most of her seizures are nocturnal. However, for some reason Chrissy's doctor had prescribed it in the morning. I am still waiting for him to review the prescription. I had also passed a message on to Chrissy's doctor to ask him to consider adding vitamin B6 as studies have shown vitamin B6 deficiency may occur with some patients on Keppra, and that its addition can curtail some of the adverse psychiatric effects. I'm still waiting for answers & hoping that this is a temporary setback that we can find a way through - otherwise we're on the roller-coaster ride of yet another drug trial.



I am a SWAN UK (Syndromes without a Name) blogger

Catching up & Moving on

The last time we'd taken Chrissy to her step-nan's (pictured) was over five years ago. The four-hour journey had been gruelling with a distraught Chrissy repeatedly undoing her seat belt, and screaming, self-injuring and wedging herself into tight spaces.

Last weekend's journey was very different. Apart from the odd burst of repetitive questions, Chrissy settled down in the front seat next to Ian and was content to watch the world go by. When we stopped off at a service station she never once tried to escape to explore the numerous glittering attractions we saw en route to the Ladies. Unheard of!

When we arrived at her nan's Chrissy rushed inside to greet her, grinning from ear to ear. 'I never thought we'd see her like this again,' her nan said, all teary eyed. 'I thought we'd lost her.'

I welled up too as I watched Chrissy taking everything in. She had seen her nan earlier this year when she'd come to stay with us, and she knew who she was. I'm not sure that she recognised the house though. Then her face lit up again as she spotted her sister, Alex, who had come down from Manchester. We hadn't told Chrissy she'd be there or she would have obsessed about it on the way up.



Chrissy is always thrilled to see her siblings. Normally, unless she sees someone regularly she struggles to remember them but she always knows who her younger brother, Jamie, and little sister, Alex, are. The evening went well but Chrissy ate voraciously. We are always trying to distract her and discourage her from overeating but at times, she constantly demands food.

Her happy mood gradually dissipated on Saturday. This often happens after she's been particularly bingey. Something kept coming over her - we never know what - but she suddenly becomes distressed for no discernible reason, and starts screaming, twisting her hands, bending her fingers back and pulling her hair, then she snaps out of it and gives us a beaming smile.

Another mum posted something on a forum that reminded me how difficult things once were for us, and for many other parents of children that have this rare disorder:

''My son's behavioural issues/outbursts/tantrums have escalated so intensely that we don't know what to do anymore. When he gets upset, which is often and for no reason, he is un-calmable. He is incapable of self-soothing, and literally needs me to physically calm him down, rubbing him, deep breathing - sometimes yelling to snap him out of his ritualistic obsessing. It's more than I can take right now and I'm not sure what to do. He woke last night with such emotionally disturbing tantrums and terrors that both my husband and I were in tears......''

Although this desperate mum's description propelled me back to dark times, it also made me realise how far we've come. Chrissy's behaviour will always present challenges to people that look after her but we attribute recent improvements to her revised meds regime. She's still on Prozac but off all antipsychotics. Her behavioural outbursts rarely escalate, her overall mood is much happier, and we can take her out. She continues to be far more alert and engaged in what's going on around her. Her hilarious, stream-of-consciousness observations are back too, giving away all our best-kept secrets! 'Nanny blue jacket, grey hair!' 'You don't like dogs do you mummy?' she declared to my mortification as her nan's adored border collie entered the room. 'Ian farts sometimes,' was another random pearler she uttered loudly and clearly in front of his family. She also threw in a few 'bastard shits' and a couple of 'fucks' for good measure.

The visit was a success, despite Chrissy's changeable mood, and seeing her pleasure at being around loved ones has helped me to re-evaluate what she needs from a supported living placement. I yearn with every fibre of my being to keep her close by where I can protect her and see her more often - but it's not about my needs as a mum - it has to be about what's best for Chrissy. Her psychiatrist and a housing adviser suggested that she'd be better off living in a nearby town. Good public transport links and local amenities would give her more choice of staff and activities, and she wouldn't keep bumping into me while she was out and about. I believe the benefits of living in a community that she's familiar with far outweigh the benefits that are being advocated for her living elsewhere. Chrissy would lead a more fulfilled life if her home was in a familiar place where she has connections to the local community and people that love and care about her. To gain these connections in an unfamiliar place would be a very forced and difficult process for someone that needs 24-hour care and functions at the level of a toddler. Are we in danger of using the 'one size fits all' approach to supported living that is all too often the reason why residential placements break down?

And if it is agreed that Chrissy should live in our village, will government policies dictate otherwise? The current housing and support system is failing many people with a learning disability, who face a lack of housing options due to welfare reforms and budget cuts. Housing benefit caps make rent unaffordable and, although Chrissy can apply for exemption, many private landlords won't accept tenants on benefits, let alone one with a learning disability. Social housing is also inaccessible in some rural areas with specific local connection eligibility criteria. Chrissy wasn't considered for the newly built affordable housing in the village because other applicants that have lived and worked here for years have a stronger local connection. Our only hope is that a suitable, reasonably priced house will come up for sale and a registered landlord will agree to purchase it, and rent it out to Chrissy, possibly in a shared ownership capacity. Struggling to unravel all the supported living red tape makes you wonder if it's delivering on its promise of offering more choice, control and inclusion.

Here, an excellent report by Mencap explores the barriers to successful independent living arrangements, and suggests a national strategy for housing people with a learning disability.
http://www.mencap.org.uk/download-housing-report



I am a SWAN UK (Syndromes without a Name) blogger

Assessment and treatment units

A wonderful weekend with Chrissy. Her sister, Alex, and her nana were staying, & we made a Halloween pumpkin. Chrissy called it a witch! Her nana hadn't seen Chrissy for a few weeks and was amazed at the transformation in her now all the meds changes have been done.

But would this have taken place if Chrissy hadn't gone into an assessment and treatment unit? These units are getting terrible press with the latest Panorama Winterbourne View investigation on TV tonight. Politicians and learning disability charities are calling for these 'dumping grounds' to be decommissioned without delay - but don't we need robust alternatives in place first? Anyone who's read my previous posts will know that we've had our issues with Chrissy's ATU and I'm sure there are lots of awful ones like Winterbourne View - but you can't lump them all together. The truth is, it was her only lifeline. Community-based services failed her time and time again. People that present with the most challenging behaviours usually have complex needs that can't always be met in the community. Support workers need better pay & training, and don't get me started on communication. Many of Chrissy's support workers in the past have barely been able to speak English. The best learning disability psychiatrist Chrissy has ever had is the one at the ATU. It pains me to admit it, as we haven't always seen eye to eye on every aspect of Chrissy's treatment, but she's pretty impressive! Other psychiatrists that Chrissy's had in the community have been, at best, out of their depth &, at worst, haven't had her best interests at heart. In a nutshell, a vulnerable adult with challenging behaviour & complex needs can be extremely difficult to manage in the community. If community learning disability teams were up to the job, why has it taken SEVEN YEARS from the start of her deterioration for Chrissy to recover & be herself again?

