Although I loved the idea of horses, I knew absolutely nothing about them and in fact had a real fear of their size and power. Even so, with the same excitement as when I was on my mission to find Henry for Dale, I set about using the obsession with horses for Amy. I resigned myself to having to overcome my fear, and when we returned from Blackpool, I called the local stables, which were less than a mile from our house. I discovered pony walks were available, as well as instruction in stable management. I explained Amy’s condition to a young girl who was the yard manager and was delighted when she said that getting involved with horses would be very good for Amy; they would help her in any way they could.
I booked Amy in for a pony walk every Sunday and then once a fortnight she would have a lesson in stable management, where she would get one-to-one guidance from a stable hand on how to care for a horse. This type of interaction would be a very constructive way to use her obsession and open up a whole new social world for her. Amy and I became Sunday regulars at Ardgowan Riding Center and made many friends there, one of whom was Rosemary Gisbey, whose nine-year-old daughter, Iona, owned a lovely horse named Rocky. I actually felt quite comfortable around him as he seemed to share the nature of a golden retriever, albeit with hooves. On many occasions Amy would be allowed to help Iona with Rocky’s care and even got to ride him sometimes. Such was the success of this friendship that the day came when Iona and Amy entered Rocky in a “tack and turn-out” competition.
It was a hot day, with as many as thirty in the group, children and adults alike, going through their paces. Amy looked both cute and immaculate in full riding dress as she sat astride Rocky, with Iona leading them around the ring. The judges knew nothing of Amy’s autism and she competed in the same way as everyone else. It was a wonderful experience for Amy, and although she and Iona weren’t among the prize-winners, they were clear winners in Rosemary’s and my eyes, with not a single fault between them. There is no doubt that the day will come when another four-legged animal will be a part of our family, this time definitely belonging to Amy.
In December 2003, we moved yet again, to our present home in Gourock, overlooking the River Clyde. At long last we had managed to recreate the view we had so loved in Ashton Road, but this time in an ideal environment for us all—especially Henry, who had his own floor-to-ceiling window from which to survey his domain. The old house was too far from the town center, which had left Dale isolated from his friends, and had left Jamie and me as his taxi drivers, so we thought the move would help him establish his independence.
Dale’s friends were now virtually permanent fixtures in his life, either hanging out at our house or all off somewhere together for weekends and vacations. The boys had taken it upon themselves to form a band, in which Dale played guitar, so many a time we’d come home to find our lounge being used for rehearsals by a gang of budding rock stars. To help with their inspiration, they started going to big rock concerts and this in itself highlighted another major step in Dale’s life: it was time to get him a cell phone. As well as allowing our fifteen-year-old to fit in with his peers, it would be important in terms of personal safety, as despite his increasing independence, he was potentially still quite vulnerable. This was, however, going to mean a lot of help from us to teach him how to use the phone; I’d only just got to grips with how my own cell phone worked! Plus, although keen to learn the many aspects of using a cell phone, Dale’s ordinary teenage nature meant he had pretty much reached saturation point in terms of Jamie and me being his teachers for such things.
Dale was very fond of our friend Kenny, who just happened to work in the cell-phone industry, so we were grateful when he offered to source the most suitable package and phone for Dale and, more importantly, show him how to use it. Kenny selected a top model with a built-in camera and all the trimmings and off Dale went to Kenny’s house for a crash course in cell-phone technology. Thereafter he was just like his friends, sending texts and taking pictures, with Henry of course duly installed as a screensaver. We were indebted to Kenny, who, like so many others over the years, had stepped in to help in their own way and made a world of difference to the quality of life that Dale and Amy are able to enjoy today.
Even though Dale was growing up and becoming ever more independent, all of his friends, including Robert, Ryan, and the boys from the band, loved Henry and understood that he was a huge fixture in Dale’s life. On those occasions when the band took a break from practicing in our lounge to go shopping, they always took Henry with them. Many a time, even if Dale had him on the leash when they left, it would be one of the others walking Henry on his leash when they returned. Whenever they crowded around the computer, Henry would be there among them. Dale’s friend Scott showed how he understood about Henry’s bond with Dale when he gave him a beautiful golden retriever ornament for his birthday, which he still has in his room.
A great advantage of the move was that Dale was now within walking distance of all of his friends and was on a bus route for when he wanted to go to Greenock Shopping Center. He could also walk to Gourock Railway Station and would now travel up by train to see Ryan, who lived twelve miles away, which was a bonus to Jamie and me since it saved us running him there in the car. As ever, it was crucial to prepare Dale with a practice “solo” run, with me stalking him from a safe distance.
Another benefit of the move was that we were now within a ten-minute walk of Moorfoot Primary, which we hoped Amy would attend as a natural follow-up from the nursery there.
Despite all the positives of the new house, we also had to face the emerging concern of Henry’s deteriorating mobility. There were thirty graduated stairs up to the house from the road and we noticed that Henry was having increasing trouble with them. Now at the grand age of eleven, he was also struggling to stand up sometimes, especially in the mornings, and I would often have to assist him by gently helping to ease up his rear end as he tried to stand. I knew that he had arthritis, but Dale and I nevertheless had him checked out by his vet, Nigel Martin, who prescribed a glucosamine medication called Seraquin to help. Fortunately, we had fully insured Henry for such medical treatment as soon as he had come into our lives.
