A chilling waiting game: disability and healthcare during a pandemic


https://www.dailycal.org/2020/04/04/a-chilling-waiting-game-disability-and-health-care-during-a-pandemic/

A chilling waiting game: disability and healthcare during a pandemic


I have always taken pride in the tremendous progress (though far from perfect) that this country of mine has made in leading and furthering disability rights. Though I may be a minimally speaking autistic with comorbidities which significantly affect my daily functioning, and though the road has not been clear of bumps, such rights enable me to pursue higher education at UC Berkeley and aim for much more.


Now with the COVID-19 pandemic, people with disabilities like me all seem to be playing a chilling waiting game that is anxiety-filled. I wonder how long it will be before this virus impacts our family, caregivers and other supports we rely on for our wellbeing. If we are personally infected, how bad will it be? Death is an inevitability for all humankind, and I am not afraid of dying. However, what would be both macabre and tragic is if the death of a person is due to the fact of their life being thought of as not having value to society.


When I first came across the term medical rationing toward people with disabilities recently, my reaction was shock. It was even more disconcerting to learn that such practices are in play in this day and age and exacerbated by shortages in a developed country like the US, which is supposed to be a global leader in terms of resources, technology and medical research. 


Historically, our society has marked some lives, such as those with disabilities, as having less value and therefore as not entitled to all that the rest of society may take for granted. For instance, in my disability studies class at UC Berkeley we had learned of the eugenics movement and sterilization laws that targeted those with disabilities; they were termed “weak and feeble minded” and thus prevented from passing on their ‘defective genes.’ 


With respect to medical rationing, Samantha Crane, Legal Director and Director of Public Policy of the Washington D.C.-based disability rights organization, Autistic Self Advocacy Network, states that while some states may not have explicit written laws, they do have triage guidelines that deny healthcare to some people with disabilities. 


“For example, New York State Department of Health has guidelines saying that if there is a shortage of ventilators, doctors can consider ‘severe chronic conditions that adversely impact health functionality,’ like spinal muscular atrophy (SMA), when deciding who should have access to a ventilator. Even if someone was already on a ventilator before coming to the hospital, doctors can actually remove them from the ventilator if they don't meet the guidelines, said Crane.


From 2010 up until February this year, Alabama enabled healthcare discrimination against people with intellectual disabilities, with its now-unpublished, former ventilator triage  guidelines for mass-casualty emergencies stating that “children with severe neurological problems may not be appropriate candidates.” In my mind, this guideline impacts a significant percentage of autistic children alone, not to mention children with a wide range of other disabilities. It is concerning that these guidelines were in place until just this year. Tennessee and Washington are further examples of states with discriminatory guidelines.


According to Crane, many disability organizations across the nation at both the local and national level have been collaborating in the effort to file complaints with the Department of Health and Human Services, or HHS, in recent weeks in what has become almost a race against time. 


Lawrence Carter-Long, Communications Director and Director, Disability and Media Alliance Project, at the Berkeley-based Disability Rights Education and Defence Fund, also pointed to resources that the DREDF had compiled, “to give folks the resources necessary to fight back — do the homework basically — so other groups across the nation and in other states don't have to reinvent the wheel.”  


These resources include information on the Illegality of medical rationing on the basis of disability as well as a letter to Governor Gavin Newsom urging him to prohibit such healthcare rationing.


Carter-Long explained, Our intention with this material was/is to 1. make sure this is on the Governor's radar and to go on record, 2. compile the necessary resources for other groups across the nation and 3. create a template other advocacy organizations can use with minor changes.”


On March 28, the HHS Office for Civil Rights released a bulletin telling medical providers they could not discriminate against people with disabilities. Roger Severino, OCR Director is quoted in the bulletin as saying, “Our civil rights laws protect the equal dignity of every human life from ruthless utilitarianism. Persons with disabilities...should not be put at the end of the line for health care during emergencies.” 


In addition, on March 30, the California Departments of Health Care Services (DHCS), Public Health (CDPH), and Managed Health Care (DMHC) issued a joint bulletin stating, “The State of California understands that people with disabilities are concerned that medical providers might consider an individual’s disability status when determining which patients to treat if hospitals or other health care facilities experience a surge of patients needing life-saving care. This joint bulletin reminds health care providers and payers that rationing care based on a person’s disability status is impermissible and unlawful under both federal and state law.


But whether these directives will translate to reality in a field that is already absolutely overwhelmed and desperately short of resources during a pandemic remains to be seen. 


Clarissa Kripke, M.D is a Health Sciences Clinical Professor and Director of the Office of Developmental Primary Care at UCSF. Kripke is on the frontlines of this pandemic and felt that “one thing that confuses doctors is that function has been used as a proxy for life expectancy.” 


