Knoxville News-Unlocking the mystery of autism

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Unlocking the mystery of autism

http://www.knoxnews.com/archives/browserecent/05012000/archives/8509.shtml

Parents' dreams, duties turn to nightmarish quest for causes, cures

May 1, 2000

By Kristi L. , News-Sentinel staff writer

Reynolds didn't waste much time thinking before she took her son,

Liam, for his vaccinations in 1997. Parents want to protect their children

from measles, mumps, polio and other diseases that vaccines have made all but

archaic; the vaccinations seem to be a matter of course.

Reynolds does a lot more thinking about those vaccines these days. She, like

thousands of other parents, has decided that the vaccines were responsible

for her child's autism.

Doctors, scientists, public health officials and parents of autistic children

testified April 6 at a Capitol Hill hearing on the increasing rate of autism,

and Reynolds told her story. It goes like this:

Aidan and Reynolds had the American dream. High school sweethearts

who'd made it through college, they both had careers they enjoyed. They had a

home in Baton Rouge, La. They had one son, and was expecting their

second child.

Thirteen-month-old Liam was a happy, outgoing child. He seemed to adore his

parents, who were impressed by how quickly he was developing. " He already

knew the hokeypokey, complicated body parts like his belly button, " Reynolds

said. He loved to interact with people and loved to play.

On June 27, 1997, Reynolds took Liam to his pediatrician for MMR

(measles-mumps-rubella) and Hib (H. influenzae type vaccinations. The next

week, the Reynoldses took a trip to ville, where had lived as a

young child and where her parents, Jan and Troy Hendrix, reside. They were

there for a happy occasion: the 75th birthday of 's grandfather, the

late Roy Lockmiller, Blount County pediatrician. But she now remembers that

weekend as the beginning of the nightmare.

" (Liam) wasn't banging his head, spinning or rocking, " she said, " but there

were little, subtle things I later realized were symptoms of autism. " Liam

was running his fingers up and down the wallpaper and talking to himself.

They took him to the park, and he was uninterested in the swings or slides,

obsessed only with dropping leaves into the stream. His parents decided it

was because there wasn't a stream in the park at home.

By the time they returned to Baton Rouge, Liam was acting " kind of goofy and

quiet, " Reynolds remembers. In her first trimester of pregnancy with daughter

Mairin and battling morning sickness and fatigue, Reynolds remembers feeling

glad he didn't demand more of her attention.

" It didn't seem strange to me, because there I was, sitting there not doing

anything, either, " she said.

Over the next month, Liam had chronic ear infections and diarrhea. Then the

Reynoldses noticed that their son, who'd had an extensive vocabulary, was

losing words. They took him to the pediatrician, who said it was normal for

words to come and go in toddlers' vocabularies and Liam was probably focusing

on his motor skills.

Just before Thanksgiving in 1997, Liam had oral polio and DTaP (diphtheria,

tetanus and pertussis) and Hib vaccinations.

" That was the end, " Reynolds said. " He stopped talking. We couldn't get him

to make eye contact. We couldn't get him to respond to his name. "

Liam stopped playing with toys. He ceased communicating orally. When he was

hungry, he'd grab the hands of his parents and pull them to the refrigerator.

They thought he was " playing charades. "

Then, a worker at Liam's day care pulled Reynolds aside one afternoon and

told her Liam was either deaf or autistic. The Reynoldses scheduled hearing

screenings.

" I'd never wanted my child to have a disability, " Reynolds said, " but I was

sure praying he was deaf. "

He wasn't. At age 27 months, the specialist said, Liam was functioning on the

level of an 8-month-old. The Reynoldses were devastated. When they'd thought

about autism at all, they'd thought it was obvious from birth.

" He was fine, and now you're telling me he's not?! " Reynolds remembers

screaming.

* * *

It was April 1998. The Reynoldses had a lot to learn. , a caterer,

didn't study child development and biology in college; Aidan was a lawyer.