Nigel explained that Henry’s arthritis would inevitably advance and it was a matter of managing it carefully. As Dale was still responsible for Henry’s care, he would be his main walker and give him his medication. Being less active, Henry was starting to feel the cold more, so we bought him a really good dog coat, and as he was now unable to get upstairs to Dale’s room, I made him a supportive bed so he could sleep in our room on the ground floor instead.
Henry’s new bed consisted of a king-size blanket, which I folded and quartered and covered with a soft fleece material; he looked as snug as a bug as he slept on it. The day I went to buy the material for the cover was memorable in that I had “the interrogator” with me. We were in the busy local fabric shop, and Amy was delighted that the blue fleece material we found had a paw-print pattern on it. As the assistant cut the fabric to length, true to form Amy butted in: “Excuse me, lady, do you have any horse material?”
“I’m sorry, we don’t sell horse material,” the assistant replied with a smile.
“Could you order me some in, please?” was Amy’s snappy response, prompting spontaneous laughter from everyone in the shop.
Just like her older brother, no matter where she was, Amy was an expert at bringing her obsession into the situation.
Around this time, Uncle Peter and Aunt Carol took Dale on another trip, their destination on this occasion being New York City. Jamie took Dale to Glasgow Airport to meet up with them, and Dale waved a cheerful good-bye as they set off on this latest adventure. He had enjoyed visiting London so much that we knew he would be comfortable in New York and, in any event, now seemed happy to go anywhere with Peter and Carol—to this day, they all still get on wonderfully well.
When Dale returned, he was his usual laid-back self, stating simply that he’d really enjoyed the trip. We asked if he�
�d done anything particularly special and were both quietly taken aback by his reply: “I went up in a helicopter at nighttime to see the Manhattan skyline all lit up.”
He casually sauntered back to his room as Jamie and I reflected on how far he had come since the days of the lost little boy in Roxburgh Street who had created from Duplo bricks the very place he had just described. Locked as he was then in his autistic world, we could never have dreamed he would have another extraordinary connection with that same skyline all these years later.
Shortly after the New York trip, I noticed an ad for a junior car mechanics’ class at the James Watt College in Greenock. This would be after school, for kids age fourteen to sixteen. Now that Dale was working toward standard grades, I thought this would be an ideal opportunity to get him used to the college environment and might open up an option for future employment. It would certainly stand him in good stead for when the day came to have a car of his own. I remember feeling ridiculously happy as Dale was fitted out with steel-capped boots and a boiler suit—he looked so grown-up. The outfit certainly did the trick as he went on to fit in seamlessly with the other boys in the class.
Another memorable event at this time was that it was Amy’s turn at nursery to get chicken pox. She was totally covered in spots and, most unusually for her, very lethargic. The inevitable itching was bad enough, but she became hysterical as the spots erupted all over her face and body. “Rub them out, rub them away. Get them off my body!” she cried.
I did everything I could to help, eventually trying to divert her with children’s TV. Luckily, a favorite character of hers in the Tweenies also had chicken pox and this settled her a little. Then her antihistamine medicine kicked in and she fell asleep.
Amy had been so distressed that I hit on the idea of enlisting Henry’s help to reassure her. I got some tomato puree and dotted big red spots all over his face and ears. He indulged this latest nonsense with his usual equanimity and, I have to say, really looked the part.
When Amy woke up, I pretended not to notice Henry’s affliction, but as soon as she saw him she burst out laughing and said, “Mum, look—Henry’s got chicken pox.”
I gave Henry his “medicine,” in the form of a small spoonful of syrup, making a big fuss about how Amy had passed on her bug to him. Realizing she was not alone, her spirits lifted considerably and she coped well thereafter, not least because her spots went away before Henry’s.
After Amy had recovered, another big event was approaching for Dale. Ever since his autism had been recognized, Peter and Carol had supported the Scottish Society for Autism, and Peter also took part in various events for the charity. On April 17, 2005, Peter was due to bungee jump off the Forth Rail Bridge, only this time he wasn’t doing it alone—he had persuaded Dale to join him. Dale had already done some rappelling in the Scouts, albeit on a slightly smaller scale, and so I told him, “You do the jump, and I will get you the sponsors.”
The day of the jump was a big event, with many other charities also represented and a PA system giving a running commentary as each person jumped. It was a clear, sunny day, and the huge crowd had a great view of the gigantic column of the bridge where the jump was taking place. It took us a while to get through the crowd to the others because people kept stopping to pat Henry, which of course he loved, believing the whole event had been laid on specifically for him.
When I saw the height of the jump and how slow and cautious people were in going over the edge, I was really worried for Dale. I overheard some people who had just done their jump saying how terrified they had been and started to wonder if this was a good idea for him after all.
“Are you OK with this?” I asked him. “You don’t need to go through with it if you don’t want to.”
“I’m a bit nervous, Mum, but I’m with Pete—it’ll be all right.”