We learned at last week's care planning meeting that Chrissy is due to be discharged from the ATU in the next couple of months. I'm very nervous about her leaving the unit's health-focused environment. Her epilepsy is still unstable but I'm hoping it's just a blip while the last of her previous meds leave her system - she can react strongly & paradoxically to even the smallest meds change.

To end on a very upbeat note - at the meeting, all Chrissy's therapists expressed their delight at her progress since the last lot of meds changes. They reported marked improvements in her cognitive skills, attention span & willingness to engage with others. She thoroughly enjoys going out shopping and on woodland walks and it's hard to remember the last time she disrobed during an outburst. These recent, very marked, improvements strengthen our case that she needed meds changes, not simply changes in her environment, to retrieve her quality of life. How on earth could the meds changes have been done in the community with what it has to offer currently? Badly run ATUs are the tip of the iceberg. Closing them down without suitable tried & tested alternatives in place is not the answer.


I am a SWAN UK (Syndromes without a Name) blogger

Battle Weary but Making Progress

Chrissy age 9. The start of more turbulent times. Note self-inflicted scratches on face & around eyes

As we continue to marvel over Chrissy's emergence from medication-induced cognitive impairment and behavioural changes, we are looking at her future care options. Although we haven't got a discharge date yet, we're nearing the end of Chrissy's treatment but can't make firm plans until the funding dispute is resolved. A personal support package needs to be in place before Chrissy can take up any housing options that may be offered but despite the efforts of a solicitor, an ombudsman and ourselves, progress is still painfully slow.

A mum that faces similar challenges to ours said she has always tried to take a reasonable approach but feels her constant efforts to improve her disabled child’s life are an uphill battle without any action. Another parent said she was in despair as she doesn’t see any significant changes coming to ensure good, long-term care for her child. ‘I’m sick and tired of all the stress and worry, and the coping,' she says. 'I want to be heard. I’ve had enough.’

Battles can start early on when you have a child with a learning disability, particularly if the cause is unknown or the child has complex needs. My book ‘Bringing Up a Challenging Child at Home’ http://www.jkp.com/catalogue/book/9781853028748 describes my attempts to get someone to take my concerns seriously. No one ever sat me down, and took time to listen and explain anything. I was always asking ‘what’s wrong with my child?’ I felt like I was being fobbed off and became increasingly frustrated.

Eventually, it became chillingly obvious that something was wrong. Chrissy was diagnosed with epilepsy when she was 10 months old and, later, with developmental delay. She received physiotherapy, occupational therapy and speech therapy but these services were snatched away when we moved to a different area. It was our first experience of the postcode lottery but not our last - a decade later Chrissy's respite care allocation was halved when we moved to another county. I didn't know how to go about challenging these decisions but I've since learned that it's only those who shout loudest that get the help their child needs.

During Chrissy’s early school years things went relatively smoothly. She had sufficient support in lessons to help her to achieve her potential and was under the care of Great Ormond Street Hospital, who took quite an interest in her. It was only as she grew bigger and more difficult to manage that the battles began in earnest. Health professionals and Social Services seemed to write Chrissy off & wouldn't offer sufficient support. I guess no one really knew what to do and they feared that they would carry the can if something went wrong.

When Chrissy was nine doctors began prescribing anti-psychotics and sedatives to try to subdue a particularly intense outburst cycle but the episodes escalated and became more violent and prolonged than ever. Over the next four years there was one crisis after another as her SLD school struggled to cope and so did we. We were using behavioural intervention strategies but they only helped with day-to-day challenging behaviours, not with these more severe episodes.

Finally when Chrissy was 14 Ian and I snapped after she'd had several days of frenzied self-injurious outbursts while on the anti-psychotic, Haloperidol. Somehow we got her down to our local children’s ward. 'This is our daughter, Chrissy,' we told an appalled nurse,'and we're not taking her home until someone helps her.’ We had a heated discussion with hospital staff when they realised we were sticking to our guns but once they got a handle on the situation they agreed to help. I’ve described Chrissy’s transformation in just 14 days after those meds changes in previous posts. For the next few years things ran relatively smoothly again - but when her meds were withdrawn after the platelet drop, I was propelled back into the fray.

The dreaded anti-psychotics were re-introduced, and Chrissy's behaviour & quality of life deteriorated again. Her doctors wouldn't accept anti-psychotics were making things worse AGAIN, and argued instead that it was all down to her being in the 'wrong' environment for someone with autism. There were endless disputes over the right course of action to take and Chrissy was stuck in the middle. In 2008 after another awful cycle of extreme outbursts, she was given 28 days' notice of eviction from her residential care home. I fought a legal battle to give us extra time for a transition to another care home, then when that placement broke down amidst the all-too familiar backdrop of medical professionals doing nothing and citing the 'not-fit-for-autism' environment, I had to take legal action again on two separate occasions to get Chrissy into hospital for assessment and treatment.

While parents of neurotypical children face occasional set-tos our battles are never-ending and instead of stopping when they become adults, they get worse. There's always another 'concern' to address along with major ongoing issues rumbling in the background, and we go through periods of reeling from one crisis to another.

In my previous post Groundhog Day http://jgregorysharingsstories.blogspot.co.uk/2011/10/special-saturday-post-groundhog-day.html I describe how I feel like I'm continually revisiting the same issues. For example, last year's admissions and apologies from the NHS trust about making a ‘dog’s dinner’ of Chrissy’s assessments for healthcare funding, and their promises to rectify the situation with properly conducted assessments and thorough investigations have come to nothing. I"ve lost count of how many times my hopes have been raised like this. Another parent described it as like kicking a football around a triangle. You are in the centre of the triangle created by professional services and your issue just gets kicked around from corner to corner as the professionals that you go to for support pass the buck and blame each other. After going down all these frustrating routes of trying to get someone to take responsibility and action you are left back where you started to kick the football from.

Meanwhile, Chrissy's epilepsy remains unstable, and other health worries keep cropping up that leave me feeling acutely aware of the fragile balance between symptom control and quality of life. We intend to make the most of the good times while they last. That's why we're taking Chrissy on holiday to Center Parcs at the end of the month. Wish us luck!


I am a SWAN UK (Syndromes without a Name) blogger

Another Outing & Feeling Torn...

Out for Sunday dinner with sister & cousins

Third proper outing in the past month or so. At first we ummed and ahed about whether to take Chrissy with us as she woke up on Sunday in such an unsettled mood. Feeling torn is part of being Chrissy's mum. It's hard to know what to do for the best because she is so unpredictable.

The day got off to a difficult start. Chrissy was shouty & repetitive as I was getting her dressed, she then blundered into Alex's room and woke her up. Result one very stroppy Alex, who'd been up until 4am lesson planning for her new teaching job. 'If you take Chrissy I'm not going,' she announced.

'No, we'll drop her back.' I was hedging my bets. I planned to make up my mind once we got nearer the restaurant. Chrissy's ATU was very close by so we could do a detour if necessary.

