[PROVE] Greg and Swindell a voice for autistic children

[Guest guest]

[PROVE note: This article appeared on the front page of the sports section of

the Austin paper on National Autism Awareness Day which just so happens to be in

the middle of National Infant Immunization Week. If you have a child with

vaccine induced autism, please consider taking the time to thank the Statesman

for running this story and take a few lines to talk about your child and the

impact on your family. Letters to the editor can be addressed to

letters@.... Letters to the author can be sent to

kbohls@....

'He steadfastly blames most autism cases on the use of the highly toxic

mercury in vaccines and the growing increase of unnecessary vaccinations

in small children... Like Rimland, the Swindells blame early vaccines loaded

with arsenic and other potentially harmful elements like mercury, although many

in the medical community have dismissed the controversial theory, and said

genetics, food preservatives, drugs and environmental toxins could be

contributing factors. " There's just something wrong, " said. " A baby's

normal, then he isn't normal. I've never heard of that. " ']

http://www.statesman.com/sports/content/auto/epaper/editions/tuesday/spo

rts_04e85058e3a3116800f6.html

Commentary: Kirk Bohls

Raising a son with autism has made Greg and Swindell stronger

parents and a stronger voice for awareness

AMERICAN-STATESMAN STAFF

Tuesday, April 27, 2004

In the biggest baseball game of his life, Greg Swindell never threw a

pitch. Not an official one anyway. Oh, he warmed up three times in the

Arizona Diamondbacks' bullpen, but he never got the call.

Still, after 15 major-league seasons with seven different teams, the

left-handed pitcher felt a rush of joy like never before as he watched

Jay Bell cross home plate in the ninth inning of Game 7 of the 2001

World Series.

So did his wife, , who rejoiced in the section reserved for the

players' wives behind home plate, as she jubilantly hugged

, whose husband, , had just singled in the Series-winning

run against the New York Yankees.

The party on that magical November night in 2001 spilled over from Bank

One Ballpark to a restaurant next door, where the Swindells and the rest

of the Diamondbacks laughed and toasted and gave sunrise a run for its

money. They even did a radio show interview at 4 in the morning.

" We were definitely on top of the world, " said. " Life didn't get

any better. "

Just 10 months later, the Austin couple felt their world was crashing in

on top of them. When returned to her Arizona home from a baseball

road trip the following August, she expected to be greeted with hugs and

kisses from her four children. She received them from only three --

daughters Hayley, Brenna and Sophia.

Dawson, then 18 months old, just stared at his mother with a blank look.

Dawson, you need to know, had been the delight of his parents' lives. He

began walking and talking on schedule. His first word was " juice. " They

still have videos that show him giggling and playing with his sisters

and pulling on his uncle's beard. Dawson has always been docile, but

couldn't have been more normal in appearance or behavior. Greg's college

teammate, Texas State Coach Ty Harrington, had promised Dawson a full

baseball scholarship.

Life was good. The Swindells had longed for a boy and felt things

couldn't have been any more perfect since Dawson arrived on Feb. 4,

2001.

It was only when he began suffering an inordinate number of ear

infections, and began to react a little oddly, that they took notice. He

wasn't making as much eye contact anymore. He started flapping his hands

repeatedly. He'd rock back and forth and pound the dinner table

incessantly.

When he'd see a book or a wheel, he'd examine it, turn it over, inspect

it for hours. An engineer-in-training, maybe. Greg and began to

jokingly call him " Rainman. "

All the while, however, " a little voice said this was weird, "

said.

But it wasn't until the day Dawson didn't even recognize her when she

returned from that August road trip that she became truly alarmed. So

she began wading through Internet medical jargon until she came across a

Web site listing the warning signs for autism, a biological brain

disorder. Dawson had every single one. And broke down.

She immediately phoned Greg at the ballpark. The Diamondbacks' trainer

told them that a pediatrician just happened to be a guest of the owner

that night. sped to the stadium.

The doctor calmed their fears but advised them to consult a specialist.

The next day, a Phoenix developmental pediatrician examined Dawson for

an hour, then rearranged their lives forever.