She explained by the time someone is having functional problems due to age or chronic disease  in their vital organs, those organs have very little capacity left and any little thing could be fatal. So loss of function is associated with a poor prognosis if the reason for the loss of function is severe damage to one or more vital organs from age or disease.


Kripke, who is also Vice-Chair on the board of Communication First, which advocates for communication-disability civil rights, added that people with neurological conditions often have severe functional or cognitive problems, but perfectly healthy vital organs. In that situation, poor function doesn't mean poor prognosis at all. According to Kripke, people with disabilities and healthy vital organs benefit greatly from aggressive medical care. 


“In the language of rationing schemes this distinction often gets muddy and people are assumed to be dying even when they are not. Function or diagnostic labels such as intellectual disability or autism should not be used to estimate likelihood of benefiting from medical treatment. Only signs of the health of vital organs should be used, Kripke said. 


Kripke wants to stress that the lives of people with disabilities are meaningful and valuable. She feels that healthcare rationing is not inevitable and that it instead will be determined by two things. First, the degree to which we collectively and individually do our part in stopping the spread of the virus, and second, how soon we do it. If we take action too late, then we face untenable rationing in which there is no justice any way you look at it.  


It would be helpful if we could predict who will benefit from treatment, and who will not, but we don’t have a way to do that accurately. Healthcare by lottery isn’t a better solution, Kripke said. 


Since there is no known cure for COVID-19, your immune system is the main thing that will fight the virus, explained Kripke. By the time someone is critically ill enough to need a ventilator, their prognosis is poor, with or without a ventilator, and there is little healthcare professionals can do to change the course of the illness at that point. So she would like everyone to really focus on optimization of compliance and prevention strategies. 


According to Victor Pineda, every field of ethics incorporates value judgments, and there are evolving conceptions of what justice is and what is ethical or unethical. Pineda is a world renowned human rights activist, UC Berkeley adjunct lecturer at the department of city and regional planning and Director of Inclusive Cities Lab at the Institute on Urban and Regional Development.


He explained in modern times, people with disabilities have been seen as deficient or as an expense or liability to society. At the same time, we have the universal declaration of human rights like the UNCRPD (United Nations conference on the rights of people with disabilities). The current situation is thus an opportunity to rethink medical ethics in ways that follow the principles of social justice.


“In these times we are really tested to show who we really are, what we really care about, what are the values worth fighting for, what are the values worth defending. Do we value human rights and human dignity, social justice and equality? It's exactly when we should be most challenged, that we should live up to those highest morals and aspirations,“ said Pineda.


Pineda has a neuromuscular condition that requires him to use a wheelchair and a machine to breathe so he can live with his current 9% lung capacity. His machine provides non-invasive pulmonary breathing support in that it goes over his nose. He took the decision to self-quarantine early on during this pandemic to reduce risk. 


Right now he feels that he lives in this existential level of threat that is assaulting not just entire systems and economies, politics, policies and institutions, but also his personal wellbeing. Pineda has had to engage in different risk assessments relative to his personal care.


 “Who will care for me? How responsible are they? How closely will they follow protocol, in terms of hygiene, in terms of cleanliness, in terms of washing their hands, in terms of washing my equipment, wiping down surfaces? What is the cost associated with that much higher level of care? ... So with that I think we are in a very difficult place, said Pineda. 


Pineda had been advised by his Stanford pulmonologist not to go to the hospital if infected with the virus and instead to maximize his settings at home and try to recover there. Should he reach a point that he simply can’t breathe, then he will need to go to the hospital to be attended to. 


The problem is that Pineda would not be able to go to the hospital by himself as he needs an attendant to even take him there, which puts him at tremendous threat and risk. It is akin to someone who is deaf and unable to go without a sign language interpreter. 


In addition, Pineda said his ventilator would be confiscated as it does not meet certain criteria and he would be intubated, wherein they put a tube down his throat and perform a surgery called a tracheostomy. So the thought of going to the hospital without the two things he most needs — his ventilator and his attendant — is very scary for Pineda. 


I have to echo Pineda's sentiment that this is all quite scary as the unfolding events feel out of control. An issue that has been on my mind is that those of us with more significant disabilities and limited spoken language ability are highly dependent on parents, family or known caregivers for much of our basic living skills support. I can just imagine my already limited communication skills absolutely shutting down when in trauma or when ill.  The thought of being quarantined or left alone without support is frightening. 


I also wonder what happens if both our parents or our primary caretakers during this time get infected. And what happens in the case of a single-caretaker home, for not everyone comes from a large circle of friends and support. Even in ‘normal’ times, public service agencies for the disabled community like the Regional Centers set up by the California Department of Developmental Disabilities take time in setting up or coordinating services; they would be utterly overwhelmed in a pandemic that requires almost immediate responses. 