On the journey there, Chrissy obsessed non-stop about food. We tried all the tricks, getting her to repeat our answers back: 'What did we say Chrissy?' Signing zip it up & 'yes' instead of giving verbal feedback & so on. Nothing worked but optimism prevailed. We owe it to Chrissy to keep taking chances on her and I banish memories of previous disasters. Onwards and upwards!

Our table was perfectly positioned in its own room. It wasn't completely private - people could walk through it to the garden - but it was a handy escape route for us too! I prayed that sausages, Chrissy's favourite, would be on the menu & that somehow we could get her to wait without kicking off. Ian was a star - he drew sausages, wrote s-a-u-s-a-g-e-s & got her to copy it, & asked Chrissy what she would be eating with her sausages. 'Is it tomato sauce?' 'Is it mashed potatoes and gravy?' A diet coke with two straws and no ice was duly served to Chrissy. She eyed it warily because it wasn't in her usual bottle or cup, and we breathed a sigh of relief when she accepted it, topped up with water, just as she always likes it.

During the wait for food, Chrissy grew increasingly curious about what was going on around her. She introduced herself to her reflection in a mirror on the wall above the table, then, clapping, flapping and talking at the top of her voice, she made her way, like a galleon in full sail, towards the main dining area. There was no stopping her so I grabbed her hand and managed to steer her past the bar and other dinners to the loo, then back again to her seat. People politely pretended not to stare and I politely pretended not to notice.

Ian then managed to divert Chrissy outside and I left him to it. Sometimes Chrissy can be overwhelmed by two people talking to her and directing her. After 10 minutes I went to check everything was ok and found Ian patiently pushing her on a very sturdy swing in the garden. The expression on her face was beatific. She was the most relaxed I'd seen her all day. Another item on the 'shopping list' for Chrissy's new home.



After dinner Chrissy nagged obsessively about pudding. After pudding it was 'I want sandwiches' but we got through it all without mishap and, although Chrissy's mood wasn't as good as it can be, she enjoyed her meal out. As Alex says 'it's like she was about to kick off but somehow she never did.'

Then came the part that tugged at my heartstrings. We took her back to the ATU and her face crumpled. 'I want to come home,' she sobbed. Tasha, a carer she really likes sat with her for a while & managed to distract her with a picture book. Then Chrissy called out 'bye!' to us quite happily.

I was told that she had been crying to come home in the week too. This is another effect of Chrissy waking up after medication changes. She knows all too well what she wants and she's telling us loud and clear. I can't put into words how torn & guilty I feel over this & I wouldn't mind betting that many other mums in my situation feel the same. I rationalise it by telling myself that she's an adult and most people her age live independently anyway but she's like a toddler - so terribly vulnerable; Ian reminds me that one day we'll no longer be around, so she needs to get used to living away from home; I remember how hard it was to let go when I first had to accept that we could no longer cope. It gets easier but the ache never goes away. You just have to find a way to live with it.


I am a SWAN UK (Syndromes without a Name) blogger

Dear MP.....

Please read Mencap and the Challenging Behaviour Foundation’s ‘Out of sight’ campaign report which tells the stories of James, Joe, Emmanuel, Victoria & my daughter, Chrissy http://www.mencap.org.uk/sites/default/files/documents/Out%20of%20sight%20report%20Easy%20read.pdf In the report, you hear from their families, about the terrible neglect and abuse their loved ones have experienced. Please email your MP today and ask them to take action to make sure this never happens again http://bit.ly/NVtsBS

One of the worst cases in the report is that of 38-year-old James, who has spent five years at an assessment and treatment unit located 150 miles from his home. In this time, James has experienced sexual and physical abuse by other patients, numerous unexplained injuries, neglect by staff and has had multiple medical complaints left untreated. James’ parents have been desperately fighting to have their son moved to a service nearer to home.

Since the BBC’s ‘Panorama’ exposed abuse at the Winterbourne View assessment and treatment centre, last year, Mencap and the Challenging Behaviour Foundation have received 260 reports from families about abuse and neglect of people with a learning disability in similar services.

There are currently hundreds of people with a learning disability in assessment and treatment units like Winterbourne View, and other similar services. Many of these are located hundreds of miles from people’s homes, where they are at particular risk of neglect and abuse. We're lucky, we fought tooth and nail to get Chrissy placed in an assessment and treatment unit only a 30 minute drive from our home, and she visits us every weekend - but until recently service fell far short of expectations. Worse still, commissioners failed to follow up on her progress, ignored communications and did not attend care planning meetings. I've had to take numerous steps force them to take responsibility for meeting Chrissy's complex healthcare needs. A significant contributing factor is a four-year Ordinary Residence funding dispute between the NHS and local authority.

While these units were developed to provide short-stay, specialist treatment for people with a learning disability who have experienced a crisis, in reality, over half (53%) of patients remain for two years or more and nearly a third (31%) stay for more than five years. Assessment and treatment units have been described as “dumping grounds” by learning disability experts. Chrissy has been at her unit for over two-and-a-half years and is nearing the end of her treatment but, despite her complex needs and the Challenging Behaviour Foundation's assertion that it can take 12-18 months to find places in the community for someone like Chrissy, commissioners refuse to start planning her discharge and have repeatedly broken promises. I have had to take on care management responsibility and drive every aspect of Chrissy's care while the NHS commissioners who pay for her treatment turned their backs on her.

Since a change in leadership the hospital are finally doing everything I wanted them to do for Chrissy in the first place, so I DO see the need for assessment and treatment units in crisis situations like the one Chrissy was in but they need to be as Mencap and the Challenging Behaviour Foundation describe, and subject to closer scrutiny by outside services, especially responsible commissioners. The pathways to transition patients into these units need to be far better managed too. After two traumatic residential placement breakdowns, we had to force the NHS trust's hand to get Chrissy into a local unit - they wanted to send her 65 miles away to a unit near Gatwick that had a bed-blocking problem and could give no definite admission dates. They are currently funding Chrissy's place at the assessment and treatment unit on a 'without prejudice' basis.

The government must urgently address these systemic failings in the care of people with a learning disability. Please contact the Secretary of State for Health and urge him to ensure that the government’s final report on Winterbourne View commits to a strong action plan to close large, institutional-style services and develop appropriate local assessment & treatment services for people with a learning disability. What has happened to the people at Winterbourne View, and those in the ‘Out of sight’ report, must not happen to anyone else.

Please also attend an important debate secured by Tom Clarke MP on this issue. It is an end of day adjournment debate on the abuse of people with a learning disability, on Monday 3 September.

Yours sincerely.....




I am a SWAN UK (Syndromes without a Name) blogger

Living without a Diagnosis

I wrote this piece for Women's Realm when Chrissy was 12....

Chrissy is mad about music. Last summer the whole family went to our local fete in Hemel Hempstead where a brass band was playing. Before I knew it, Chrissy had barged past the conductor and was conducting the band herself! Fortunately the musicians found it highly amusing.

