I am a carer. Actually, I am a mother and a carer. My oldest child was diagnosed with a form of autism spectrum disorder: PDD-NOS; at 4 years of age. Diagnosis was changed to Asperger Syndrome at age 7. He will be 12 in January. Over the years we have intensely accessed speech therapy, occupational therapy, physio therapy, psychologists, paediatricians, osteopaths, homeopaths, and many other groups and therapies. We have employed teacher aides and social skills teachers. Our lives have been moulded around him, and his needs.
Someone commented to me yesterday, a diagnosis or illness or disability not only affects the patient or person, it is of a huge consequence to the whole family. Such truer words have never been spoken. Next week I am off to school camp with him. No other parents are going as their child's carer, only me. Luckily it is a joint grade camp and Boy 2 is also attending. Happily, he is as excited as his brother to have mum on school camp, to him it is a bonus not a detriment.
I do not know what I am aiming for with this post. National Carer Week is over, life goes on, no-one in our lives even acknowledged it.
But to all out their who do care for family members, or friends, or partners: you are wonderful, loving, very special unique people, and from one carer to any other, I applaud you!
Too fat, too lazy. - Ho. Ho. Ho. Apparently it is Christmas in just over a week. I don’t even have my blog Christmas headers up, let alone all of my seven hundred Christmas tre...
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