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'Young Carers' recognizes sibs have special needs, too
By Megan Jones
Denise Clayton and her family are too familiar with hospitals: in fact, they’ve spent nine of the past 11 Christmases in one.
Denise’s middle daughter Stephanie (photo right) was born with omphalocele, a condition that causes abdominal organs to grow outside the body. Although a string of operations has long since put everything back in place, the 11-year-old has spent most of her life hospitalized.
Today Stephanie lives with intestinal failure and experiences debilitating chronic pain, which often becomes so intense that it causes her to yell and scream uncontrollably. The pain comes quickly, and with little warning: one minute Stephanie might be running and playing. The next, she’s doubled over.
The uncertainty caused by the slew of surgeries, constant hospital stays and sudden, crushing pain has been undeniably stressful for Stephanie. But, Denise points out, it has also taken its toll on a less-discussed set of family members: her other two daughters.
Sydney, 13 (centre), and Danielle, 9 (left), have learned from an early age how to care for their sister—and for themselves. Denise’s husband, Greg, often travels outside of the province for work. So when their mother has to unexpectedly rush Stephanie to the hospital, her other two children are left to take care of themselves.
“They never know when they come home if there’s going to be somebody there,” Denise says. “They don’t know who’s going to get them dinner; they don’t know who’s going to help them with their homework.”
For years, Denise’s family coped without outside support for Sydney and Danielle. Although Denise looked for sibling support, nearly all the respite and therapy services she found were designed for parents, or for the children living with an illness or disability themselves.
Then, finally, after almost a decade of searching, Denise found the Young Carers Program.
Young Carers, which launched in early 2011, offers support to children under 18 who care for family members with a disability, addiction or chronic illness. While Young Carers offers programs specifically for siblings through a program called “Sibs,” not all clients are responsible for aiding their brothers and sisters. Some help sick parents or grandparents instead.
The service is run and funded by Hospice Toronto, and offers weekly programs, drop-in services, seasonal day camps, and monthly group excursions to places like theme parks and movie theatres. It also acts as a liaison between families and schools, stepping in when children can’t attend classes or complete assignments, and helping schools adapt to fit families’ needs.
According to Larisa MacSween, the program’s manager, too often young carers’ needs are eclipsed by those of their sibling or relative with special needs. While carers may be stressed and anxious, many feel too guilty or embarrassed to ask for support when a brother, sister or parent requires extra care. Young carers also seldom get the chance to “just be kids,” as their responsibilities and parents’ commitments leave little or no time for extracurricular activities or play dates with friends.
But at Young Carers, programming blends fun activities with discussion: the idea is to allow kids a safe space and time to relax, while working in serious talks about how to better cope with stress, or how to balance their own emotional needs with those of their family members.
Larisa says one of the most important things the program does is show kids that they’re not alone. “When children find they’re connected to someone else who’s been through the same experience, that completely boosts their self-image and their self-esteem,” she says.
“Having an outlet to think about their own needs, and learning to express them, that also really gives them a big boost.”
This has certainly been the case for Denise’s daughters. She says the program has given them a sense of community and belonging. “[Young Carers] is making my kids feel like they are being heard, they are understood, they are not alone and they have a place to go,” she says.
Currently, the program supports about 100 registered children. But the idea of a young carer is still relatively new in North America. Larisa says that the importance of supporting young carers has only started to be afforded attention in the last year or so in Canada. As a result, few comparable programs exist. And with an estimated 108,000 young carers Canada-wide, many kids still go without help.
Denise believes this needs to change. She says the support Young Carers offers has helped her daughters tremendously.
“With Sydney I notice that when she goes to Young Carers, she comes home and she’s not as anxious as she typically is,” Denise says.
“They both seem to be more tolerant. Tolerant to their sister’s screaming, or not being able to do something that day, like go out and ride their bikes. After attending the program they’re more understanding.”
Recognizing that not all parents will have access to support programs, Larisa says that parents can do small things to help siblings at home. She stresses that communication is key, and suggests parents keep children up to date about the health of their brother or sister, in order to ease anxiety. She also says parents should encourage kids to speak about their feelings, and share their stresses and fears.
Most importantly, Larisa says, young carers should be commended for their work, and validated for the help they provide their families.
“When children hear ‘Hey, you’re really doing a great job,’ that alone can show them how much they are valued,” she says.
Posted by Unknown
at 07.16,
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A sibling night with Melanie and Tommy
Hear about how one creative family sought to educate school peers about their daughter's genetic syndrome -- and help her brother cope with sadness that his sister was being teased -- by writing a children's book.
Posted by Unknown
at 08.27,
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Pillow: A sibling's story
This is a short story written by an adult sibling about the emotional bind siblings feel when they're burdened by excessive caregiving of a brother or sister with disability. We will follow the story this weekend with a note from the author about her personal experience and research. I hope this will spark a lively discussion.