This eccentric, endearing behaviour is typical of Chrissy, who finds it impossible not to start dancing if we go into a shop with background muusic. She has moderate to severe learning disabilities but I don't know the exact nature of her problems. I've never been told what to expect from her in the future, and, hardest of all for me to come to terms with is the fact that she's never had a diagnosis.

I've battled through some tough years and I know there'll be more obstacles ahead, but I've learned to enjoy Chrissy's cheerful, funny manner and to live with her violent tantrums and obsessive behaviour.

When Chrissy was born, 10 days late, there was no indication that anything was wrong. My husband and I were thrilled with our first-born. We used to call her our 'air-traffic controller' because she waved her arms so vigorously.

The first signs that something might be wrong were feeding difficulties, poor weight gain and a general floppiness. Because I was an inexperienced first-time mum, I wasn't sure what was 'normal,' but I gradually realised that something wasn't right. I was gripped by a terrible anxiety and would be awake at night wondering what it could be. Every time I talked to my husband about it, we argued, and he made me feel that I was wishing problems on Chrissy. My mum agreed that something might be wrong, though she said my sister, brother and I were all late developers. My brother didn't walk until he was 18 months old and went on to read history at Oxford University!

When I look back over the early, bewildering times, I wonder if I would have enjoyed Chrissy more if I had expected less of her. I spent ages coaxing her to do what other babies did naturally - to reach out and touch a toy, or eat something. I couldn't help comparing her to other babies around the same age who were larger and more forward than her.

After a health visitor noticed Chrissy's poor head control, she was referred to a paediatrician. By then she'd started to have epileptic seizures so she was sent for a brain scan. We were told it was normal and that Chrissy was a delayed developer. When I asked questions I felt that I was being dismissed as a neurotic first-time mum.

Whenever Chrissy was admitted to hospital with her uncontrollable seizures, I'd sneak a look at her notes, wondering if they contained clues as to what doctors suspected was wrong. I remember reading one note by Chrissy's paediatrician: 'Mrs Gregory came to see me, worried as usual. Asked again if her daughter was handicapped.'

I went through a sort of grieving process. Sometimes I felt angry; at other times I would cry myself to sleep. I began to read books to try to diagnose Chrissy myself. I read one book about a family coming to terms with having a baby with Down's Syndrome, and began to think how different it must feel to have a label given to your child early on - but then I realised that many children with recognised syndromes don't follow a guaranteed pattern of development. Some children with Down's Syndrome have profound learning disabilities with life-limiting health problems while others are very able and healthy. It was some comfort to learn that, for about 40 per cent of children with learning disabilities there is no known cause or name for their set of symptoms.

After much persistence on my part, Chrissy was referred to the Great Ormond Street Genetics Clinic when she was nearly two. The geneticists tried to answer every question I had and gave the impression that they had all the time in the world for us. Every inch of Chrissy's body was examined, and all abnormalities, such as her weak muscle tone and short stature, were logged into a central computer to see if they were indicative of a certain genetic condition.

Two syndromes were suggested as possibilities but chromosome tests were needed. I looked through medical books and couldn't see how her particular characteristics fitted either syndrome and, in due course, we were were told that Chrissy's chromosomes were normal.

My search for answers continued. We were seen about every four years at the genetics clinic. One geneticist thought Chrissy was similar to children he'd seen with something called Smith-Magenis Syndrome. When I read more about these children I thought I'd finally found out what was wrong - Chrissy shared so many similarities with them, such as prolonged periods of distress and her way of flapping and clasping her hands in a strange manner - but the tests showed that Chrissy didn't have the characteristic deletion on a chromosome that's associated with Smith-Magenis Syndrome.

At this point, I stopped searching for answers. I saw how fruitless it was to be so fixated on the idea of a diagnosis - after all, we'd already learned to accept Chrissy's problems and love her as she is.

Our day-to-day life can sometimes be fraught. It's difficult for us to go out as a family because Chrissy finds new environments unsettling. Sometimes I dread taking her out on a routine outing - say to buy her new shoes - because her behaviour can be so unpredictable, and her siblings get upset when Chrissy barges into their rooms uninvited or breaks their possessions. As she grows older her outbursts become more difficult to manage. She still has prolonged periods of distress with no apparent cause. We call them her 'screamings' and they can last for over two hours. Sometimes she'll have two or three in one day and will deliberately harm herself. No one can tell me why she behaves like this and, although I've dealt with them for years, they still upset me.

Yet, despite the challenges Chrissy's brought us, she has shown us a unique way of looking at the world. I love it when I see Chrissy sitting with Alex or Jamie, singing along to music tapes, or when she copies people's facial expressions or says something to make us laugh. Whatever her problems, we're very lucky to have Chrissy as part of our family.



I am a SWAN UK (Syndromes without a Name) blogger

Can children Grow out of Autism?

Chrissy, far left, aged 11, with siblings, Jamie, 9 and Alex, 6

Did you read the Daily Mail story 'Can some children simply 'grow out of autism?' http://www.dailymail.co.uk/health/article-2103940/Autism-Can-children-simply-grow-One-mother-tells-sons-life-transformed.html I was irritated and perplexed by it, not least because it wasn't made clear whether Josh, the nine-year old in the story, who was diagnosed at three, still had a diagnosis of autism!

I was interested to see a piece on the NHS Choices website describing the Mail's claim as 'misleading' and offering a 'false impression to the parents of children with autism:' http://www.nhs.uk/news/2012/02February/Pages/children-grow-out-of-autism-claim.aspx

I suspect most cases of a child 'growing out' of autism are in fact initial misdiagnosis, perhaps made too early before the picture becomes clearer. Other overlapping conditions, such as developmental delay, can cause similar symptoms and diagnostic overshadowing. I'm not convinced by the early interventions argument. Although early interventions can improve problems associated with autism they can't cure it. In our experience identifying signs of autism can be open to interpretation and its diagnostic criteria has widened over the years. Is it being diagnosed too readily these days?

Far from growing out of autism, Chrissy appeared to grow into it! Autism was first mentioned by her speech therapist when she was four, who said that although she had very few words that she used 'parrot-fashion' like someone with autism, she used imagination when playing with a doll. (I think she brushed the doll's hair or spoke to it.) Another doctor described Chrissy as 'unautistic' because she was social and affectionate - the very opposite of the withdrawn and isolated child in a world of her own that used to be considered 'classic' autism. In fact, a paediatrician told us: 'Your daughter can't be autistic because autistic children don't speak.'

As I've explained here before, years later when Chrissy was 22, her psychologist diagnosed her with a form of autism classified as 'active but odd,' a diagnosis confirmed by Lorna Wing, MD, Psychiatric Consultant at the National Autistic Society, who checked the psychologist's extensive report. In 2010, a consultant psychiatrist from The Maudsley Hopsital's Autism Assessment Clinic confirmed the presence of autism from an early age after reviewing old videos of Chrissy. He noted her odd postures and facial expressions, and how she flapped her hands in front of her face even at six.