Dawson was, indeed, autistic. The words froze in mid-air.

Dawson would never go to college. He would never marry. He would never

have friends. He would never live an ordinary life. Never, never, never.

Livid over not only the diagnosis, but also the doctor's perfunctory

manner that had been delivered with an unaffected smile, Greg grabbed

his son and stormed to his car. A tearful stayed behind, listening

to the doctor for another hour.

That was Aug. 29, 2002.

" It was like the day he died, " said.

And so Greg and 's endless journey began, a trail of 18 tumultuous

months that have taken them on an emotionally draining ride that has

simultaneously devastated and empowered them. Since that initial

diagnosis, Swindell -- the strong, healthy 39-year-old former University

of Texas three-time All-American -- and his slender, outgoing

34-year-old wife have become self-made experts on the mental disability

that inexplicably renders its victims incapable of the simplest of tasks

and social skills.

Less than two years ago, they knew absolutely nothing about autism.

Today, on National Autism Awareness Day, they know that it affects what

one research institute says is one in only 160 births, though the

Centers for Disease Control places it at between two and six per 1,000

births in this country. Autism currently affects more than 400,000

Americans.

" There's no question that it's on the rise, " said Dr. Bernard Rimland of

the Autism Research Institute in San Diego. " The end result is we have a

nation full of disabled children. Even if it's cleared up now, and the

government shows no signs of wanting to do it, our country has incurred

enormous expenses. "

Rimland, who has a son who was diagnosed with the condition in 1956,

wrote in a national newsletter as far back as in 1995 that autism had

reached epidemic proportions, a claim one critic decried as " rubbish. "

He steadfastly blames most autism cases on the use of the highly toxic

mercury in vaccines and the growing increase of unnecessary vaccinations

in small children. The Swindells agree, in part because Dawson had

undergone as many as 21 vaccinations before his second birthday. Two

years ago, the state of California vetoed a measure that would have

mandated 36 vaccinations for children, Rimland said.

The Swindells consulted experts. They had Dawson's ears checked, praying

he was only deaf. He can hear fine. It's the processing department

that's on the fritz. They did the same for his vision. They took him to

Houston for electro-cardiograms, guarding against undiscovered seizures

since he can no longer speak.

They aggressively attacked every aspect of Dawson's dilemma. They

experimented with a special diet and used a personal chef who made

pancakes from scratch. They tried such bizarre remedies as an

electrified chair in which the patient is held upside down, and a $500

CD with special filtered music. They purchased a variety of miracle

creams and vitamins. Nothing worked.

" They prey on people, " Greg said of those offering quick-fix remedies,

" because people are willing to try anything. "

Together, the Swindells have become engrossed in the fight to expand

awareness of this disability that has no conclusive cause, no

universally accepted treatment and no cure. Greg has designed a purple,

puzzle-embossed lapel pin in honor of a month to raise awareness of the

disorder that 50 children are diagnosed with every day. wants to

form a support system for Austin families who have victims of autism.

They're not unlike thousands of others who are dealing with this

debilitating condition that attacks boys four to five times more often

than girls. Most parents with autistic children are not as famous or

well-heeled financially as the Swindells or Dan Marino and Doug Flutie

-- both of whom have autistic sons -- but deeper bank accounts don't

offer immunity from illness.

" I don't think people know that autism has reached epidemic

proportions, " said Suzzanne , co-founder of the 6-year-old

-Weis Children's Center of Austin, which works with 14 autistic

children between the ages of 2 and 9. " It's definitely on the rise, but

it's not a national focus. "

The fight to cope with the disease can be tremendously expensive. The

Swindells are spending up to $60,000 a year on Dawson, including $18,000

for one year's schooling at -Weis. And they know they are more

fortunate than most because of Greg's lucrative playing career, which

officially ended last month when a groin injury curtailed his comeback

attempt to make the Kansas City Royals' roster out of spring training,

forcing him to return to a coaching role at Texas State.

