Jasmine Smith
Sydney Morning Herald
smh.com

“HELLO. I’m sorry you don’t qualify for Department of Ageing, Disability and Home Care assistance. Records show that your private child psychologist reported that your child can speak and his IQ is not under 75. We cannot case-manage you or offer you funds. Have we sent you our handy-dandy list of places to go, things to do?”


Several times. Things to subscribe to and stuff for autism cost money and are spread from Carlingford and North Rocks and Forestville and Putney and Peakhurst and Campbelltown and Woop Woop. Nothing accessible by public transport with toddler in tow, you understand.

Indeed. The child speaks because we have scrounged $20,000 for private speech therapy, occupational therapy and more, while on a public health waiting list and riding taxis to the therapy groups. When not managing the toddler, I campaign for autism therapies to be put on Medicare.

The department is right. We are well-off. My husband has a job at the moment. He didn’t for five years. That’s Asperger’s for you. The house is weatherproof and we own it. It has needed renovation since 1970, so we cannot sell, mortgage or rent it out. What are we complaining about?

Nothing really. Just autism. A sort of big nothing. Your child watches shadows and fluttering leaves when he should be watching the rest of his soccer team. He does a teapot dance facing away from play at the far goal when he could be striking the ball. He is a bit slower than the others.

His chances of living independently, being employed and thriving socially are diminishing with every year that he doesn’t receive any sort of behavioural therapy. The education system says we’re ready for the mainstream; which is odd, considering that my son is nearly seven but has yet to make a friend - unless you count sitting on kids or kissing Jack. Apparently, saving money and sticking to the Board of Studies curriculum is more important. The school says we’re doing well enough and should be happy with that. They won’t have to live with him when he is a maladjusted, rejected 25-year-old.

We are paying for private therapy for half the family because of the grief of autism. Moreover, we were a bit preoccupied when the only rellie living locally, my brother, started making cries for help. We have hardly had time to grieve since he committed suicide.

We don’t qualify for autism therapy or the department’s help. So what do we do, buy lottery tickets? Shame the odds are longer than the incidence of autism!

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