AutismParenting: Never underestimate the value of routine

Everything in life has an intrinsic value.   Some things are more important to some of us than others. Some value family, some health, some money. My six year old autistic son values routine.  Routines keep him safe.  Routines ensure things happen right.  Sometimes I'm blown away by the impact a tiny change can have.

David's school is having some building work done.  An unfortunate incident where entire roof of one of the blocks need to replaced means that the Year 6 now need to be taught in some semi-permanent structures in the school car park.

It's a huge job for school and there are a lot of things going on on the school grounds.  David isn't in Year 6.  He's not even in the main part of the school  David is in Year 1 (after repeating his reception year last year) and is in a specialist autism unit attached the the main school.  Kids in the unit can go to the main school when they can cope with their lessons.  But the new classrooms aren't the problem for David.

Unlike the kids in the main school and mostly for security reasons, kids in David's unit are brought to school by car and dropped in a drop off zone in the school car park by the unit entrance.

One of the tiny little knock on effects from the building work is that the cars can't get to the drop-off and pick-up zone anymore.  It sounds like a ridiculous thing to be upset about doesn't it.  I now park my car on the other side of the school gate approximately four meters away from where I usually park the car.

Never underestimate the value of routine. Every school day for the past two and a bit years David has been picked up from school in my car from the parking zone inside the school car park.  On Monday that didn't happen and the results were catastrophic.

As I pulled my car up to the gate 'in the wrong place', David went into meltdown and it's probably the worse one I've see since the shoe incident.  He threw himself onto the gravel path screaming and kicking with tears pouring one after the other down his instantly red face.  He was constantly pointing at the car and the car park, the car and the car park.  But there was nothing to do.  Where the car park once lay, was now a double storey classroom.

It took us, that's myself and a member of the unit staff, a few minutes to work out what David was so upset about.  Did he want me to go to the car park? Did he want his teacher to go to the car? Transitions, moving from one place or another or from one task to another, have historically been difficult for David but it's not been as bad recently.  It's something we are familiar with as his older brother used to find them hard too.

His next action was definite.  David ran to the rear of our car, with us in pursuit.  There he used all his might smacking and punching the number plate, still with crying and screaming.  He was trying to move the car.

When David is this upset and we can't help fix what he sees as being wrong, we usually have to wait and try and help him focus on something else.   We try and replace the 'value' he has lost in some way.

For example, if the the car being in the right place gives David a satisfaction level of, say, 10 and it being in the wrong place takes David to a, say, -10, then we've got go find something worth 15 or 20 to get David functioning again.

I'll be honest, after I'd tried the iPad, cake and some chocolate I happened to have in the car, I was out of ideas.  The staff came out with various items that were David's reward and motivator items in class.  Nothing.  People from the rest of the school crossed the road and past on the other side.  A delivery driver dropped a parcel up the road and stood looking for a few minutes.  I think he thought we might be kid napping David or something.  Eventually the delivery man left - I don't know what he thought was going on.

And after 40 minutes, David was still not letting anyone touch him and screaming at the back of the car.  In a last ditch attempt one of the members of staff pulled youtube out on their phone and played 'you're welcome', the song from Moana.   The screaming stopped.   A minute later so had the tears as David stood still facing my rear number plate but looking out the corner of his eye at the phone near his face.

After another two minutes David followed the phone like a puppy following someone with a treat into his seat in the car.

50 minutes.  50 minutes of doing nothing but trying to get David into our car to take him home. Needless to say his siblings were upset and confused by what had just happened.  As I sat driving home, I prayed that this was a one off, but I'm afraid to say that's not the case.

The truth is nothing, not even Moana on youtube, was valuable enough to David to get him straight in the car the next day. But his meltdown lasted just 30 minutes.  The next day it was down to 25.

I've never seen David so affected by such a simple change before.  He's had meltdowns but not so long or so upsetting.  And as I left his school today, with his meltdown down to just 12 minutes, I reminded myself to never under estimate the value of routine for David.  It makes him feel safe, it makes things seem right.  And when a routine changes, we will have to accept that he is going to find it extremely difficult to move on.  Let this not be confused with defeat, any understanding of my son I gain from an experience is one step closer to him.  But sometimes this is quite a painful step.

Related links:
Autism Parenting: My son's heart ache over one shoe
Getting responses using a token economy
Tearful transition turns out OK
Different possibilities can be OK