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Getting the (Second) COVID-19 Vaccine While Autistic

Photo © bcgovphotos | Creative Commons / Flickr [image: Person with light skin and dark hair in a ponytail, wearing a blue surgical face mask, at a desk with hand sanitizer and vaccination paraphernalia. They are looking at someone off camera, and pointing to their right.] By Kate On Monday, March 15, I was lucky enough to receive my second dose of the Moderna COVID-19 vaccine. My experience in getting the first dose of the vaccine had gone pretty well, but I have never been an optimist or a pessimist. I am a realist. For me, the glass is not full or half empty. For me, the 16 ounce glass contains 8 ounces of 52° tap water from Concord. (And yes, that town is deliberately chosen, because I have serious opinions on the taste of various places tap water, and their tap water does not taste that good to me.)…

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Getting the COVID-19 Vaccine While Autistic

Photo © VCUCNS | Flickr / Creative Commons [image: A person wearing a black tank top getting a vaccine injection in their shoulder.] by Kate On Monday, February 15, I was lucky enough to get my first dose of the new Moderna vaccine for the COVID-19 virus. I say lucky, but in reality, it was a matter of various privileges, such as race, class, and education, all combined with the fact that I moved into a certain type of housing last summer. I had been communicating with a staff member for my local health department about something else related to the pandemic, and when the subject of vaccines came up, this person told me that I qualified and I should make an appointment right then. So I did: CVS, a local pharmacy chain, had just been allocated a large number of vaccines, so it was fairly easy for me at that…

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An Advocate Asks for Acceptance in Autism Research

Photo © Subconsci Productions [image: Instruments on the wall of a doctor’s exam room.] TPGA is observing Autism Acceptance Month by featuring accounts from autistic people about the differences accommodations (or lack thereof) make in their lives. Today, Kate talks about her experience trying to participate in a TMS research study, how distressing the entire scenario was for her because of the way she was treated, and how autism researchers need to better understand and accommodate autistic people if they want more autistic participants in their studies. by Kate I have figured it out, and I kind of feel like a genius. I have figured it out, and it is this: Awareness is people talking to you. Acceptance is people respecting you. Awareness is that high-pitched, baby voice. Acceptance is speaking in a normal tone. Awareness is being invited to the table. Acceptance is making sure that you can reach…

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How Telling Your Autistic Kid Santa Isn’t Real May Not Go As Planned

Photo © operabug | Flickr/Creative Commons [image: Crying East Asian toddler being held up to encounter  a cheerful waving white man dressed as Santa Claus.]  Kate Foreword from the author: This essay contains large Christmas spoilers, and may offend some people with deeply held theistic beliefs. If this is you, I recommend that you stop reading now, and if you read it anyway and are offended, then please do not complain. I was two months shy of ten when I learned the truth about Santa Claus. I was in fourth grade, and a year or two earlier, my voracious reading had convinced me that there was no way for it to be true. But then my best friend, told me that she had, in fact, stayed up until midnight the last Christmas Eve and seen him with her very own eyes put the presents under their tree. It never occurred…

Over-Educated, Under-Employed: The Plight of the Adult Aspergian

Kate A year from now, I turn thirty. A year from now, many people my age are married, with a kid or two on the way. At the very least, they are living on their own, and supporting themselves. Living with your parents is okay in your twenties, but your thirties? That’s just too long for me. I want to be out on my own, doing my own thing, and much as I adore my mother I think I’ve had enough. Yet I have the sinking feeling that I will still be here, still be living at home and cobbling together part time jobs, and damn, but I’m sick of it.                I’ve been looking for work for five years now. Five years! I finished my master’s thesis in the fall of 2007 and started interviewing for positions that fall. I’ve since gone on dozens of interviews at human services…

Healing

Kate   When I was a fifteen years old, my psychiatrist told me that in ten years’ time, there would be a machine that would scan my brain and tell the doctors exactly what medicine to give me to make me normal, to make me whole. That was thirteen years ago, and though I have not yet heard of any such machine, I’ve realized that I never needed it. What I needed was acceptance. What I needed was love. These are the things that made me realize that I had, in fact, been whole all along. Sometimes, I feel as if my life were a long, cold winter, and that spring took a very long time coming. Like many autistic adults, I did not have an easy time of it growing up. Even in adulthood, I struggled with loneliness, employment, and a host of other issues. Though I was almost…

Passing

Kate It happens, not every day, but often. You’re at a social gathering, feeling good, feeling alive, and this conversation leads to that leads to “Oh yeah, I’m autistic. I have Asperger’s syndrome.” And the almost-inevitable response. “Really?  You don’t look/seem/come off as autistic.” I can never quite decide if this is supposed to be a compliment or not.  To take it as a compliment would mean accepting the premise that to be autistic is something bad, which it’s not,  that my social skills are good enough to ‘pass’ for neuro-typical in public and that is a good thing, since people have so many ‘bad’ stereotypes of what autism is and might misjudge me. Which is weird, because I’m pretty sure that anyone who makes a statement that I don’t look autistic doesn’t know me well, and doesn’t know autism well. Here’s the thing.  I can ‘pass’ for neuro-typical in…

Scarred

Kate We are scarred, we adults on the spectrum. We are scarred, both inside and out. Our lives are twisted paths littered with diagnoses. We have fought for years to get to where we are now, and still it isn’t good enough. We are scarred. We went to schools where there was no help. Sometimes we were shunted into special education rooms, or to the behavior-problems division. There we were taught that we were ‘stupid,’ ‘retarded,’ that we would never amount to anything. We were accused of cheating when we read so well but couldn’t write an essay, drew complex diagrams yet failed math. We were denied entry into higher-level classes because we didn’t appear to be smart or participating in class, and our minds thirsted in vain for more knowledge. We went to therapies, all sorts of therapies. Look at this ink blot, what do you see? I see…