" We were handed a diagnosis with absolutely no information, " Reynolds said.

" We had to turn into medical researchers, therapists. "

They spent night after night on the Internet, chatting with others who have

autistic children. They learned how to reinforce Liam's speech and to perform

occupational therapy at home. Reynolds quit her job to care for Liam and baby

Mairin full time. She learned to cook for Liam, a diet low in dairy and in

wheat, rye, oats and barley, which contain gluten that combines with a

chemical in the brain of autistic children and turns to a morphine-like

substance. " We were buying soy milk, health food store stuff, " she said.

" We'd never heard of half of these things. I didn't know how to cook with

them. "

Almost immediately, she was able to make fleeting eye contact with her son.

After about three months, his words returned. Two years later, he still has a

significant speech delay, she said, though he can consistently string three

or four words together. She delights in his clumsy attempt at jokes: holding

a banana up to his ear like a telephone or wearing it like a hat. Liam's

still developmentally behind by about a year, but his autistic traits have

slowed, she said. He can sometimes follow two-step commands, interacts with

his sisters and his peers, and plays with toys and the computer. The change

in diet is responsible for much of that, Reynolds believes.

" It just made sense that if we put the right gas in the car, it would run a

little better, " she said.

Reynolds learned autism may be an autoimmune disorder, caused by the body's

inability to flush out toxins. It made sense to her because both she and

Aidan had a history of autoimmune disorders in their families. Subsequent

trips to the doctor found abnormally high levels of heavy metals -- mercury,

lead, tin -- in Liam's body. Reynolds began to think more in depth about the

vaccinations.

" His body can't remove pollutants, " she said. " Some of those toxins he had in

his system came from the vaccines -- lead, mercury, formaldehyde. Apparently

his system couldn't flush it out, so he's just been storing it in him. "

* * *

Reynolds doesn't believe the vaccines contained an " autism virus " that

" contaminated " her son. But she thinks that for Liam, who had a genetic

predisposition to autoimmune disorder and an immune system already weakened

by chronic ear infections and subsequent vaccinations, the MMR simply pushed

his body over the edge.

" What makes the MMR different is that it's three live viruses given all at

once, " Reynolds said. " There's a theory that some children can't handle it,

and they develop a chronic infection instead of immunity. "

She said a study of autistic children found 96 percent with a chronic measles

infection in their colon.

" Either they got it from the vaccine, or they got it from somewhere else

because the vaccine didn't work, " she said.

Reynolds and another Louisiana mother, Jeana , formed an organization,

Unlocking Autism. has identical twins, one with autism. During their

first autism awareness project, the two sent a questionnaire to 15,000

parents of autistic children. About 55 percent of respondents said they

believe vaccinations were responsible for their children developing autism.

More than 80 percent of those blamed the MMR.

" They all had the same exact story we did: Child developed normally; child

had a lot of ear infections; child got MMR; child 'disappeared' a couple

weeks later, " Reynolds said.

Reynolds isn't necessarily against vaccinations. She just wants researchers

to investigate seriously the connection between vaccines and autism, perhaps

developing a test that would show whether a child's immune system can handle

the vaccine before the shot's given.

" With all the things we can do, it seems like they could come up with

something, " she said.

In the meantime, she's holding back from vaccinating her daughter, who

exhibits some of the same characteristics Liam does: odd bowel habits, and

apparent allergies to wheat and dairy products. She can't say what she'd do

if a measles epidemic hit Baton Rouge, yet said, " I'm pretty confident that

if we'd given her the shots, we'd have two autistic children. "

The hardest part of having an autistic child, Reynolds said, is re-evaluating

plans for him.

" Our dreams for Liam to play football or be a Boy Scout have been put on

hold, " she said. " They may happen ... but they've been replaced with hopes

and dreams of him being able to communicate what he needs to us, being able

to one day ask him, What did you do in school today?' "

Kristi can be reached at 342-6434 or nelsonk@....

