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dignity of risk

The All Ability Tri4Youth is coming, so TRY a Bike!

April 3, 2019 by Molly Williamson

By Paul and Susan Carson

FACT Oregon’s All Ability Tri4Youth is the only barrier-free triathlon on the West Coast. Youth and young adults with and without disabilities compete individually or on teams in a 50-meter swim, 2-mile bike ride, and ½-mile run.

The All Ability Tri4Youth is for everyone!  If your child doesn’t ride a traditional 2-wheeler, you might be wondering, “How can my child participate in the bike portion of the course?”

Here are some ideas, and some info on how we did it:

We’ve always loved to bike together as a family, starting with our son Anthony riding in the infant seat on the back of Mom or Dad’s bike. Eventually he outgrew his infant/toddler seat but wasn’t yet ready to bike on his own. The next step for many kids is a Tag Along but with Anthony’s low muscle tone, we were concerned that he might not be able to balance safely on it. Our solution was a seat back and harness found on Amazon. Eventually, Anthony was ready for more independence and he now loves to ride along with us on his own adaptive trike. His trike has given him a wonderful burst of confidence, independence, and empowerment. And it’s super fun to ride!

There’s a wide range of adaptive bikes and trikes to explore. Every child is an individual, so it’s good to try out some different equipment to see what’s the best fit. FACT has a list of resources that can help, and you can also ask the physical therapist or Adaptive PE teacher at your child’s school for suggestions on where to try out or even borrow some equipment.

Anthony on his Mobo!

We tried out a few options, and Anthony really took to the Mobo Triton. While less expensive than many adaptive bike options, the Mobo still had a hefty price tag of almost $300, and so we looked for ways to help defray the cost. It took some research and paperwork, but we were able to have the full cost covered by the K-Plan. Based on our experience, we recommend these steps to getting an adaptive bike or trike for your own child. If you start now, your child could have a new bike in plenty of time to start training for the All Ability Tri4Youth. We’ll see you on the course August 10th!

Step 1. Ask your child’s doctor for a “medical necessity” letter that you can submit to your health insurance provider. Be sure the letter explains that the bike will help with your child’s physical therapy goals, and that it’s not just for recreation. Your child’s PT can help with wording.

Step 2: Submit a request to your health insurance provider requesting coverage for the adaptive bike or trike you have chosen.  Include your medical necessity letter with the request. The insurance company will either approve your request, or (more likely) they will send you a denial letter. If they send you a denial letter, don’t get discouraged! Go to Step 3.

Step 3. Once you have your insurance denial letter, you can apply for a grant from a foundation (e.g., Wheel to Walk) or ask your case manager to request payment for the bike through the K-Plan. It’s important to go through step 2 first, because the K-Plan and most foundations will usually require that you first try going through your health insurance.

Filed Under: General Tagged With: adaptive, All Ability Tri4youth, bike, dignity of risk, FACT Oregon, practice, PT, resources, Tri4Youth, Wheel to walk

The Journey to Communicate

February 18, 2019 by Molly Williamson

By Whitnie Trost

My son Chris is a young man who experiences Down Syndrome. We noticed early on that Chris was a bit different than other kids we had met who experienced Down Syndrome, but we couldn’t put our finger on why. We knew when he was born that there would be some challenges, but anyone who knows me at all would never have imagined that talking and communicating would be Chris’s challenge. I pretty much have a black-belt in talking and I have six kids who talked all the time, mostly at the same time, so there were plenty of opportunities for Chris to “pick up some tips” if you will, but still vocalization alluded him. We also began to notice that he was not super engaged and often, to be honest, seemed like the grumpiest kid with Down Syndrome we had ever met. He did not seem to have a desire to engage with other people or be involved in the way other kids wanted to be involved. He hated loud, abrupt, unfamiliar noises, and his most hated sound has always been a baby crying or screaming. At first, I thought it was just a deep compassion for the sad child, but I soon realized that nope, he was just in pain from the annoyance and would have done anything to have the sound stop.

Chris started school off okay considering. As his parents, we knew him best, so we shared as much information with the school team and troubleshot as much as possible when new things arose. But still, with all of that, Chris still had never spoken a word.