But while the immediate future has a level of uncertainty, Kripke also offered advice for individuals with disabilities and their families during this time of the global coronavirus pandemic.


The first is that it is important to have access to food, medications and supplies that people with disabilities rely on to maintain good health and also access to consistent paid and unpaid support. 


She stressed that retaining your rights and being safe and wise are not the same thing. People who moved around before the shelter-in-place took effect unwittingly may have contributed to the public health crisis. She also points out that although you may be entitled to services in your home, providing those services could pose a risk to you and your family. Therefore each of us needs to make good choices about what risk is “essential.’ 


Kripke also felt that the complex support needs of individuals with disabilities may mean even stricter physical distancing requirements than for the general population to reduce the risk of exposure for individuals and their caregivers. It may mean postponing medical procedures or forgoing important but non-essential services. 


It may also mean getting telehealth advice rather than risk physically going to a clinic, she continued, as there is not only the danger of your getting infected or spreading infection, but also the risk of being separated from your advocates and communication support. While hospitals could make individual exceptions, there are reasons why a support person is not allowed as they risk being exposed to the coronavirus in addition to hospitals not being able to spare protective gear for the support person’s use. For some people with disabilities, it makes more sense to provide enhanced treatment at home rather than receive care in a hospital. 


If, however, you are having an emergency where minutes matter, she urges you to call 911. 


Kripke stressed putting together a circle of support, as you also need to think about who would provide care if your supporters or parents are sick. She pointed to a webinar by California-based Disability Voices United on Coronavirus Emergency Preparedness discussing tools that could help individuals with disabilities and their families think through such a plan. In the webinar one parent actually expressed the sentiment that what terrified parents was not dying as such, rather it was dying and leaving their disabled child (of any age) without support. 


Kripke also advised developing a plan for what you will do if one or more of you in a household develops a fever or cough. If you need personal assistance that requires close contact, then your household should try to secure protective equipment (masks, gloves, eye protection, gowns) to address the first 72 hours after someone in the household becomes ill to avoid spreading the virus in the home. You may be able to get more supplies from your department of public health if someone is sick. 


While it is not possible to provide care to a sick person without getting exposed to the virus, she advised trying to limit exposing all supporters. This may mean some family members moving to a separate room or out of the house for a period. And if possible, exposed and unexposed people should not share bathrooms. 

Other important issues according to Kripke are not allowing the more flexible regulation and oversight to lead to increased abuse and neglect; protecting service providers' health and economic interests; and access to safe quarantine centers if sick people with disabilities, housemates, family members or service providers need to be separated. Discrimination and social isolation are also important issues to be considered. 


Kripke is appreciative that the Bay Area’s early and aggressive spatial distancing and shelter in place directives are being taken seriously by residents and is proud of local, city and state leaders who are sending consistent and appropriate messages, taking action and calling upon all of us to do our part. She sees the community too is coming together, and she encourages everyone to keep it up. 


She feels that if we do our part to flatten the curve, public health departments and hospitals and regional centers will have more time, personnel and resources to help solve problems and accommodate. In the meantime, any solutions you come up with your friends, family and trusted community organizations will probably be safer and better than the ones they will be able to arrange. 


Kripke leaves us with some very encouraging words of advice: Let’s use this crisis as an opportunity for community organizing and sending a message that none of us are expendable. We won’t leave anyone behind. Our country has problems, and we are the solution. We can save ourselves, our families, our community, our country, and our world by sharing information, working together, acting in unison, and helping each other.”




The Real Social Distancing

My latest article in the Daily Cal about the new kid on the block - the term "Social Distancing"

We are living in unsettling times. We are surrounded by images showing us exponential growth curves of COVID-19, or the coronavirus, cases around the U.S. and beyond, in what is now a global pandemic. The situation is even more baffling, anxiety-filled and stressful for people with disabilities, many of whom already face underlying health conditions and other comorbidities.


In fact, disability categories were listed in the top-10 “at risk” populations in the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention recommendations for mitigation strategies sent to local counties. People in the disability community also have to worry about family, friends and other support that we rely on and that are critical for our functioning and maintaining a decent quality of life.


“This period of enforced social distancing brings disruptions in the schedules of people with disabilities. The mechanisms of support — life support, social support, continuity — are fraying at the edges. When we wake up, we do not know what the new day will bring. Will we be forced to go outside, to relocate, can we find the things we’ll need to survive? Will the person who brings our groceries also inadvertently carry the virus that will kill us? All of these unknowns swirl around and choke us,” said Karen Nakamura, professor of anthropology and Robert and Colleen Haas Distinguished Chair of Disability Studies at UC Berkeley.