Looking back, Chrissy's autistic traits have waxed and waned over the years. When she was little she often appeared to ignore us when we spoke to her, but we put it down to her severe glue ear, then everything was attributed to her developmental delay. She's always had obsessive/compulsive traits - lots of verbal repetition and switching lights on and off - but taken alone they didn't signify an autism spectrum disorder. Her severe outbursts weren't triggered by changes in routine or anything else that seemed particularly autistic, but her problems with small daily transitions appeared to get worse as she grew older.

Around the time the photo on here was taken, she was going through a phase of turning everything round the wrong way and upside down in her bedroom but that's long since passed. Her over-friendliness has confused the picture in the past but it's now on the wide spectrum of socially inappropriate behaviour that people with autism display. I remember watching Rain Man for the first time back in the eighties when it first came out. I enjoyed the film then but didn't associate Raymond's problems with Chrissy's but each time I've seen it since the parallels are so obvious I keep gasping: 'Oh my God - that's Chrissy!'

These days, Chrissy has frequent spells of very autistic jumping up and down, flapping and screeching but not all the time thank God! Maybe some of these behaviours were always there but less noticeable in a small person but I do think Chrissy is less able to adapt to her environment than when she was little. She was more flexible and reslient then. Maybe she had to be because we didn't know what was wrong and expected her to fit in with the rest of the family. As she grew bigger the tables slowly turned and she either grew into autism or we were no longer able to resist its awesome power!


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How we really feel about our Children's Genetic Blips

I belong to a Facebook group for families affected by rare chromosome disorders. We mums discuss our children’s medical issues matter-of-factly and share our frustrations about fighting for services - but only occasionally do we dig deeper into our own feelings of sorrow and loss. Then a mum asked how we'd reacted when we found out about our child’s condition. It triggered an avalanche of emotion, so eloquently expressed that I was moved to ask if I could share some of the comments on here. There’s rage, despair and brutal honesty but shining through like a beacon of hope is our love for and devotion to our Unique children.

Jenny....We only found out about Steven's deletion in 2010 just before he turned 30....In a way it was a relief to finally have an answer and since being told what had caused his problems I have found out more about my son then I ever thought possible; it has also helped me to understand him better. My hubby’s approach was: "oh well at least now we know" but I had to find out as much as I could and in fact I'm still finding things out. Guilt was my main feeling for 30 years. There are days even now, 31 years later, when I hate what our lives have become. I love Steven to bits and would give up my life for him but there are times when I hate his condition. It does not make you a bad person for feeling like this – I think if people were honest most of us feel like this at some time or other. It doesn’t mean we love our kids any less. Some of us just struggle more than others....

Anon....12 years passed after our first daughter was born before my husband and/or I stopped shedding silent tears when we saw a child walking hand-in-hand with its parents. We could not adore our own any more than we do but grief for the loss of their mobility, or conversation, or demonstrations of reciprocated love, runs very deep. On the outside, people saw us as strong and capable - role models for other parents. Human beings are truly remarkable. Yep, there have been times when I have heard my daughter talking to me and seen the girls running around and at the moment of waking, I am full of joy. You don't realise how things have affected you 99.9999% of the time...

Jennifer....We found out about 1.5 years ago and I'm still as upset as the day I was told. Many days I am unsure that I can live the rest of my life with this. My husband is the strong one who is handling it well. I know people are all upbeat about their situations and many say they wouldn't change anything. Hate me if you want, but hell yeah I'd change it. This is not fair for Brooke, for her brother or our family. I am really bitter, angry, and want to talk to whoever is in charge to get this fixed. However it's not an issue that can be fixed. A friend of mine adopted two handicapped children from China and he told me it's easier for him because he knew what he was getting into. This was sprung on us and I for one am not happy. Of course I love Brooke, but it's something that I knew I couldn't handle. I'm one of those horrible people who would see a child with Down's and say a thank you to God that we didn't have that. I'm not strong enough to deal with it. Sorry to be such a downer. I'm sure I'll get a lot of replies saying that I need to see the positive side. Yeah, I've tried that. It still has changed our lives in a way that we didn't ask for, want, or can handle. I know I’m a bad person for saying that but that's how it's affected me. I'm sure we all go through the stages of grieving and I'm stuck in the anger stage. I love Brooke to pieces but one of my fears is that she will remain a toddler forever. Thank God I have my husband. I for sure couldn't do it alone....

Leah....We got Ty's dx sometime in his first year. 10 years on and I am still angry at what we have to go through, what I have lost and what I will likely continue to lose as time goes on. I know I have gained so much as well…..This week I hate this life and cry at the drop of a hat. Next week I will be on the front lines fighting bitterly for my son’s rights..... My ex-husband...well...he's an ex...that should tell you a bit about how he handled it. He manages to accept my decrees when I throw one down and tell him he will be doing such-and-such for our son. He doesn't like most of them and most of the time I have to battle him too in order to get him to understand why they are needed.
I cried when they told me 10 years ago and I still cry on a regular basis because I am exhausted and frustrated, and tired of fighting for EVERYTHING, and tired of watching my son struggle and not knowing how to help him. He is the light of my life, the very air in my lungs...I can't honestly imagine loving anything as much as I love my little man. I would give it all up to have him healthy, to have him "normal", to have him "acceptable" in society's eyes. I would give EVERYTHING up for my son to be whole. It probably seems odd to hear these things. Most people tell you something bad and then coat it in the sugary sweetness of how wonderful it can be to be a part of these kiddos’ lives. And sure...there are GREAT moments...but I wish someone had been honest with me...maybe I wouldn't have felt like such a horrible mom and a horrible person for so long thinking that I was the only one who HATED that I was dealt this card…..There are truly SUPERMOMs out there that take it all head on...and then there are those who take it head on because we have no other choice...someone we love needs us and we do what we have to, even though we may not like it. It is scary enough just getting a dx of anything other than "Your child is beautiful and healthy!" …..Even those of us with older children are still scared to death of the dx we were handed, what it means, what we do with it, what is coming. The hard part...no one really knows...

Jen....We found out last April that our daughter (22 months) had a chromosome disorder. We were devastated. She was developmentally delayed but we mistakenly thought that meant she would "catch up." My husband and I went through different grief periods with him refusing to open up about it and me needing to. I won out of course and we worked through it together. I thought I was losing my mind. What compounded our grief was finding out that our three year old had autism three weeks later. He had been speech delayed but we were told by Early Intervention that it was just a speech issue. They were wrong. To say my husband and I were then angry at God and everyone else is an understatement. It has shaken to the core my basic beliefs about everything. I hate to add even more but then three months later (this August) my healthy 15-year old collapsed and had a grand mal seizure, and has since had another and was diagnosed with a seizure disorder. Now I’m in survival mode day to day. I have a hard time even relating to people with "typical" children. Not because I don't have any; I have nine children. I was blindsided by the issues of my kids and am on antidepressants. I was going to school to finish my degree and thought our life was going a certain way and it took a long time to accept that I may have three kids living with me as adults. Jennifer, I feel for you, every one of us can understand where you are coming from. Sometimes I can't even imagine what kind of creator could let people go through the kind of heartache that we all go through with these kids. The challenges my kids face have opened up a whole new dimension in my life that most people don't get to go to and I feel very blessed to be able to witness the tiny miracles, such as my baby signing or my autistic son calling me mom. I know people whose biggest worry is when they can get their nails done. I fight bitterness because of the lack of support from both sides of our families but I know better so it makes me almost feel sorry for them. I can't imagine not reaching out to a family member who is going through this....



