A Rare Weekend Post

I recently started watching a new television show--The Good Doctor. It's about a young surgical resident who has autism and savant syndrome.

As an adult with Aspergers, I find myself comparing my traits with each fictional representation that comes across the screen. And with each character, I do see a little of myself represented in each unique character.

And I say "a little," because we are unique. The autism spectrum is very broad, and every person on that spectrum can share many traits, or just a few.  Nevertheless, we are each unique. I find that as the general population tries to understand us (and I give them credit for that!), they still lump the entire spectrum into a few almost stereotypical traits. For example, the general population equates autism with a lack of empathy.

I would fiercely debate this in my own unique manifestation of traits. I would argue that many of us are overwhelmed by the sheer amount of empathy we feel, and unable to deal with it in a socially acceptable way, we instead hide it, keeping our thoughts inside of us to the point that the general perception is that we lack empathy.

I believe this article is spot on, at least in my case and many others like me! Click here to read.

That everyone on the autistic spectrum lacks empathy is the furthest thing from the truth...and again, I can't stress enough that everyone is unique, and there may be some people with autism who genuinely lack empathy. However, can't that be said for the entire human race?

People with autism simply can't be lumped into one set of characteristics. Boys on the spectrum generally manifest with different traits than girls on the spectrum. Adults on the spectrum sometimes have learned mimicry to the point where they might be perceived as "normal," in most ways. Children seem to display more of the traits, and there are those who believe autism can be "outgrown."

Again, this is far from the truth, as mimicry and adaptability can go a long way.

Like Dr. Shaun Murphy, I avoid eye contact. I have avoided eye contact with others for most of my life.  I remember when I was younger, I would tear up if I made eye contact with an adult. I don't know why, and still don't know why.

We don't avoid eye contact because we're hiding anything, nor do we avoid eye contact because we're liars. Nothing could be further from the truth, for like Dr. Shaun Murphy, telling a lie is almost impossible for me. I value truth very highly, and I tend to tell the truth sometimes too bluntly (also much like Dr. Murphy).

But as I grew older, I learned to remind myself to make eye contact when talking to someone. In the medical field, eye contact is important, and I've often had to correct myself when I find a patient turning their head to see what I'm looking at. That's when I realize my eyes have drifted and I "reconnect."

Another similarity I have with the "good doctor," is that I'm very quiet. I hold my thoughts inside the majority of the time. One of the reasons I've kept a blog for about 15 years is because I "talk" more
here than I do anywhere else. My mom always said that I knew how to talk, but I just wouldn't until I was about four years old. I guess my mom probably thought I was really weird, but I know she read my diaries, so I feel like she began to eventually understand me.

But I struggle to communicate, and I know that frustrates those who like telling every single step in a process out loud. That's just not the way I work, though, and I don't know if anyone will ever really grasp that. I am not a talkative person, and would be content in a world without spoken language, as long as there was still written language. I learn best by just doing, and doing it my own way. If I end up with the right answer by taking a different route, it's just as good, right?

I remember doing a math problem in front of my dad. He bit his tongue til the very end, probably thinking he could tell me exactly where I went wrong when I wrote down the wrong final answer. To his amazement, I wrote down the right answer. He was genuinely perplexed, but laughed when he said, "I don't know how you did it, but that's the right answer." I still remember that so vividly in my mind...

We do things differently. And every one of us on the autism spectrum does something a little differently from others in close relation to us on the spectrum. Our minds tend to work uniquely...some of us recognize patterns and as we work out problems, pattern recognition comes into play. Some of us, like Dr. Murphy, think in pictures. Or more accurately for Shaun Murphy, he thinks in images of the pages of books he's read. Some of us think in sounds, and some use other senses to navigate problem-solving processes in life.

The point I'm trying to make is that there is no typical autistic person. While some on the spectrum are high functioning, some sadly aren't. That's when autism becomes more of a disability.

