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Breaking through: Early intervention is vital for children with autism
This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2005, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

She titled her manuscript Beautiful Stranger to describe her daughter, a gorgeous child who is also an enigma.

"When my daughter was born, all I could think about was how beautiful she was," says author Amy Maida Wadsworth, of Cottonwood Heights. "She had long eyelashes and beautiful, rosy skin. She was a Gerber baby. But there's so much I don't understand about her still."

Her daughter Jessica, now 12, has autism spectrum disorder, more commonly known as autism, a neurological disability believed to be congenital.

The disorder, with symptoms apparent before the age of 3, can be heartbreaking for parents. Children with the disorder are socially disabled, as if an invisible wall separates them from their parents and loved ones. They can't properly communicate their needs, wants and fears.

Wadsworth poured the pain, frustration and wonder of raising her daughter into her latest novel, which her publisher later titled Faraway Child (Covenant Communications, $17.95) for its release earlier this month.

The novel, which chronicles a family's spiritual journey after a child's shattering autism diagnosis, comes as new state legislation aims to help parents of children with the disorder pay for the high cost of special education.

The 'hidden' disorder: One in 250 people in the United States has autism, according to the National Institute of Mental Health. Some are exceptionally gifted intellectually and academically, while others are greatly limited. The cause of the wide-ranging disorder is unknown.

Some call it the "hidden" developmental disorder because it's not detectable by physical appearance. Children with autism look every bit as capable as average children. And yet, they are not.

Though extremely bright, Jessica is like a caterpillar that cannot free itself from the cocoon, her mother says. She simply can't understand the world around her.

"My family is just as perplexed by the whole thing as me," she says. "Autism is [a] very isolating illness."

Tausha Brinton, of Salt Lake City, first became alarmed when her 11-month-old son Luke would rock violently while riding in the car, as if he was having a seizure. "We were like, 'What in the world is he doing?' " says Brinton, who is the stay-at-home mother of two children. "It was hard to snap him out of it."

Of greater concern to Brinton and her husband, Andrew, a seminary teacher for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, was that Luke, now age 3, was losing his ability to speak.

"When he was 1, he would say 'hi' and 'bye' and 'night-night,' " she says. "Then he lost his ability to do that. He stopped speaking entirely. The only words he would say were 'show' or 'doggie,' but that was it."

He also lost his ability to count to 10. "He was developmentally delayed across the board."

By September 2004, Luke couldn't say anything at all. That's when specialists at The Children's Center at the University of Utah diagnosed him with autism. A psychiatrist at the Carmen B. Pingree School for Children with Autism in Salt Lake City later confirmed the diagnosis. The school is named after the parent of an autistic child who led the effort to create the school in the late 1970s. It's operated by Valley Mental Health and offers extensive education and therapy for autistic children.

Early diagnosis: Their worst fears confirmed, it was time to learn to cope with the disorder.

"I cried for several days," Brinton explains. "A part of you feels like your child has died. All those hopes and dreams you had for him dies. Then it takes a few days to realize we still love him and he's perfect, we just have to change our expectations."

Experts say the key to unlocking the mysterious world of autistic children is intense, early intervention - especially during the preschool years. "It changes their prognosis," Brinton says.

But that vital treatment is costly. A year's tuition at the Pingree School is $23,000, none of which is covered by medical insurance. "That's more than 50 percent of our income. There was no way we could do that."

The Brintons didn't give up easily. They organized a benefit concert in March with singer and guitarist Peter Breinholt. Through their efforts and by other generous donations, they earned $17,000 to pay for most of Luke's tuition.

Utah recently began its first school-voucher program that will help parents of children with autism pay for the cost of schooling their children. The Carson-Smith program provides up to $5,700 in scholarship money for special-needs students, including kids with autism, to attend private schools starting in preschool.

Brinton says the legislation is a step in the right direction. "I wish we were one of those states where we had a Carmen Pingree School that the state would fund [completely]," she says. Even with the voucher, the tuition is still about $17,000, "which is a huge chunk of money for a big group of people. It's more than our mortgage."

In the past, the state fully funded preschool for autistic children. Brinton's niece, Lilly Christensen, finished her schooling at the Pingree School the year before the state cut funding in 2003.

"We couldn't have done it" otherwise, says Lilly's mom, Sara Christensen, of Holladay.

Lilly began at the Pingree School when she was 2 1/2 . She's now 8 and attends public school with her siblings. "That's the main goal for all parents [with a child with autism]: to mainstream their child," Christensen says. "Having them in a social situation with typical children is the goal because that's what they're going to have to face in real life."

While Christensen agrees that the Carson-Smith program will help many families pay for tuition, she believes the state should do more. "If we help autistic children now, it will cost the state so much less in the future when they can read, write, function and hold down jobs," Christensen says. "If you don't receive early intervention, the child will not be able to function in society to the same capacity that she would with early intervention."

Finding solace: As Jessica enters her teenage years, Wadsworth faces a new set of challenges. Most teenagers don't want to communicate with their parents. Teens with autism can't fully communicate with them, making the task of parenting especially complex. "Here you've got a child who is in a 12-year-old body and my 5-year-old has passed her up developmentally," Wadsworth says.

But Wadsworth believes she's up to the challenge, and hopes her novel will help others faced with a similar struggle. She relies on her faith to buoy her in the many dark hours. After suffering from depression and turning inward after Jessica's diagnosis, Wadsworth has found solace.

"The family is isolated from society and the child is isolated from her family," she says. "Religion was a way for me to stay connected to someone outside of myself. It kept me connected to my community in a way that nothing else could. My faith is what brought me out of it."

Resources

To learn more about autism, go to http://www.nimh.nih.gov/.

State officials are still formulating the application process for Carson-Smith vouchers. For more information, contact the Utah Office of Education at 801-538-7587 or http://www.schools.utah.gov.

Indicators of autism spectrum disorders

Does not babble, point or make meaningful gestures by 1 year of age

Does not speak one word by 16 months

Does not combine two words by 2 years

Does not respond to name

Loses language or social skills

Some other indicators:

Poor eye contact

Doesn't seem to know how to play with toys

Excessively lines up toys or other objects

Is attached to one particular toy or object

Doesn't smile

At times seems to be hearing impaired

- Source: National Institute of Mental Health

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