Unlocking the mystery of autism

http://www.knoxnews.com/archives/browserecent/05012000/archives/8509.shtml

Parents' dreams, duties turn to nightmarish quest for causes, cures

May 1, 2000

By Kristi L. , News-Sentinel staff writer

Reynolds didn't waste much time thinking before she took her son,

Liam, for his vaccinations in 1997. Parents want to protect their children

from measles, mumps, polio and other diseases that vaccines have made all but

archaic; the vaccinations seem to be a matter of course.

Reynolds does a lot more thinking about those vaccines these days. She, like

thousands of other parents, has decided that the vaccines were responsible

for her child's autism.

Doctors, scientists, public health officials and parents of autistic children

testified April 6 at a Capitol Hill hearing on the increasing rate of autism,

and Reynolds told her story. It goes like this:

Aidan and Reynolds had the American dream. High school sweethearts

who'd made it through college, they both had careers they enjoyed. They had a

home in Baton Rouge, La. They had one son, and was expecting their

second child.

Thirteen-month-old Liam was a happy, outgoing child. He seemed to adore his

parents, who were impressed by how quickly he was developing. " He already

knew the hokeypokey, complicated body parts like his belly button, " Reynolds

said. He loved to interact with people and loved to play.

On June 27, 1997, Reynolds took Liam to his pediatrician for MMR

(measles-mumps-rubella) and Hib (H. influenzae type vaccinations. The next

week, the Reynoldses took a trip to ville, where had lived as a

young child and where her parents, Jan and Troy Hendrix, reside. They were

there for a happy occasion: the 75th birthday of 's grandfather, the

late Roy Lockmiller, Blount County pediatrician. But she now remembers that

weekend as the beginning of the nightmare.

" (Liam) wasn't banging his head, spinning or rocking, " she said, " but there

were little, subtle things I later realized were symptoms of autism. " Liam

was running his fingers up and down the wallpaper and talking to himself.

They took him to the park, and he was uninterested in the swings or slides,

obsessed only with dropping leaves into the stream. His parents decided it

was because there wasn't a stream in the park at home.

By the time they returned to Baton Rouge, Liam was acting " kind of goofy and

quiet, " Reynolds remembers. In her first trimester of pregnancy with daughter

Mairin and battling morning sickness and fatigue, Reynolds remembers feeling

glad he didn't demand more of her attention.

" It didn't seem strange to me, because there I was, sitting there not doing

anything, either, " she said.

Over the next month, Liam had chronic ear infections and diarrhea. Then the

Reynoldses noticed that their son, who'd had an extensive vocabulary, was

losing words. They took him to the pediatrician, who said it was normal for

words to come and go in toddlers' vocabularies and Liam was probably focusing

on his motor skills.

Just before Thanksgiving in 1997, Liam had oral polio and DTaP (diphtheria,

tetanus and pertussis) and Hib vaccinations.

" That was the end, " Reynolds said. " He stopped talking. We couldn't get him

to make eye contact. We couldn't get him to respond to his name. "

Liam stopped playing with toys. He ceased communicating orally. When he was

hungry, he'd grab the hands of his parents and pull them to the refrigerator.

They thought he was " playing charades. "

Then, a worker at Liam's day care pulled Reynolds aside one afternoon and

told her Liam was either deaf or autistic. The Reynoldses scheduled hearing

screenings.

" I'd never wanted my child to have a disability, " Reynolds said, " but I was

sure praying he was deaf. "

He wasn't. At age 27 months, the specialist said, Liam was functioning on the

level of an 8-month-old. The Reynoldses were devastated. When they'd thought

about autism at all, they'd thought it was obvious from birth.

" He was fine, and now you're telling me he's not?! " Reynolds remembers

screaming.

* * *

It was April 1998. The Reynoldses had a lot to learn. , a caterer,

didn't study child development and biology in college; Aidan was a lawyer.