" My son can't speak, " Greg said. " We don't worry about 3-2 sliders any

more. "

Like Rimland, the Swindells blame early vaccines loaded with arsenic and

other potentially harmful elements like mercury, although many in the

medical community have dismissed the controversial theory, and

said genetics, food preservatives, drugs and environmental toxins could

be contributing factors.

" There's just something wrong, " said. " A baby's normal, then he

isn't normal. I've never heard of that. "

They enrolled Dawson in the small West Austin home that houses the

-Weis school, which employs a speech therapist and occupational

therapist. There, they go on field trips to parks and grocery stores and

teach life skills using behavior-training methods like the Picture

Exchange Communication System as substitutes for desired behavior.

" We teach a child that if he wants juice, " said, " he takes a

picture of juice on the refrigerator and gives it to the parent. "

Dawson used to be able to say " juice, " but he hasn't spoken in two

years. He does make better eye contact since enrolling at the school. He

still babbles his nonsensical chatter. He'll offer a high-five to his

parents and pucker for a tender kiss. He knows the meaning of " no. " And

if someone says the word " outside, " Dawson heads to the door.

But he can't jump on the enclosed trampoline in the back yard of the

5,600-square-foot home in southwest Austin that the Swindells are

selling in order to move to a West Austin neighborhood that has more

kids. He ignores Blossom, their new calico kitten with the short legs.

He doesn't play with any of the Mark Grace or Steve Finley bobblehead

dolls in his room, where he still sleeps in a crib.

And he can't use his left hand at all.

" Now that's a shame, " said Greg, the best left-hander in Longhorns

history.

Dawson's condition is not as extreme as that of many autistic children.

He sleeps up to 12 hours a night. Once he finds his " happy spot " in the

playroom or the trampoline, he's satisfied to sit there for hours. His

parents cheered when he broke an antique ashtray.

Unlike an autistic child the Swindells knew in Arizona who would eat

nothing but toast with almond butter for every meal, no one's easier to

cook for than Dawson. He eats only french fries, noodles and dry cereal.

good-naturedly calls it " the beige diet. "

It's been a test of wills for this well-adjusted couple that eloped 11

years ago and wed the night before Greg pitched in a 10 a.m. spring

training game for the Houston Astros.

has left full grocery carts when a tantrum by Dawson sent her

bolting from the store. The last time she went to Mc's, while she

was digging in her purse to pay, Dawson wandered off to eat french fries

off the table of two dazed construction workers. Greg jokes he'd like to

get Dawson a jacket stitched with " Autism in training " for strangers who

wonder why the precious little child with the short hair and the long

eyelashes doesn't respond to their greetings.

But they're adapting. They don't know Dawson's future. wonders

aloud if he'll be a sacker in a grocery store someday, and it scares

her. For now, they'll take any progress they get. A toss of a baseball.

A smile. A tender look from his sweet brown eyes into theirs.

They always wanted a boy to go with their three healthy girls, and they

love the one they got. Dawson's sisters love him too. Nine-year-old

Brenna says she wants to be a therapist someday, and marry someone who's

autistic.

The Swindells look at the day they learned about Dawson's disability

much differently now, more through the cleansing prism of experience and

knowledge and love, and less one of fear and quiet desperation.

They've changed, they'll tell you, all for the better since that August

day in the doctor's office two years ago.

" That was the best, worst day of our life, " Greg said. " Because it woke

us up. But I'm at peace. "

kbohls@...

AUTISM'S WARNING SIGNS

Remember, you know your child better than anyone else. If you suspect

something may not be right, have your child see a pediatrician. Early

intervention is critical.

Here are some warning signs to look for:

* The child doesn't respond to his or her name.

* The child cannot explain what he or she wants.

* Language skills or speech is delayed. And at times, the child seems

deaf.

* The child has odd movement patterns, does not know how to play with

toys, or does not smile when he or she is smiled at.

* The child prefers to play alone, is not interested in other children,

or seems to be in his or her " own world. "

* The child shows an unusual attachment to toys, objects or schedules.

* The child seems to tune people out.

SOURCE: National Institute of Child Health and Human Development

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PROVE(Parents Requesting Open Vaccine Education)

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