Indeed, “social distancing” is the term you hear when you tune into any media source. It’s the new buzz term, the new kid on the block. Many in the U.S. and around the world are hearing of this term for the first time in their lives in recent weeks. The term is approached with a mixture of fear and excitement. Excitement because it seems to provide a tangible way to deal with the need of the hour, slowing the spread of COVID-19, and because of the messages all around us (whether from the media or the campus administration) regarding the importance of practicing social distancing for the global coronavirus pandemic.

At the same time, social distancing is also a concerning and less desirable idea for most, as no one relishes the thought of being isolated from the rest of society. After all, being part of a valued social group is a fundamental human need. As a result, the public comforts itself in the knowledge that this new “social distancing” they are hearing of is a temporary phenomenon, which can be safely tucked away out of sight and out of mind once the pandemic has subsided.


The irony in all this is that social distancing is not something new, or a medical precaution to be grouped with the frequent washing of your hands, which is the other big piece of advice of the day. Some groups have been painfully aware of the practice of “social distancing” for a long time now. Social distancing has been widely practiced against people with disabilities, whether it’s physical disabilities, mental disabilities or neurodevelopmental disabilities such as autism.


The irony in all this is that social distancing is not something new, or a medical precaution to be grouped with the frequent washing of your hands, which is the other big piece of advice of the day.


Social distancing as a term was first coined in the 1920s by sociologist Robert Park. In the 1930s, the Bogardus social distance scale was developed to measure people’s desire to keep a distance from individuals in socially devalued groups. Variations of that scale are still prevalent today in the many studies being done on the issue. Social distancing scales basically ask people the extent of their willingness to be close to those from “outgroups,” with measurements ranging from high distance (willing to live in the same state as a person with a given trait or condition) to much closer connections (willing to be close friends with such a person, or even close relatives through marriage with them).


“For many people with psychiatric and intellectual disabilities, social distancing has been much of their experience — forced withdrawal from school, sequestration in homes or institutions and missed opportunities. A social life was always something that happened to other people,” Nakamura said.


As a minimally speaking autistic with significant challenges, I have been painfully aware of social distancing for much of my life. It is the way the kids from some special education classrooms are the socially isolated group in one part of the playground or even have a different recess time from the neurotypical kids in public schools. It is the deeply hurtful way a visiting parent intentionally moved her child to their other side as they passed by me and my aide in the hallways of Dilworth Elementary School. Yes, my autism does include stimming or off-beat mannerisms, but I was just a small third or fourth grader then. Maybe the belief of such people is that autism, like a virus, is “transmittable” and thus a reason for social distancing.


Social distancing is also being automatically excluded or ignored in activities that neurotypical kids are involved in. Ironically, the unspoken social distancing rules toward autistics like me did not apply on Halloween when there would be a host of costumed neighborhood kids at my doorstep asking for candy. Social distancing was something that could be turned on or off at the whim of society around me when it suited it.


For me, the term social distancing equates to loneliness and isolation due to nonspeaking autism. Most of my life has been spent trying to overcome and reduce this social distancing, and my college experience at UC Berkeley (though not without its bumps) has been a delightfully refreshing upgrade.


I was all the more intrigued when I heard UC Berkeley professor of psychology Stephen Hinshaw speak on social distancing during his talk on stigma and autism at the 1:59 Autism Spectrum Disorder DeCal, of which I am a student instructor, in mid-March. He jokingly remarked that he had wanted to rub his eyes in shock when he saw the term on a website a few weeks back, but of course, you are not supposed to touch your face. Now he sees the term in almost every post from any administrator or the campus. Hinshaw has been studying and writing about stigma and social distancing for a long time now.

“Social distancing is that place on the continuum between living on the same planet with somebody with a stigmatized condition to being much more socially close with them. We want to erode social distance and have closeness,” Hinshaw said during the class.


“Social distancing is that place on the continuum between living on the same planet with somebody with a stigmatized condition to being much more socially close with them.”— Stephen Hinshaw


Stigma results from a fear that disabilities are somehow contagious, so you keep a social distance from the person regarded as contagious. Hinshaw added that we are now being told that in the age of COVID-19, social distancing is a good thing, but we have to be aware of the hidden meanings of that term.


Hinshaw acknowledged that the new normal for the good of the group in order to prevent the spread of the coronavirus is to practice social distancing. He wished that a different term had been used, however, as he had been fighting social distancing through his work on stigma for the last 20 years.


Alastair Iles, associate professor in the campus Department of Environmental Science, Policy and Management, points out that the disabled community has often been regarded as the “other,” a group to be stigmatized and isolated. This is more so for people with more visible disabilities such as wheelchair users, a blind person using a cane, a deaf person signing or those with intellectual and developmental disabilities associated with childish looks and off-beat mannerisms.