" We were handed a diagnosis with absolutely no information, " Reynolds said.

" We had to turn into medical researchers, therapists. "

They spent night after night on the Internet, chatting with others who have

autistic children. They learned how to reinforce Liam's speech and to perform

occupational therapy at home. Reynolds quit her job to care for Liam and baby

Mairin full time. She learned to cook for Liam, a diet low in dairy and in

wheat, rye, oats and barley, which contain gluten that combines with a

chemical in the brain of autistic children and turns to a morphine-like

substance. " We were buying soy milk, health food store stuff, " she said.

" We'd never heard of half of these things. I didn't know how to cook with

them. "

Almost immediately, she was able to make fleeting eye contact with her son.

After about three months, his words returned. Two years later, he still has a

significant speech delay, she said, though he can consistently string three

or four words together. She delights in his clumsy attempt at jokes: holding

a banana up to his ear like a telephone or wearing it like a hat. Liam's

still developmentally behind by about a year, but his autistic traits have

slowed, she said. He can sometimes follow two-step commands, interacts with

his sisters and his peers, and plays with toys and the computer. The change

in diet is responsible for much of that, Reynolds believes.

" It just made sense that if we put the right gas in the car, it would run a

little better, " she said.

Reynolds learned autism may be an autoimmune disorder, caused by the body's

inability to flush out toxins. It made sense to her because both she and

Aidan had a history of autoimmune disorders in their families. Subsequent

trips to the doctor found abnormally high levels of heavy metals -- mercury,

lead, tin -- in Liam's body. Reynolds began to think more in depth about the

vaccinations.

" His body can't remove pollutants, " she said. " Some of those toxins he had in

his system came from the vaccines -- lead, mercury, formaldehyde. Apparently

his system couldn't flush it out, so he's just been storing it in him. "

* * *

Reynolds doesn't believe the vaccines contained an " autism virus " that

" contaminated " her son. But she thinks that for Liam, who had a genetic

predisposition to autoimmune disorder and an immune system already weakened

by chronic ear infections and subsequent vaccinations, the MMR simply pushed

his body over the edge.

" What makes the MMR different is that it's three live viruses given all at

once, " Reynolds said. " There's a theory that some children can't handle it,

and they develop a chronic infection instead of immunity. "

She said a study of autistic children found 96 percent with a chronic measles

infection in their colon.

" Either they got it from the vaccine, or they got it from somewhere else

because the vaccine didn't work, " she said.

Reynolds and another Louisiana mother, Jeana , formed an organization,

Unlocking Autism. has identical twins, one with autism. During their

first autism awareness project, the two sent a questionnaire to 15,000

parents of autistic children. About 55 percent of respondents said they

believe vaccinations were responsible for their children developing autism.

More than 80 percent of those blamed the MMR.

" They all had the same exact story we did: Child developed normally; child

had a lot of ear infections; child got MMR; child 'disappeared' a couple

weeks later, " Reynolds said.

Reynolds isn't necessarily against vaccinations. She just wants researchers

to investigate seriously the connection between vaccines and autism, perhaps

developing a test that would show whether a child's immune system can handle

the vaccine before the shot's given.

" With all the things we can do, it seems like they could come up with

something, " she said.

In the meantime, she's holding back from vaccinating her daughter, who

exhibits some of the same characteristics Liam does: odd bowel habits, and

apparent allergies to wheat and dairy products. She can't say what she'd do

if a measles epidemic hit Baton Rouge, yet said, " I'm pretty confident that

if we'd given her the shots, we'd have two autistic children. "

The hardest part of having an autistic child, Reynolds said, is re-evaluating

plans for him.

" Our dreams for Liam to play football or be a Boy Scout have been put on

hold, " she said. " They may happen ... but they've been replaced with hopes

and dreams of him being able to communicate what he needs to us, being able

to one day ask him, What did you do in school today?' "

Kristi can be reached at 342-6434 or nelsonk@....