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Epilepsy & Behaviour

Chrissy aged 10, with her chocolatey sister, Alex, 6

Since Chrissy's Topiramate has been swapped with Pregabalin, she's had two clusters of night-time seizures, one requiring rectal Diazepam. This is Chrissy's usual pattern but seizures were infrequent on Topiramate - the price she paid was being over-sedated, though not enough to quell her self-injurious outbursts. When her seizures started up again I hoped she'd get a break from her outbursts. They tend to be less severe during seizure cycles but this pattern has got less apparent as she's got older.

The reciprocal relationship between epilepsy and behaviour is recognised among medical professionals. It's like a pressure cooker releasing steam. Chrissy would have a build-up of challenging behaviours then seizures followed by a brief period of calm. When she was little I thought there was even more to it than that, and became convinced there was an epileptic component in the severe self-injurious outbursts. Chrissy's school teachers felt the same, and described the way 'something just came over her' as she sat doing something that she enjoyed. I became increasingly frustrated that health professionals were dismissing these outbursts as purely behavioural - as if they'd cease in a different environment.

When Chrissy was 10 my frustrations boiled over...

She was in Great Ormond Street Hospital for a routine MRI scan. A general anaesthetic was arranged because she wouldn't have co-operated, & she was given a pre-med. It sent her to sleep but she woke up when she was moved from her ward to the scanning room, and exploded into an outburst. She bashed her head repeatedly against the metal bars of her bed and tore at her skin. 'Now at last her neurologist will see one of these & organise investigations to find out what's going on,' I thought. How naive I was!

The hospital nurses were shocked at Chrissy's distress. One nurse, who'd worked in child psychiatry for years, said that she'd seen children with mental health problems in meltdowns before but this went way beyond that. Normally they gave up when they were exhausted but Chrissy appeared to be in the grip of something beyond her control.

The neurologist was called to the ward. He appeared, flanked by junior doctors, took one look at Chrissy, who was thrashing around on the floor by that point, and said: 'That's behaviour.'

As he turned on his heel to walk away, red mist descended & I threw questions at him like darts: 'If it's behavioural then how come she's had these from infancy? Why do they wake her at night? Why are they triggered by general anaesthetics & some medications? Why doesn't any intervention stop them? Why are they self-limiting? Why are they cyclic and worse in late afternoon? (as they were then) What about the strange physical symptoms - complaining about sore eyes, clawing at her face and extremities as if they hurt? What about the reciprocal relationship with the seizures?'

The neurologist insisted: 'What we're seeing now probably isn't the same as those you saw when she was a baby. This doesn't look like any seizure that I've seen. Epileptic episodes don't last as long as this. They're behavioural.'

I stormed off and had a good cry.

When I calmed down and returned to the ward, the neurologist took me into a side room and explained: 'I doubt that what I observed is caused by epileptic activity but I agree that there appears to be a reciprocal relationship between the seizures and behavioural outbursts. We really don't know what they are but behaviour sometimes worsens in children with epilepsy when seizures were well controlled.'

He decided to try a new anticonvulsant - Gabapentin.

Almost immediately Chrissy slept through the night for the first time in weeks. Two days later, the first thing I noticed when she came home from school was her smiley face and pink cheeks. (She looks pale & wretched when she's going through an outburst cycle). I asked her for a kiss. 'Screaming's gone.' she said.

Her teachers reported that she'd been 'brilliant,' amenable and well-behaved at school. I felt ridiculously emotional. Surely it was too early to be Gabapentin? Maybe it was a delayed reaction to all the pre-op sedation & general anaesthetic?

In fact, it was probably Chrissy's emergence from another bad cycle of outbursts but, when she's well, I always feel giddily optimistic that it will last. I rang friends and family to tell them about the change in her. 'Don't count your chickens....' they gently warned me.

Taken from my book: 'Bringing Up a Challenging Child at Home.'



I am a SWAN UK (Syndromes without a Name) blogger

Why I Felt I HAD to Share Our Story

My book reviews have finally appeared on Amazon. I saw them 10 years ago when 'Bringing Up a Challenging Child at Home ' was first published, so no nasty surprises there! My book includes a brutally honest account of how I felt at the time of writing, and I spared no one! It was very cathartic but I'd be a little more circumspect if I were to rewrite it now....

When I first discovered that Chrissy had learning disabilities, I assumed the next step would be an appointment with a specialist who would tell us the exact nature of her problems – a diagnosis. I expected to be given some idea what ‘mental age’ she would reach, and what obstacles we might face in future. How wrong I was! I gradually realised that medical professionals had no more idea than I did about how to treat Chrissy’s condition.

During her childhood I felt isolated and terrified - traumatised even - by the violent self-injurious outbursts I was dealing with on a daily basis.

I believed that Chrissy’s problems were unique or at least very rare. Now I know that there are many other families like ours living with a cherished child, whose behaviour is a nightmare to cope with. Our love for our children remains undiminished when confronted with behaviour we find abhorrent but sometimes that love isn’t enough. Our home becomes a war zone and we can no longer function while living together as a family.

Divorce is all too common in families like ours and it's often the mother left to cope alone. Ensuing social factors, such as poverty, may contribute to the child's behavioural challenges and compound the parent’s feelings of isolation.

If took 15 years for family life to gain any semblance of normality and to find ways to cope with the challenges Chrissy presents. My search for answers planted the seeds for my book and a career in journalism. I had to tell Chrissy's story, and my research led to a fascination with complex and misunderstood medical conditions like hers. I've had a number of related health and human interest features published in magazines and newspapers.

I wrote my book in 1999 when the cause of Chrissy's problems was still unexplained. My target readers were other parents in similar situations and professionals working with families like ours. I longed to reach out to other mums like myself, which is why I get so much out of interacting with you all now, and I passionately believed that the professionals needed to know what it was like living on the front line. There was a big gap in the market for a book like mine as there were plenty of medical books about challenging behaviour in clinical settings but not in the family environment. Jessica Kingsley Publishers and BILD (The British Institute of Learning Disabilities) were both interested in publishing my book. I chose Jessica Kingsley because I thought it would help me reach a broader readership.

Writing Chrissy’s story helped me to make sense of our difficult journey and led to wonderful revelations. I realised how much I had learned about acceptance and unconditional love. I discovered personal strengths (and weaknesses!) I never knew I had. After spending years in the thick of it, by the turn of the century I had the space to appreciate Chrissy as she is – and marvel over her. She has a great sense of fun and makes us fall about with her quirky sayings and observations. She is generous with spontaneous smiles, affection and cuddles, and opens our minds by showing us a uniquely different view of the world.