So off they went to start the mountainous climb up the stairs of the column—it would take them about fifteen minutes to reach the top. While we waited, we took Amy on to the beach, where, with her usual knack of creating something horse-related out of anything she could find, she made a unicorn from seaweed and shells.
While we were admiring Amy’s unicorn on the beach, we heard over the PA system that the next participants in the jump would be Dale and Pete. Jimmy had his camcorder at the ready as we all stood rooted to the spot, but almost before the commentator had finished announcing, “Dale Gardner now for the Scottish Society for Autism,” Dale had popped himself over the edge and zipped down to the bottom like a pro. Uncle Pete followed, somewhat more slowly, a few minutes later.
When Dale got back to us, I gave him a big hug and kiss on the cheek and told him we were all so proud of him. Then I laughed, saying, “Sorry, Dale, please don’t hit me.”
He gave me a look. “Very funny, Mum.”
By now he was able to appreciate how difficult his autism had been in the past and would join in with good humor when we joked about some of the things he used to do—like try to destroy the house and everyone in it because I’d told him I was proud of him.
Dale’s jump had raised £730, which was a decent contribution to the charity, but by far his biggest achievement that day was what he had done for people with autism by participating himself.
After a busy summer doing up the house, we delivered Amy to Moorfoot Nursery. With the help of the staff and educational psychologist, we had repeated the same preparation and formula as for Dale and she settled in successfully. Entering mainstream full-time was a big step, so Amy was to receive special educational needs (SEN) support, but mainly on the periphery as all concerned wanted to promote as much independence for her as possible. Her nursery teacher was aware of what had been achieved with Dale and was very willing to work with me to ensure Amy reached her full potential and would be able to cope when the time came to start at Moorfoot Primary.
The only real blot on our horizon was Henry’s arthritis. He had to go on to a stronger medication as his mobility deteriorated further. The treatment was called Metacalm, and while it did give Henry a new lease of life, we had to stop it sometimes because it caused gastric irritation, making him very nauseous and sick. This created a vicious circle of its own, and I started to worry. Now eleven and a half, he could only tolerate small walks and it took two of us to lift him in and out of the car. He still had a good quality of life, however, and we would do all we could to maintain this; we just adapted to his disability accordingly.
Meanwhile, Dale was preparing to take his exams. Throughout his time at Gourock High there had inevitably been a few occasions when problems had arisen for him, but with his teachers’ incredible support and liaison with us, on the whole he had flourished. A major influence in his success was no doubt Margie Carracher and the staff in the learning support department. It was Dale’s idea to take his exams and do the best he could; Jamie and I never once pushed for him to achieve academically, wanting only for him to cope within the school environment and succeed socially.
One teacher, Marie Stewart, had previously worked at Glenburn School, for children with special needs, and had a lot of experience with autism. She was determined that despite his condition, Dale should reach the peak of his potential, and she was a great support to him in his studies. She was also his mentor and scribe when it came to taking his exams, as he needed someone to write his examination answers for him. Although the results weren’t important, I told Dale he should just do his best for his teachers. They deserved it.
One by one, day by day, Dale took his seven exams. We let him be and didn’t make a fuss. When he came home with his English paper, there was a question about trains, which needless to say he had chosen to answer. We were concerned about how Dale would handle the ambiguous way questions were often asked and whether the English exam would be difficult. We didn’t know if he would get any pass results at all, and did wonder whether the lack of an English qualification in particular would affect his chances of gaining decent employment in the future. But for now it was ov
er—he had done his best and we would enjoy the summer. Henry, too, benefited from the better weather and all was well as we began to prepare Amy for starting school in mid-August.
One morning in early August, the postman awoke us bearing the big brown envelope that contained Dale’s standard-grade results. I took it to Jamie, who was still in bed, and we discussed how no matter what, even if Dale had no passes, he had nevertheless tried his utmost and we would reward him with a gourmet meal in an exclusive restaurant. I then went up to Dale’s bedroom and left him to open the envelope on his own. A few minutes later, he came down to our bedroom with his usual laid-back demeanor and a big smile on his face.
“Mum, I think I’ve done quite well. Do you want to see?”
Jamie and I sat in bed and stared at the certificate. It took us a while to understand and absorb the list of grades in front of us. There it was in black and white: Dale had passed seven exams and gained a C in English.
Sensing what might be coming, Dale looked at me and said, “Mum, I don’t want a fuss—you know I don’t like that.”
So I sat where I was in bed and took a few moments of careful thought about how I would respond. I concluded that while Dale’s autism may not want a fuss, I wanted to show Dale how happy I was for him. So, like many times in the past, I took a risk. I leaped out of bed and jumped up and down like a lunatic, screaming with joy and waving the results paper around as if it were a winning lottery ticket. Jamie and Dale were laughing. Then Dale rapidly worked out that I was coming for him next and ran away. I managed to catch him and smothered him with kisses and hugs, still jumping around and squealing with elation. I think he was pleased I was so happy for him and, judging by the fact that he was still laughing, at least enjoyed the crazy way I had shown him.
A Friend Like Henry Page 18