I used to think I wasn't made for this world. I used to think I was the only person who saw things the way I did, and I was only partly wrong. I now know what's "wrong" with me, and I also know there are other women out there who share similar traits. And I now realize my autism isn't a disability, but an asset. I realize I am unique, but not entirely alone.

I have come to appreciate all the beneficial traits, like reading and a love of knowledge, and curiosity and integrity and honor. Every one of my "special interests" has benefited me in some way. My special interest in my family's ancestry gave me a wealth of knowledge about those who came before me. And when I look at pictures of those Montgomeries of long ago, I see resemblances, like what my brother always called "the Montgomery chin." Lol... But it's so cool to know who your ancestors are, and so cool when you find pictures of them on the Internet, and they share a genetic trait.

Maybe some of them were autistic, too. I know there were a few successful writers in my ancestry, contemporaries and friends of Robert Burns. In fact, Robert Burns was in love with a fair Montgomery maiden once, but she probably had Aspergers and didn't know he was writing about her in his poetry.

The last episode I watched tonight was about the little boy with cancer who looked just like Shaun's brother who had died around the same age of this boy. Although Shaun's outward appearance didn't show much, I knew exactly what was happening in his mind. Shaun connected with this boy because he reminded him very much of his dead brother. In the sterile world of hospitals, Shaun did get too close to his patient, which led to him giving false hope to the parents and the kid. It was the first time Shaun had been wrong, and when he said it, twice, I knew that besides being bluntly truthful, he was also realizing just how much he wanted to be right, because he wanted the doppelganger of his brother to live. He wanted to save this boy because he couldn't save his brother on the day he died.

And then we see empathy come to the surface in a unique way. Shaun's brother loved the book Shaun had given him for his birthday--To Kill a Mockingbird. But Shaun's brother hadn't been able to finish it before he died tragically. He had almost finished it, but hadn't read the last few pages.

So, Shaun brought the book into the hospital, sat down by this "brother figure," and read the last couple pages to the boy. By doing this, it brought closure, and an acceptance. Like many others with autism, leaving something unfinished is like breaking one of the ten commandments. And without his brother being physically there to finish it, it must've weighed heavily on Shaun's mind. I could read the satisfaction of having finally found a measure of peace and closure on Shaun's face when he closed the book.

And the book reading is also similar to the dripping water faucet in his apartment. In Wyoming, where he lived before, the water dripped at a rate that was comforting to Shaun. In his new faucet, it developed a problem where the rate of the drip increased, and it nearly drove him crazy until he was able to adjust it back to the same drip rate as he'd enjoyed in Wyoming. When the fix it guy came and fixed it so that it didn't drip at all, Shaun nearly lost it and stormed down to the guy's apartment just to tell him that he did it wrong.

It reflects on another autistic trait heavily manifested on television and movies--a reluctance to change. We like what we like, and the things we like are the things we find that soothe us after a day of overstimulation. In my case, I can't live without a very long bath every night (sometimes a couple hours long). The bath helps me unwind, and I can enjoy silence, or some music, or read things that interest me. I keep a stack of books on the step to the bath, sometimes two or three stacks. And tonight, I'm writing this blog while in the bath. It's my ''alone place," which probably will sound really weird to everyone out there reading this who doesn't have autism. But I bet the ones with autism can think of a daily ritual that involves alone time, too.

I don't know...this was just all on my mind as I finished watching that last episode. I have more to say, but I'll save that for another time...

Just remember, just as you don't fit into a mold of personality traits, neither do those on the autistic spectrum. We are all unique. Our minds all think differently, but our minds just think a little more outside the box than yours. And sometimes more literally than yours as well. I remember one time when I was making pancakes, my dad asked me to make him a very small one. He laughed when I handed him a plate with a pancake about the size of a half-dollar on it. But I wasn't being sassy or trying to be funny--I took his words very literally. I took a lot of things way too literally back then.

For example, I was afraid to see Airplane! in the theaters, because the trailer said, "You'll die laughing," and I didn't want to die.

I don't know...this was just all on my mind as I finished watching that last episode. I have more to say, but I'll save that for another time...