Now when I said Chris had never spoken a word, it definitely did not mean that he was not able to communicate. You only had to pay attention to all that Chris did to realize that he was communicating through his body language and certain behaviors. For example, one time my parents were watching Chris while my husband and I went on a quick trip. They said that Chris went to the trash and got a fruit leather wrapper and gave it to grandpa. That is how Chris showed that he wanted some fruit leather. Now before you call DHS on me, let me make it clear that I don’t expect Chris to be required to use trash as a means to communicate, it was just one of the first times that he let us know what he wanted by communicating …. with trash….. OK moving on.

We then started to really watch him to see if he was communicating in other ways. And of course, he was. There was the basic sign language, ‘more, eat, all done’. But beyond that, sign language never really connected with him.  He would bring me his shoes when he wanted to go somewhere, grunt really loud, throw his glasses or drop to the ground when he did not want to do something. We were amazed to see how much he really was engaged and aware of some basic communication skills. He just did not have a huge library to draw from so he stayed with those basics for a while.

Halfway through first grade, we got his progress notes from the school. Up until this time, he was in a gen ed. class for most of the day with push-in supports. But after this progress report, it was clear that the discussion of moving him to a more segregated setting was on the agenda. The progress note said things like, “he just does not feel comfortable with the other kids. He just doesn’t understand. We are afraid, his attention span is troublesome.” Long story short, for these reasons and many more, the school wanted him in a self-contained classroom so that his “extensive needs” could be met.

Something just did not sit right with me, so I asked the school to do evaluations and we went ahead and did our own private evaluation. This changed everything. We found a woman who not only had her own private practice but was a speech therapist in the Portland Public School system, so she understood what the school would and should be looking for. She said that she specialized in communication devices. I said, “you mean like a walkie talkie?” “No,” she said, “a language system for people who struggle with Communication.”

She started her evaluation process by showing Chris a ball that he would throw in a very small room. Anyone who has known Chris knows that when he was younger, he had a huge desire to throw anything he could get his hands on, so this was a dream come true for him. She gave him the ball and then when he threw it to her she put it on the shelf and waited for his eyes to move or give some indication that he was wanting or looking for the ball. She then got out an aug comm device that had several words on it and she found the word ball and pushed it and it said…. You guessed it….“ball”.  Chris’s eyes lit up. We were so excited.  After a few times modeling this action and giving him the ball once he said the word, he would get the ball.  He used his first Aug com device about 30 times that day and our world began to open.

I wish I could say that things changed overnight, but of course, they didn’t. We did many trials using different devices and ended up with a Vantage Lite. We started using it at home and were so excited to bring it to school and help them start using it. That did not go quite as planned and I believe it became a doorstop or a really heavy paperweight at school because no one knew how to use it, and you can’t use it if you don’t know it, and Chris needs support in using it so if the team did not train, they could not teach with it. So, it just sat.

We had several challenges with the school and ended up needing to do some legal things to get the school to have any sort of positive expectations for Chris. Long story short, we had an Independent education evaluation done and Chris was officially diagnosed with Autism, which is …wait for it…a communication disorder. My son was not and will never be “too dumb to learn” and he will not “suck the resources out of the room”. He needs, just like the rest of us, a way to express his wants needs, likes, dislikes, feelings, etc.

As we moved into Middle school things got a bit better with the change to a new SLP. The first month of school she said, “I really think Chris has so much to say, and he is so smart. I really want to work this year to help him have a voice.” I had never had anyone at school say something like that. Well, changes happen and of course, she got transferred to a different school. The IA’s who worked with Chris really did try but because the school pushed back on any formal training (and I must note that the company who makes Chris’s device provides free trainings to school, staff, and families as many times as you need) so the words that were focused on were the ones that Chris knew and liked most, which were food, specifically “pretzel”. So basically, it was a very expensive way for Chris to order food.

It wasn’t until we got to high school that we recommitted to strategically using Chris’s device again. The SLP at the Highschool loved working with Chris’s device and actually really knew the program and arranged not only for the IA’s to be trained but also some of the actual teachers. I was so amazed. The trainer put us in contact with a private SLP who not only specialized in training families and kids on the device Chris now has, which is an updated model an Accent 8000, but comes to the house so she can work with Chris in his own environment. He has grown so much. What I loved most is that the trainer, the school SLP and our private SLP focused on modeling with the device, which essentially means, we talked with Chris using his device over and over again all throughout the day and then help him respond, or correct when he needs. Just like a toddler learns to talk by listening and watching over and over several hundreds of times, Chris needs to do the same, so we model, model, model. If he uses his body or points to something or uses the one sign language motion that he created to mean every word in the English language, we say “say that out loud” or tell me about that” or can you use your talker”? Then we respond back using the device to talk as well as our voice.