According to Iles, disability has often been understood to be God’s punishment or, “as a possibly contagious disease in itself, and … people who perceive themselves as normal feel they must avoid disabled people to be safe.” Though his own disability is not visible, Illes has encountered unwillingness by some people to further engage with him once they know he is deaf, which is essentially a form of social distancing.


Iles feels that what is now being termed “social distancing” is more of a “spatial distancing,” for which you have to be both six feet apart from others and cut back on all interactions that could spread microbes. He said we really need that spatial distancing now, and it is effective, as seen in other communicable disease outbreaks. He is quick to point out that while spatial distancing could help protect people with disabilities in the current situation, it could also deprive them of vital support and connections when they need it the most.


Iles also wonders about the way distancing is being understood and practiced now when he goes on his walks. Some pass him at a distance, make eye contact or smile, thus maintaining both social connection and spatial distance. On the other hand, he finds that younger people in their 20s and 30s seem to excessively avoid him by deviating across the road or ignoring him altogether. For Illes, it felt like a denial of the existence of interactions and shared community, which resonates with how disabled people are treated. He believes you can practice distancing in very different ways.


I spoke with a few other students with disabilities on campus to get their take on “social distancing.” It was all done online or via email, of course, given our current climate.


“I think now that social distancing is necessary, neurotypicals will get a glimpse of what living with non-speaking autism is like,” wrote David Teplitz, a political science major.


Incidentally, I feel social distancing is often confused with social interaction skills that some autistics may struggle with and which can lead to the mistaken impression that all autistics like to be left alone or “socially distance” themselves. For some autistics such as those who are nonspeaking or minimally speaking, social interaction skills may be impacted due to  communication challenges. It is not lack of desire for interaction, it’s just that it can be a somewhat dampening experience when, for example, you can’t quite keep up with the rapid pace of the back-and-forth spoken communication of your peers when your typing is slow and awkward.


For other autistics, social interaction skills may be affected by challenges in fully grasping the nuances of social norms, which makes them the “outgroup.” For that matter, even the able-bodied, neurotypical introverted person has a harder time with social interaction skills than the neurotypical extrovert.


For Anna Bernick, an American studies major, the current situation is “automotive. We already surround ourselves with screens for hours on end and now we have to for most social interactions. It sucks.”


Brian Liu, who studies integrative biology and applied math, also had a hard time fitting in while growing up due to his autistic traits such as taking things too literally.


“I was unable to tell that a friend didn’t want to talk to me when they literally said they enjoyed talking with me. It is when I have something in mind, but the way I express it is misunderstood,” Liu said. “Social distancing happens, which leads to more social distancing. It leads to rumors being spread, as you sit there fixed, watching it unfold because your experience goes unheard.”

Liu feels that perhaps nondisabled people find it hard to distinguish between social distancing and physical distancing, as they tend to think of social gatherings as physical gatherings, “whereas to certain disabled folks, it feels like an honor to even be included in an online group, which they would consider a social gathering.”


Even with the current “social distancing” norms in place, Liu found that after checking in with a group, many people had actually caught up socially with a lot of their friends online. Liu, on the other hand, has had to initiate almost all his conversations.


It is clear that the disabled community’s perceptions of social distancing are very different from the current usage of the term. Words matter, and other terms that have less historic connotations can be used. Perhaps a good place to start is to rebrand the current “social distancing” to the more accurate “spatial distancing” or “physical distancing.”


Perhaps a good place to start is to rebrand the current “social distancing” to the more accurate “spatial distancing” or “physical distancing.”


I also worry about the way “social distancing” is used jokingly in memes as a temporary and infrequent phenomenon. Will this trivialize or normalize its use in the future, post-pandemic world? Will it just become the mainstream and acceptable “thing to do?” Will it be okay to socially distance any “group” (such as people who have disabilities) for any reason in the future, as everyone’s had to do it currently?


According to Iles, public health experts are saying we will go through a few rounds of “social distancing,” so it is possible that people will become accustomed to this behavior they currently find alienating and stressful. This might lead to a greater tolerance of distancing behavior in the future. He adds that like countless times in the past, power inequalities could well play out and result in distancing exercised toward certain marginalized groups with the claim that it’s justified for safety and well-being. It might also be considered acceptable for some groups to distance themselves from a problem while leaving vulnerable populations more exposed. Relating to this topic, Illes is currently working on an article about agricultural workers and the disease.


“What might be a bit different is that the virus threat will be invoked in the future to stigmatize various groups — as those who are supposedly more likely to be “carriers” of the virus. Or, the memory of the virus will be used in this way,” Illes remarked. “But you shouldn’t assume that it will happen; there are strong social bonds between people — we are social beings for the most part.”


