Awesome FASD Webcast!

This recent webcast on FASD is loaded with information!

Hero Awards

Yesterday I gave my fourth graders hero awards. They were on day four out of nine of annual standardized testing. The previous day had been particularly grueling, with six different reading selections and questions. The students in my group, some of whom fit the profile for FASD, were overwhelmed.

I'd tried to encourage them as they slumped down in their seats. One finally motioned me over. “This just doesn’t make sense!” She pointed to a metaphorical line of poetry. In our reading group we’d talked about how words can have different meanings. I’d led them through the verse book LOVE THAT DOG. They’d responded to the rhythm and rhyme and gleefully wrote poems of their own. But faced with this stressful testing situation, their pride, their enjoyment, and everything they knew flew out the window.

I lay awake last night, knowing how damaging the test was to their feelings of worth, trying to find ways to turn it into something positive. That’s when I decided on hero medals. These students would face enormous challenges in their lives. I decided to tell them stories of people who’d dealt with obstacles and let them know that they could be heroes, too. The secret was to always do their best. 

The next day, despite tears from an interpersonal drama that unfolded in the hall before the test, a feeling of camaraderie enveloped the room. I told them the tests were made to challenge even the top students in their class, not to worry if some of the questions seemed too hard. They should find the ones that were at their level, concentrate on those, and do the best they could with the others. They put on their hero medals and set to work.  “I love my award,” said the girl who’d initially thrown hers on the floor. “I can show my mom.” On the back I wrote, "She tried hard and never gave up. 2013 Testing."

These students are heroes. Every day they face work that’s beyond their grasp. They think concretely, not abstractly. They don’t remember. School expects them to measure up to standards they can never achieve. The students are aware of the gap. Our job should be to find ways to make their school experience positive and helpful. Their lives hang in the balance.

So much depends

Upon the state test.

So variably approached,

So ruthlessly applied.

The Courage of Birth Mothers

This is a beautiful film. I have so much respect for these brave mothers. 

Rat Experiment

Rats were used in a University of Washington fetal alcohol experiment. The rats looked normal, but one group had been exposed to alcohol before birth. Whenever they instinctively entered the dark area of their cage, the rats would receive an electrical shock.

Counter to their instincts, the normal rats learned to remain in the light portion of the cage. But the fetal alcohol-exposed rats continually re-entered the dark area.

They repeated this cycle of shock-and-flee until the researchers stopped the experiment. Rats in the fetal alcohol-exposed group could not control their impulses or learn from experience despite negative consequences.

I thought of Sandy, shrugging, telling me she’d walked on the sprayed lawn because she wanted to. Sandy, climbing into a boy’s bedroom window, saying she wanted to have sex. Sandy, asking me if I’d ever heard of a klepto, sobbing that she couldn’t get “no relief” until she stole. Sandy jumping out of second story windows. Sandy setting fires. Sandy taking drugs. We had no idea she acted on impulse because she had brain damage. If only we had.

 

Chick Experiment

The University of Washington Department of Psychiatry and Behavioral Sciences has done important research on the effects of prenatal alcohol exposure.

One experiment exposed chicks still in the egg to alcohol. Once hatched, they and a group of normal chicks were put behind a clear plexiglass barrier. Food was visible on the other side. A door not in their direct line of sight provided access to the food.

The normal chicks took a few pecks at the plexiglass, then started moving about, discovered the door, and got to the food.

The alcohol-exposed chicks kept pecking at the barrier. Finally, the researchers guided the chicks to the door, but the next day, unlike their normal peers, the alcohol-exposed chicks still just pecked at the window.

After five days of guidance through the door, some began to learn. Many never did. These chicks had been exposed to enough alcohol that it affected their brains but not enough to cause physical changes in their outward appearance.

When I heard about these experiments, I thought of Sandy tripping over my foot again and again in the pool, inflexibly repeating the same mistake. I thought of her unable to retain what she had been taught, relearning math concepts and spelling words again and again.

Although this research didn’t help Sandy, it was a comforting to have an explanation for some of her difficulties.

Last Sunday

Last Sunday we hiked in the mountains where seven years ago we scattered Sandy’s ashes. The weather was beautiful—in the 30s with mostly sunny skies and several inches of snow on the ground. We admired the views of snowy peaks and the forest of deep green firs with patches of silver, bare-branched aspens.

On our way down, a group of six or seven older women suddenly appeared, laughing and chattering, beautiful against the snow in their cornflower blue, lavender, and gray winter gear, like a flock of happy angels. They asked if we would take their picture. While Ron tended to the photo, I noticed the most amazing tree.

A smaller aspen had fallen against a larger one, which grew around it in a curlicue as if to support it. But the smaller tree was leaning at an impossible angle and eventually broke off and died. This was my favorite photo of the day. I only wish the smaller tree had managed to survive.

Measuring

Shortly before Sandy died, my father told me that hers was the saddest story he’d ever heard.

Yes, and I want the world to know. I want the world to change. I want us to stop destroying the brains of our babies before they are born.

Not only was Sandy's life destroyed by her lack of judgment and impulsiveness, equally significant was the fact that Sandy could never measure up to anyone’s expectations. That may be the cruelest part. We exacerbate the damage by expecting FASD children with hidden disabilities to function normally. They can’t. On some level they know it. Constantly meeting with failure, they're set on a negative course early on.

Yes, her story was sad, but looking at it a different way, perhaps the important thing is not whether she measured up to society’s values.

Sandy forced us to confront our assumptions. It was painful and messy to shed expectations, but raising a child like Sandy, our family had no choice. She made us let go of shortsighted goals. She helped us to reach beyond ourselves and discover strengths we didn’t know we had. Sandy’s gift was to open our hearts.

Shortly before Sandy died, she told me she’d had a happy childhood. And for the last years of her life she was in a loving relationship with a young man who truly cared. Measured by a different yardstick Sandy’s life was not sad. Measured differently she achieved what some people never have. Measured differently she gained a voice in the fight against fetal brain damage. These are the only ways I can measure now, because I loved her and because I need to believe her life mattered.