A few examples of the amazing changes that have happened are Chris was watching a movie and as a commercial came on, my husband began channel switching. Chris got up and got his device and pushed the words “television Help”. In other words, he was saying “dad change it back to my show”. He, of course, loves to use it to request food all the time, but now it is not just the word pretzel or milk, it is “want eat make eggs.” Then I can model “ok, do you want 1 or 2 eggs” using the device.  The school has been awesome as well. Jeff, our learning specialist, worked with our school SLP to create a functional communication goal as well as including his device use in all of his goals. He is included in gen ed for 70 % of his day and his device now give him a way to understand the modified curriculum better. We also use it at Church. We trained his youth group and created a page with easy to find “church words “so that they can be easily modeled.

Chris is more engaged and now he looks into our eyes more and acknowledges that we get it. When we use the device to explain that we know what he wants or does not want, or to ask a question, he lights up. He is trusting that we will try, that we will validate, and that we may not agree but we will let him know we understand. When we don’t agree, he is much more patient and with modeling on the device, he will change directions and be willingly redirected.  Sometimes I get discouraged and think this is all taking so long, but then the other day, I modeled I love you. He leaned over and typed in “Thank you.” He then leaned forward and let me kiss his forehead.  I mean what else do you need, right?!

Filed Under: General Tagged With: AAC Device, advocacy, Assistive technology, autism, Belonging, Better together, Communication, communication needs, Community, Complex Communication, dignity of risk, down syndrome, Dream Big Dreams, effective communication, General Education, have a voice, IEP, inclusion, non verbal, One Page Profile, person centered, personal story, Program Classroom, sensory needs, sign language, Special Education, Vantage Lite, When we stretch we grow, whole life

Hip Hop and the Dignity of Risk

December 30, 2014 by christyreese

By Caitlin Shockley, Program Assistant

Here at FACT, our passion for inclusion is enormous. We believe in the power and fundamental importance of community. We support it. We preach it. We encourage it. We champion the cause, and hope to make a difference for other Oregon families in accomplishing a whole life of inclusion and acceptance for their sons and daughters. And we strive to make inclusion a reality for our own kids, too! Remember, all FACT staff members are parents of children who experience disability.

While our passion for inclusion runs high, we never tell you (or ourselves) that it’s easy. The world doesn’t always say, “Bring your kid! She’s so welcome here!” But, we must be careful not to project an unwelcoming, unaccommodating world onto one that is really just inexperienced.

It’s easy to self-segregate as parents of kids with disabilities. It’s messy and challenging to put ourselves out there. But let me tell you from experience, it is so very worth it. A whole life is worth the frustration, challenges, and stress. It’s worth it for your child’s self-esteem, pride, joy, breadth of experience, depth of potential friendships, and the chance to exercise their natural, inborn right to see and do the same things as their peers. It’s worth it for a parent’s chance to experience the quintessential parental celebrate-your-kid’s-accomplishments rites of passage, whether they take place in theater, stadium, field, studio, camp, classroom, or school gym.

This fall, Ramona, my 9-year-old, wanted to enroll in dance class in one of our local studios. Ramona experiences intellectual disability, low muscle tone, speech delays, seizures, and many other medical issues. I only list these to paint a picture, in case you can relate her abbreviated diagnoses list to your own child’s. Ramona is currently homeschooled for a multitude of reasons, and I didn’t want to lose her connection to community and age-appropriate experiences and activities, so dance seemed like a wonderful idea. This was not Ramona’s first time participating in a dance class. One studio, out of town, was just not a good fit; the attitude was definitely unwelcoming.