Times of crisis often bring out the best in people too, as demonstrated by the countless stories of generosity during this time of need. Even in the midst of the coronavirus pandemic, people have been quick to offer free resources online such as yoga classes or access to educational materials. There has been a quick restructuring of business and educational models so that life, studies and work can continue from the isolation of home. People are finding ways to socially connect with strangers in many small ways. Let’s not confuse our current spatial distancing with social distancing.


I want to believe Charles Darwin’s take on the human species as one of “survival of the kindest,” and not just “survival of the fittest.” I want to believe our human society has great capacity for goodness and compassion for all its members. And now that more of society has had to experience the pains of isolation for themselves, dare I dream that society will rethink social distancing against marginalized groups such as the disabled community in the post-pandemic world?



When the World Got Corona'd

 
3/19/20 US Covid-19 (Source: Reuters)










Commodifying Nature

I like waterfalls, so many of our vacations end going to places with waterfalls which basically takes us to national parks. There is a trail in oregon where you can see 11 waterfalls.

And national parks give you easier access by building roads right unto them. Its a pity because they are actually making it less natural by building all the roads like in Yosemite.

I feel we have commodified and compartmentalized nature. nature is catered to tourists who have money to spend and cut off from the marginalized bodies and the poor. I want to touch things and maybe obsess over little things like the water tricking over one specific rock.

First Transitions


Exactly 2 years ago

In "First Transitions", I explain the rigidity and difficulty with transitions that can be characteristic of autism
This is the fourth of my series of 10 articles for my weekly opinion column "The Person Inside" for the Daily Californian. 
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Headline: First transitions


The first semester at a vast university such as UC Berkeley is hard for most students. We all fear the unknown, which brings about its own set of anxious thoughts. When you factor in my type of autism challenges, the process is even more nerve-racking.


We autistics fundamentally have difficulty with handling transitions. A transition is like a doorway: The other side is full of potential unknowns, and our unpredictable autism bodies may not cooperate with us even if we have crossed this doorway before. It’s the idea of change itself in addition to the actual change that comprises transition. The doorway latches on to our anxiety. 


As a child, I really did have a problem entering a building or a classroom. Even now, I rush through physical doorways. The metaphorical doorways for me now are the transitions that occur in everyday life, at college, at home and especially during travel. Interactions with people, trying new food, navigating the campus walkways and buildings all involve crossing a doorway.


Last fall, a day before Golden Bear Orientation, or GBO, the Disabled Students’ Program, or DSP, had thoughtfully organized its own all-day event at Zellerbach Auditorium. But within half an hour of the program, I was completely overwhelmed at the thought of all the transitions I would potentially have to face. I rushed out and sat in the lobby for almost two hours before attempting to go back in.


GBO was a hectic eight-day program with events and discussions that often started at 9 a.m. and ended at 11 p.m. I was surprised that I was able to handle most of them as well as I did. I think what helped was that I was able to return to Zellerbach Auditorium that first day, even if I had to miss two hours, rather than give up and go home — that gave me confidence. 


I had to stand in line outside Memorial Stadium for more than three hours on the first day of GBO, but I still went in. The incoming class was breaking the Guinness World Record for the largest human letter C. The systematic immersion at GBO helped prepare me for the semester.


Then came the first day of classes. I was in Psychology C19: “Drugs and the Brain,” which is a popular class — there must have been about 800 students in Wheeler Auditorium that day. I was a nervous lone figure right at the back, very close to the exit, ready to bolt anytime. But at the same time, part of me was absolutely thrilled to be there. 


There is really no other way of handling transitions than systematic desensitization — repeatedly walking through the doorway and thinking through the steps before going in to reduce that unknown factor.

I sat in the same seat at the back of Wheeler Auditorium for nearly half the semester before moving up row by row. I made it all the way to the fourth row by the end of the semester. 


I also realized that a large class offered lots of anonymity, which was a perfect cover for my offbeat autism mannerisms. There was enough ambient sound to cover any noise I was making. I actually ended up really liking Wheeler Auditorium. It is also quite thrilling to be learning in a classroom that held a Nobel Prize Ceremony. 


The first semester of college was tough, with its innumerable transitions, and it took a lot of kickstarts to get me going. I had introduced myself to my professors via email but it took me more than half the semester before I physically made it to their office hours just to say “Hi.” 


Taking anticipatory steps when possible really helped me. For instance, I worried about how a nonverbal individual like me would participate in a debate during one of my discussion sections. But I finally took on the role of delivering the opening statement for my team — that way, I could prepare ahead of time and let the text-speech app on my iPad be my voice. 