When my book was published, I had stopped grieving for the ‘perfect’ child I thought I'd had and learned that life’s greatest gifts come in the cleverest disguises.


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Letting Go: When Love Isn't Enough

Chrissy aged 14 with a favourite teaching assistant, Geraldine, at St Elizabeth's School

13 years ago I came to a crossroads. I could no longer manage Chrissy at home but how could I bear to part with her?

The first stage of the letting go process – accepting that I couldn’t care for Chrissy unsupported by community-based services – was respite care. She was only 7, and Ian and I decided to go on a family holiday without her. When I told a friend, she was shocked. “Chrissy’s your flesh and blood - how can you leave her behind?” she asked. Ian didn’t mince words in justifying our decision. We desperately needed a break and previous holidays with Chrissy had been disastrous. Holidays and special occasions can be purgatory for children with learning disabilities that struggle with routine changes, and there was no point in putting Chrissy, her two younger siblings or ourselves through what would be another ordeal. She could stay in respite for the week, which she enjoyed. I was discovering that tough compromises had to be made in order for us to function as a family.

When respite services were first offered I was at breaking point emotionally but felt like a bad parent because I couldn’t cope. The needs of my two younger children also had to be taken into account; having a disabled sister had forced them to grow up too quickly. When I’d had them I had no idea that Chrissy’s difficulties were so severe. I thought she’d just be a bit ‘slow’ and grow out of her outbursts like a toddler grows out of the terrible twos. The only person that suffered during the letting go process was me! Chrissy loved the respite centre on her first visit. It was full of friendly, cheerful staff, play equipment and toys. She didn’t want to leave.

Respite care became our lifeline. Mum was the only family member nearby, and she did her best to help, but she had my dad to care for, who had premature Alzheimer’s.

The introduction of behavioural strategies when Chrissy was 10 helped me to feel more in control and manage her better day-to-day but the self-injurious outbursts continued. It was as if she was in torment, in the grip of something she desperately wanted to control but couldn’t. Her doctors prescribed powerful sedatives and all carers, including us, were taught physical restraint. It sounds extreme but it was preferable to leaving her to her own devices. The anti-psychotic medications they prescribed sometimes had paradoxical effects and caused extreme agitation or nasty side-effects. Ironically, the use of chemical coshes was something I’d feared would happen if she went into residential care, yet here we were sanctioning its use at home.

Guilt and anxiety engulfed me – I beat myself up for everything I couldn’t do to help Chrissy and lost confidence in my parenting abilities. I persisted in trying to make her life as ‘normal’ as possible by including her in family activities and outings. We had some lovely times but, more often than not, outings ended in mayhem. Chrissy's SLD school was struggling to manage her outbursts too and an agency providing home carers during school holidays was concerned about them getting hurt. Something had to give.

The obvious solution was residential school but I felt torn. Chrissy was still like a toddler, and very dependent on me. I feared she’d be neglected or miss us terribly, but for her to suffer abuse like the disabled adults in BBC’s Panorama programme, ‘Undercover Care,’ was beyond my worst nightmare. Then I wondered: "Am I denying her a better life? Maybe she'll thrive in a more structured environment. Surely it’s better that she gradually gets used to residential care now rather than when we die or are too old, or ill, to cope?"

When Chrissy was 14 her life changed for the better. A new drug regime transformed her behaviour and we found a very special termly boarding school http://www.stelizabeths.org.uk/schooldefaulthome, a tranquil gem tucked away in the Hertfordshire countryside, I only wished we'd discovered it earlier. I was excited about what they could offer Chrissy. The pupils looked happy and cared for, and many had complex needs like Chrissy. Their on-site healthcare team could monitor her epilepsy closely and she would return home for weekends and school holidays.

Despite my optimism, I felt bereft when Chrissy first left, and wept at the sight of her empty bedroom – but my fears were unfounded; she never forgot who we were and always quivered with joy each time she saw us again. She was happy to return to St Elizabeth’s after visits home, and having time apart made me enjoy the good times we had with her more.

When Chrissy left school at 18 I accepted that adult residential care was the best option for her. We found a lovely care home 30 minutes’ drive away, and Chrissy was their first resident. Her carers spent time with us at home getting to know Chrissy’s needs and supported her to go out and about in the community.

Unfortunately, four years later Chrissy’s medication was changed due to a life-threatening adverse reaction. Her self-injurious outbursts intensified and couldn’t be stabilised with medications that her psychiatrists prescribed. Two residential placements broke down when they could no longer cope with her challenging behaviour.

Since January 2010 Chrissy has been in a privately-run therapeutic unit to stabilise her behaviour with medication and psychological approaches. She will remain there until she is stable enough to move into a bespoke service, which is still in its planning stages. Living in a hospital ward, no matter how homely they try to make it, is far from ideal. Many residential services claim to specialise in autism but struggle to offer sufficient staff training, structured routine, continuity of care and a person-centred environment.

As Chrissy’s mum, I feel no one can look after my fragile daughter like I can. She’s a hefty 12 ½ stone due to her medications but, in my recurring dreams about keeping her safe, she’s tiny, like the child she’ll always be in my eyes.

Other parents may manage to care full-time for their disabled children at home but some are harder to care for than others. I need all my strength to fight battles on Chrissy’s behalf, which is what I’ve had to do all her life. I do all her washing, still have her home every weekend, and move mountains to enable her to attend family events and celebrations. I leave no stone unturned in ensuring Chrissy gets the best possible care and, when things go wrong, righting them becomes a full-time job. I still fantasise about having her home full-time. Then I’m brought back to earth with a bump after a particularly challenging home visit.

Over the years, each time I’ve let Chrissy go a little – the first night in respite care, the first MENCAP holiday, then on to boarding school and full-time residential care, it’s been gut-wrenching but when I look back, I recognise that I’ve made the right decisions for Chrissy and my family. Her outbursts are so violent and unpredictable, and her needs so complex that it would be impossible to care for her at home.




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Special Saturday - What I'm thankful for

When Chrissy was little I spotted an ad in my local newspaper inviting mums of children with special needs to get together for regular meet-ups in each others' houses. I grabbed the opportunity like a lifeline and am still in touch with some of the parents I met there. Sadly, over the years some of our children have passed away. When I’m in despair about Chrissy I try to remember how lucky I am that I still have my child. Chrissy is physically healthier than many children with rare chromosome disorders.

We're also very fortunate to have supportive, loving family and friends - and Chrissy’s step-dad of 20 years is our rock.

Another thing I'm grateful for is to have the opportunity to write about what interests me and get paid for it – many of my magazine and newspaper stories are learning disability or health related.

I’m thankful that we weren't born in another time or place where Chrissy would have been ostracised and probably wouldn't have survived childhood. The excellent Channel 4 documentary 'The Queen's Hidden Cousins' http://www.channel4.com/programmes/the-queens-hidden-cousins/4od was a stark reminder of how appallingly people with learning disabilities were treated until very recently.