I enrolled Ramona in a jazz/hip-hop class, paid the tuition fees, and filled out all the paperwork before reaching out to the staff. I was honest, of course, in the medical history form, but never asked permission for her to participate; I didn’t ask if they taught other kids with disabilities, or if she was qualified to join. After all, it was a level 1, no-experience-needed class. She qualifies, disability or not! I reached out to the teacher, and told her how excited my daughter was, how cool she was, and shared her many strengths and how she communicates. I also said I’d observe her in class, in case we needed to add in simple supports (like a sticker on the floor or a break). I did not offer to assist in teaching Ramona or participate as a support person. She did not ask me to, either. Sometimes I needed to take Ramona to the bathroom. Otherwise, I never got up or stepped in, and let the teacher do the teaching. Over the course of the term, it was clear Ramona, just like the other kids, paid more attention and worked harder when Mom was out of sight. So then I began to wait downstairs. Amazing!

But it didn’t fall into place seamlessly or without hardship. On the first day of jazz/hip hop, Ramona was distracted and overstimulated. She didn’t stay in her virtual “spot” in the line up of eight kids, instead wandering around to greet them all, just inches from their faces. There were already stickers on the floor, but that didn’t seem to matter. Ramona didn’t even attempt most of the moves (granted, some her body simply won’t do), and was in her own world half of the time.

Full disclosure: I was uncomfortable and sad. I felt anxious pangs when she was out of place or getting into the other kids’ personal space. I thought they must be so annoyed with her, and the fact that Ramona didn’t seem even slightly aware of these social precepts, well, that made me fall even deeper into discomfort and negativity. As a result, I felt horrible about myself for thinking those things about my own amazing kid whom I love more than life. I’m an advocate! I’m inclusive! I enrolled her knowing she would have support needs and look different. I *knew* none of that should matter when it comes to participating! What the heck was my problem?

But Ramona had a good time, and the teacher was great at redirecting her and didn’t seem even slightly annoyed or irritated. We left quickly, and I wasn’t sure if we’d be back. Coming home, Ramona was so excited to tell Daddy about her dance class, and said she couldn’t wait to go back there. I felt worse, mostly about myself! After bedtime, I talked to my husband and admitted how I was feeling about the whole thing. I also shared that what mattered most was what Ramona wanted, not how comfortable I was. Not how good of a dancer she was. Not what other kids thought. Not what other parents thought. Just what Ramona wanted.

I had to make that a mantra in order to overcome my apprehensions. We switched the talk to supports, and came up with a few: a bigger sticker and a daily check for understanding that she “was on her spot”; the same sticker/spot for every class (the other kids were great at accommodating this need). A reminder talk before class about staying on her spot, and giving people space. A full tummy.

Most importantly, I needed to let go. Back off. Let her be. Let her teacher be. Trust that kids will be nice, parents will care more about their own kids, teachers will be smart and inclusive, and Ramona will do her best and have a good time, and that’s all that really matters. It’s natural to feel overprotective and err on the side of safety and segregation, leaving no opportunity for failure or disappointment. It’s natural to want your kid to be accepted and liked 100% of the time, period. It’s natural to worry. But disability is also natural. Inclusion is natural. Kids being together is natural. Looking different and having different needs is…natural!

The second class was totally different from the first. The supports worked well throughout the remainder of term. Everyone was nice, and I just let myself enjoy and celebrate the slightly out-of-sync, but happy and adorable dancer. The kids were always friendly, and really didn’t seem to notice or at least care that Ramona moved differently. Why should they? Ramona beamed with pride and joy and always, always wanted to go back the next week. I chatted with other parents. The season continued in this fashion, and it was wonderful.

The Christmas recital time came around, and again, Ramona was fully included in routine set to a hip hop rendition of Deck the Halls. Her teacher and I made sure there additional markings on the stage, and placed Ramona in the lineup strategically so she’d have another child to follow, and be able to get a few cues from the teacher hiding backstage. She didn’t have a separate part or a different dance. She just modified her moves as needed and did her best, like everyone else. Ramona didn’t have even a inkling of stagefright for her big debut. It was truly a joyous time for Ramona, and she felt important and beautiful. My family and I were so proud and overjoyed at her achievement, grit, and loveliness. That is a gift worth all the frustration I endured in the beginning. That is the payoff for trusting humanity, taking risks, and just putting yourself and your son or daughter out there, according to what they want for themselves!

Take a look at this clip of my girl on stage. Inclusion is just beautiful! It doesn’t have to be perfect. Ramona is enrolled for the next term of jazz/hip hop, and is already gearing up for her second performance. I’m sure she’ll be fantastic, as always!

hip hop dignity of risk

Filed Under: General Tagged With: dignity of risk

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