My exams are at a different testing site and in a room that was unfamiliar to me. DSP Proctoring took note of my concern and let me preview the exact room at Moffitt Library a few days prior to my first midterm. They also made sure that I was given that same room for all my exams last semester. 

Life is going to be full of transitions for us autistics. The only way to move forward is to proactively seek transitions.


This semester, I have sought new doorways — writing this opinion column for The Daily Californian, for example, also entails attending staff meetings and editing sessions. I hope I can continue to attempt more doorways and become more at ease in stepping outside my comfort zone.





The Women in My Life

Revisiting this article written exactly two years ago for International Women's Day.


'The Women in My Life' is a tribute to the women in my life who gave that extra helping hand. 

This is the fourth of my series of 10 articles for my weekly opinion column "The Person Inside" for the Daily Californian. 
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Headline: The women in my life


My autism has meant that I’ve been surrounded by therapists for most of my life. As it so happens, the field of school education, counseling and therapy is often dominated by women. 


Thursday is International Women’s Day, so this column is a tribute to the amazing women in my life — especially one who literally turned my life around. 


Up until middle school, I was going nowhere and learning nothing. I was nonverbal and had no means to communicate. I was in a series of short-lived special education classrooms — teacher after teacher was eager to hand off the “difficult” autistic kid. 


I first met Janna Woods, with her purple hair and pink pants, when I was 13. It was chance when my parents attended a seminar and met Tyler Fihe, who was, at the time, a college-going and nonverbal autistic typer. Janna had been his therapist and, after meeting my parents, she came to work with me. 

Janna changed my life by teaching me to type and, as a result, communicate. She loosened that first brick in my Berlin Wall of Silence, and she helped the world see the person inside. 


As brick after brick was dismantled with one slow letter after another, thoughts poured out of me. I was able to have deep conversations with others for the first time in my life. I remember once telling Janna that typing had taken me from “personless” to “personhood,” and she replied that that was because communication is foundational. 


Janna encouraged me to do creative writing. She believed in me and my potential with a confidence that even I had ceased to have. She became my Angel Janna. 


With communication, I was able to enter the world of mainstream education. Janna trained other therapists to work with me and took me to weekly cognitive behavior therapy sessions to help me manage my emotions and anxieties. 


Janna gave me my first job: taking care of her huge dog when she went on vacation. I was thrilled that someone would actually entrust me with such responsibility and pay me for it as well.


She had insisted, even back then, that college was a definite possibility for me. Janna, you would be so proud to see me at UC Berkeley today. 

 

Unfortunately, Janna joined the angels above after fighting cancer two years back. She was too young to die. Janna helped many kids like me that the world had given up on by giving us a voice. 


We can’t underestimate what the women in our lives do for us — especially if they are not family members, with no vested interest. I’ve been fortunate to meet a few wonderful women who have given me an unexpected leg up or helped guide me along the unclear path of my autism journey. They have shown me compassion and empathy. They advocated for me, which a differently abled individual such as myself sorely needed. Most importantly, they have had faith in me. I am amazed and grateful. Janna was just the beginning. 


Cherie Azodi was the behavior therapist behind the dozen phrases that I am able to verbalize today — she would insist on having a conversation with me even if the phrases were rote. She did more than any speech therapist I’ve had ever managed. 


Cindy Riley first noticed me in a park as a toddler and brought her three kids over to my home every week for over eight years so that this young, autistic only child could socialize with his peers.


Viji Dilip is the founder of Access Braille, a nonprofit that supports literacy access for the visually challenged. She showed up out of the blue and made me the editor of a Braille periodical, which accompanies free Braille teaching kits distributed in many countries in Africa and Asia. Madhu Krishnan is a co-founder of Inclusive World, a nonprofit that provides training and volunteer opportunities for the differently abled population. These two women sent many interesting internships and projects my way. They made me feel that I too was a contributing member of society.

 

The college counselors from the Disabled Students’ Program are the enablers of my path to higher education. Their open attitude and faith is a wondrous and refreshing change from the days of my district’s special education teachers. 


All these women chose to believe in the possibility of individuals like me. All these women helped me build confidence and contribute to making the individual I am today. I want you to know that I truly appreciate and admire you, and I look forward to meeting many more such amazing women in my life.



A Growth Mindset - Reimagining the Possible @UCSF


 presented at the UCSF CME-19th Annual Devt. Disabilities Conference for Health Professionals. Thanks, Dr Clarissa Kripke, for the opportunity.















Atypical

 

Plainspeak. Plain Language Version

What "Atypical" Means in Autism

In autism, "atypical" means having behaviors or traits that are different from what most people without autism (neurotypicals) have. These different behaviors can include things like:

  • Repetitive Movements: Doing the same movements over and over.
  • Social Communication Challenges: Finding it hard to talk to and interact with other people.
  • Sensory Sensitivities: Being very sensitive to lights, sounds, or other sensory inputs.
  • Intense Interests: Having very strong interests in specific topics.