I also have to remind myself how far we've come as a family. When Chrissy was five I separated from my three children's dad, & lost everything. To cut a long story very short, I ended up homeless & was terrified of getting stuck in a hostel with Chrissy disturbing everyone with her screaming episodes. Thankfully I was housed by the council just before I had to give up my marital home. I was getting no support with Chrissy from outside services & my wider family were also dealing with my dad's premature Alzheimer's. I had no idea that respite care and social workers existed to help families like ours - until I had a breakdown. It was the lowest time of my life.

Back then if I could have peeked into the future and seen how much better our lives are now it would have seemed like a fairytale!


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#Special Saturday - How does having a child with additional needs affect your family?

It all started so well...

I asked my youngest daughter, Alex, how she felt her life had been affected by having Chrissy as a sibling. She shrugged & said: 'I've never known any different.' She agreed that it had forced her and her brother to grow up too quickly and take on responsibilities beyond their years. Many instances that illustrate this are in my book 'Bringing Up a Challenging Child at Home.'

I felt guilty about having two more children when Chrissy was so demanding but I had no idea how severe her needs would be - caring for her got more challenging as she grew older & bigger. You expect toddlers to be a handful but Chrissy never grew out of that stage. Living with her extreme, unpredictable, violent mood swings day after day took its toll on everyone. Her siblings had to take second & third place & no child should have to do that. I've had to dig very deep in order to cope, & I've no doubt her siblings & my husband have too.

We’ve always tried to involve her in family activities and do things that typical families do but it's a gamble. You can't predict how she'll react. Many family outings have been cut short due to Chrissy's unpredictable outbursts but we have had some resounding successes, although admittedly not recently.

What happened at the weekend gives a snapshot of how Chrissy’s needs affect family life. She was in a jolly mood & we’d seen none of the major SIB of the past few weeks. She was engaging with activities we did with her, & was very inquisitive and chatty, delighted to have Alex around, who was home from university. On Friday evening, as I sat holding Chrissy's hand, I felt a gentle caress on my thumb. I looked at her in amazement and she was smiling benevolently at me! Chrissy hugs me but she's never caressed me before. On Saturday morning someone called round selling poppies for Remembrance Day. 'Which one would you like?' the seller asked. ‘A chocolate one,' said Chrissy, making us roar with laughter.

The signs were good and it was such a beautiful autumn morning, I decided to take Chrissy to the village shop, about 1/4 mile away. The photo shows Chrissy just after we'd set off. She seemed happy enough walking alongside me but kept asking 'are we having sandwiches for lunch' & swapping which of my hands she held. Halfway there, she got so obsessed by swapping hands, we got stuck. I tried to turn back but it was already too late - she threw herself on the pavement screaming & rubbing her nose until it bled. My stomach was in knots as I feared she'd strip off. I called Ian & he brought the car round to rescue us.

I shouldn't have risked it really but I still get fooled when Chrissy is calm. If I stopped trying to take her out I’d be giving up on her. Episodes like this remind me of the difficulties of balancing family life with Chrissy’s needs when she lived with us - but, as Alex says, we never knew any different.


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#Special Saturday Post: What My Daughter's Special Needs Are

Chrissy's magic hands

Chrissy's special needs are complex with moderate to severe learning disabilities, epilepsy, a rare chromsome disorder and challenging behaviour.

These labels gradually crept up on us. There was no defining moment when a doctor sat me down and told me that there was something wrong with my child, let alone what was wrong.

When Chrissy was born weighing 7 lb 6 oz after a straightforward first pregnancy and a long induced labour, I was bursting with pride - awed at the part I'd played in creating something so perfect. Friends and family agreed that she was one of the most flawless and alert-looking newborns they had ever seen. I called her my 'air traffic controller' because her hands waved around energetically whenever she was awake. Her brown eyes were bright and wide open as they gazed into mine.

We spent six days in hospital - standard for first babies then. Chrissy's suck was weak and she didn't feed well. Her weight dropped to under 6 lbs. Medical staff kept an eye on her but they weren't unduly concerned. Once home, Chrissy was a placid, sleepy baby. She failed to thrive and vomited up most of her feeds. She was noticeably floppy compared to other babies of a similar age. Concerned about her poor head control, her health visitor referred her to a paediatrician. I had no idea how significant these early signs were - just a slow, chilling realisation that this wasn't how things should be. I was 23 then and didn't know what had hit me.

Chrissy was late with all her developmental milestones and didn't walk until she was 22 months. Speech came slowly too but we put it down to glue ear - she had recurrent ear infections. I was told that Chrissy had 'developmental delay' but I assumed she'd catch up. She had her first seizure at 10 months, diagnosed as a febrile convulsion, then started having seizures without a temperature. Epilepsy was diagnosed when she was a year old.

Chrissy's behaviour was a big concern from infancy. She was an absolutely delightful, sunny-natured baby, but even then, she had intermittent prolonged screaming outbursts. Our GP put it down to colic, although Chrissy stiffened and arched backwards rather than drawing her knees up to her stomach. These screaming bouts have continued ever since, varying in intensity and nature. As soon as she was mobile, the screaming was accompanied by head-banging, then other types of self-injury as she grew older. She only ate a limited range of foods, and they had to be smooth as she had problems with chewing.

I was desperate for answers and wondered if something had happened during birth - my induced labour was long and difficult but there were no obvious complications. Her doctors weren't able to give me any answers. As of course there was no internet then, I scoured the local library for information, but I drew blanks. Brain scans and, later on, genetic tests, were all clear. Chrissy didn't look as if anything was wrong until she was about six although she was tiny and looked younger than her chronological age. Autism was ruled out. 'Autistic people don't speak,' her doctor said. A speech therapist described her speech as 'parrot-fashion' but said Chrissy was 'unautistic.'

When Chrissy was 15, I started writing my book 'Bringing Up a Challenging Child at Home: When Love Isn't Enough.' http://www.amazon.co.uk/Bringing-Challenging-Child-Home-Enough/dp/1853028746/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1319238962&sr=8-1

It helped me to celebrate Chrissy's uniqueness. I gave up my search for answers.

Then, seven years later came a breakthrough. A research project we'd taken part in revealed that Chrissy had a rare chromosome disorder, called 1q21.1 microdeletion. Not much was known about this newly discovered genetic condition but autism, learning disabilities and neuro-developmental disorders are associated with it. Chrissy's microdeletion is de novo, which means it occurred spontaneously. During the same year, purely by coincidence, Chrissy's psychologist was given the go-ahead to do a long-awaited autism assessment. Autism was confirmed. So much about Chrissy is explained by this diagnosis, hence our late learning curve.

Today, Chrissy's self-injurious outbursts blight her life more than ever but she can still be an absolute joy - affectionate, funny and full of endearing quirks, such as the 'magic hands' pictured. Her hands are still quite plump, like a baby's. 'Chrissy, do your magic hands,' we ask, and she's off, grinning like a Cheshire cat and rubbing those flappy hands together until they squeak.



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