March 2, 2024
It’s a chilling thought: as I prepared my son Ethan’s backpack for school, I found myself grappling with a profound fear. He has specific medical needs that must be met even in a crisis. His bag includes essential items like candy and juice to prevent low blood sugar, along with extra insulin and an EpiPen for severe allergic reactions. But it was the jingling of his dog tags that really struck me. They were removed from their silencer because of his discomfort with them, and in a lockdown scenario, that noise could draw attention to him at a time when silence is crucial.
You might think the solution is simple—just buy new silencers or remove the tags entirely. However, the reality is more complex. We’ve tried various medical alert bracelets, but he refuses to wear them. The dog tags were a compromise, allowing him to carry identification that acknowledges both his diabetes and autism, which the bracelets do not.
What really shook me during that moment was a realization: Ethan is not naturally quiet. While he understands to follow his teachers, if silence was required, how would he adapt? He is an active child, always moving, talking, and often needing sensory stimulation. The thought of him having to remain still in an emergency is daunting.
I recently came across an interview with two special education professors who are also parents of children with special needs. They developed an Individualized Emergency and Lockdown Plan (IELP) to complement existing IEPs, addressing the unique needs of students during crises. Their suggestions include outlining a student’s strengths and specific requirements to keep them safe.
While we’ve covered some of Ethan’s medical needs through his Individualized Health Plan, the autism aspect had never occurred to me. I plan to bring this up at our next IEP meeting. Simple strategies like social stories and practice drills could make a significant difference.
Ethan has a unique trait in that he rarely shows fear, which is both a blessing and a concern. Although he may not fear hiding or being still, loud noises, like alarms or gunshots, could potentially paralyze him with confusion or provoke a reaction. His communication can also be a challenge; while he has a rich vocabulary, he often struggles with following instructions, particularly in high-stress situations.
I reached out to his teacher to inquire about safety drills. Thankfully, she assured me they practice these drills regularly, referring to them only as “safety” drills, which Ethan participates in without showing distress. I find solace in knowing he’s not anxious about them, as stress can worsen his diabetes.
Complicating matters, my younger son, Max, recently experienced a lockdown drill at his preschool. At just four years old, I worry about how he will process this experience. Max is sensitive and already shows signs of anxiety; he’s aware of Ethan’s medical conditions and is protective of his older brother. How do I explain this to him?
There are moments when the weight of the world feels too heavy, and I question the decision to raise children in a society filled with such uncertainty. Yet, amidst the chaos, I hold onto hope. Change is essential, and I believe it will come from the younger generation, like those at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School who are advocating for reform.
While I navigate these challenges, I remind myself that I’m not alone. If you’re interested in more insights on navigating such situations, you may find this article on home insemination helpful, as it touches on topics of preparation and planning. Additionally, Make a Mom provides valuable information on home insemination, and American Pregnancy is an excellent resource for understanding donor insemination.
In summary, preparing my son with ASD for potential emergencies is a daunting task filled with uncertainties. While there are strategies to implement, the emotional toll is significant. I strive to stay informed and proactive, hoping for a future where such drills are no longer necessary.