We use the word "atypical" because these behaviors are not common in people without autism. But it's important to remember that "atypical" doesn't mean bad. Autistic people have special strengths and abilities that are different but still important and valuable. Understanding these differences helps us support autistic people better and appreciate their unique contributions.

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Read more on Atypical: [PlainSpeak Version] [For the Academic/Scientific Audience], [A Simple Definition]

Daily Cal Weekender

Another Meeting this time in the Daily Cal courtyard 3/1


First meeting with Weekender Dept of the Daily Cal on 2/9.
Too windy to hold meeting out in the courtyard today. This is a large dept and there was barely any space inside the cubicles for all of us.  Next week new hires will be joining us as well.

Sensory Walkabout

Two years ago  was the third of my series of 10 articles for my weekly opinion column on Autism ("The Person Inside") for the Daily Californian, 
 

In "Sensory Walkabout" I write about the way many of us autistics experience our environment in quite a different and quite "extra-ordinary" way. 
----------

Headline: Sensory walkabout 


I have a rather curious relationship with my environment. You see, my particular brand of autism is accompanied by sensory dysregulation, which means that I often experience my environment in a different and quite extraordinary way.  


A walk through Sproul Plaza is a testament to this unusual relationship. For many, Sproul Plaza is usually a fun and lively place to walk about.


Booths line either side of the Sproul walkway, promoting the various clubs and activities on campus. Musical groups on the steps of Sproul Hall, outside The Golden Bear café and under Sather Gate entertain passersby. A food delivery Kiwibot meanders through the crowd on a mission to feed a hungry student. Students protest near Sather Gate to make their voices heard. Vibrant energy rolls off the 200 or so chattering students milling around. 


But my unregulated sensory system has a different take. I can hear conversations and music from near and far, except they are all at the same volume. I try, unsuccessfully, to filter through this deafening noise and focus on the music nearby. It’s like walking into a party and hearing all the conversations at once and being unable to focus on just one. 


My senses cross over where my eyes can smell and feel, not just see. My eyes can feel the texture of the blue canvas that cover the booths. The white text on the blue canvas feels abrasive on the cool blue, and the canvas moves like a sine curve in the wind.


A student walks quickly by me, carrying a small blackboard easel. The words “Know your ...” are chalked on the board. I want to read but the rest is lost as she scurries right past.  


The Kiwibot looks like a little dog — I want to touch it; I feel compelled to pet it. I reach down, but it just continues on. When I go behind it, it stops and simply stands there. I have a fleeting thought — did I just break the bot?


All these observations — and more — have happened in the space of less than a minute. Hundreds of minutiae flash through my senses. 


I actually love the energy of Sproul Plaza. But my body is reeling and overwhelmed from trying to process it all. This kind of sensory bombardment is both exhausting and exciting for individuals like me, whose systems often struggle to cope with it.  


For most people, the reliance on your sensory system for daily functioning is so automatic that you don’t even think about it. But most people have an inbuilt coping mechanism by way of filters. It requires some effort, but most of you are able to filter out noise and distractions so that you can focus on only what you want to see, hear or do.


But for people like me, these filters are less than efficient. Even the autism meltdown can be the result of sensory overload.


A sensorily disorganized body like mine comes up with its own set of coping mechanisms to drown out the sensory overload. These mannerisms are called “stims,” or “self-stimulatory behaviors” in autism. Flicking your fingers helps filter incoming lightwaves. Verbal noises can be an attempt to drown out external sound. 


But stims that start off as a coping mechanism can also become habits that are hard to kick and look potentially inappropriate as we grow older.


What other students see is an individual who is constantly fidgeting, with an awkward gait and a bunch of offbeat mannerisms. I am aware of standing out, which adds to my anxiety and makes me appear to stim more. 


The skin is the largest sensory organ in the body, so there is sensory input coming in literally from head to toe. It is both agony and ecstasy. 


On the flip side, people like me pick up so many more cues compared to our typical peers, which makes our powers of observation that much more astute. The outward body may not exhibit it, but our minds are thinking, observing and inferring constantly. 


Our atypical sensory system actually works to our advantage in the field of academics, especially in critical thinking and analytical skills. We have a lot to contribute to society since  thinking out of the box is really second nature to us.


We notice things at the gross and subtle levels, even changes in energy levels. When we truly love something and are happy, we enjoy it at a different sensory level — to the point of bliss, at times. The rhythm of a waterfall can, for instance, touch the very soul. It is a heady sensation. 


Even as I try to cope with a body that is often at odds with the environment, I also experience my environment in a most amazing and extraordinary way.