Pillow: A sibling's story
Every time Sister packs for a trip, she takes along Pillow, a battered cushion in a rectangular cotton cover. Mysteriously stained, once-white, with a print pattern in faded primary colours, Pillow looks suspiciously childish for a trilingual woman in her 20s fearlessly travelling the world.
Sister recalls the day she got Pillow. It was a spring afternoon, and her parents wanted to visit the new IKEA store. They usually went everywhere as a family, but Brother was so slow and clumsy. He touched everything, spoke loudly and often made everyone stare in public places.
Sister felt embarrassed just imagining what could happen if they all went together. She knew they couldn’t afford a babysitter. Her parents were eager to go out for a change of pace, so she said she’d rather stay home alone with Brother. Easier for everyone that way.
Mom and Dad are back, their arms full of new things. After describing the taste of the Swedish meatballs, Mom holds out a small white pillow. “We got something for you, Sister. This is your reward for being such a good sister while we were out shopping.”
Surprised, Sister wonders: What about Brother? He’s been home alone as well.
Looking closely, she notices bright red teddy bears, pink-faced dolls and yellow trucks all over the pillow. Do her parents think she’s still a baby?
Just this morning they said, “You’re very mature for your age. We know you’ll be fine looking after your brother until we get back. Thanks for offering to do this.” Sister panics. Wait. Have I missed something?
She runs through her checklist: I made sandwiches for lunch, cleaned up the kitchen, told friends I can’t play today, helped him in the bathroom, played in the yard, then sang softly to calm him down after he got scared by a neighbour’s dog. She inspects his face and hands. They look clean enough.
Holding her breath, Sister wonders if they will detect that Brother tripped and scraped his knee while running in the yard. Parents and teachers seem to have a way of knowing when something bad has happened, even when kids don’t tell them right away. What if they notice the scrape later? They’ll be so angry at me for letting him hurt himself. Selfish me, I was the one who wanted to play outside since it’s so nice out. I knew I should have kept him inside all day. I’ll never forgive myself if his leg gets infected now.
Sister decides to volunteer to help with bath time. That way nobody else will see the scrape. I guess it’s okay I didn’t call the doctor. It wasn’t an emergency. She puts on three drops of iodine to disinfect the scrape before sticking on the band-aid, just as she’s seen her parents do a million times.
As she takes the pillow, Brother hugs her. “Thanks for taking care of me. I’m so happy you’re my sister.” What a relief. Brother’s already forgotten about his scrape.
Sister isn’t sure whether she deserves this unexpected gift. She’s anxious to get to the math homework she hasn’t even started. She presses the pillow to her chest and says the magic words that make them smile. “Thanks, Mom and Dad. You can go to IKEA anytime you want.”
Posted by Unknown
at 13.16,
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'The third parent'
Sophia Isako Wong (left) is an associate professor of philosophy at Long Island University in Brooklyn, New York. She is also a sister to Leo (right), who has Down syndrome. Below is a short story Sophia wrote about her childhood. But first she speaks about her research into children who take on a parent role in caring for siblings with disabilities or other members of the family.
In my research, I analyze existing psychological research on ‘parentified’ children in the US and the UK to explore how distinctive elements in the early caregiver role negatively impact children’s emotional and moral development.
The research shows that taking on the parent role prematurely as a child has mostly negative impacts, to be honest with you. Of course there are many positive things that come out of growing up with a sibling with disabilities, some of which I've tried to show in the story, but I feel that children are harmed when parents ask them to take on responsibilities requiring adult skills. Hope the story doesn't come across as too hard on my parents. It wasn't their fault they didn't know about respite for the first 25 years of my life.
‘The third parent’
By Sophia Isako Wong
It is a hot summer afternoon and I am looking at a pig. Large, pale pink, smeared with dust, bristly, and panting, the pig lies on its side in the shade of a wooden shed. It hasn’t moved in the past 20 minutes. My 10-year-old brother sits cross-legged on the cement, having positioned himself directly opposite the pig, so that he can look straight at its face. He is staring attentively at the pig, watching its every move, even though it never moves. He looks like a besotted lover watching his beloved sleep. In fact, the pig is probably asleep; its eyelids are almost closed.
I examine my brother’s face. Chin propped in his hands, elbows on his knees, he is blissfully unaware of my impatient mood. He is daydreaming about the pig, perhaps imagining the pig’s dreams. He is utterly content and at peace.
“Leo? Let’s go see the river otters. Remember when we saw them playing in the water last week?”
He doesn’t turn his head towards me. “Not yet. I’m watching the pig.”
“Still? Why do you have to stay here so long?”
“I love pigs.”
This is our weekly routine. Every Wednesday, our mother teaches violin students in our living room. She hands me money and kisses us goodbye as the doorbell rings. Hand in hand, my brother and I walk up the hill, then down the gentle slope to the Storyland Valley Zoo at the end of the road. I pay our admission, and snatch glimpses of other animals as Leo pulls my hand with determination, heading straight to the pig. Leo sits down in his appointed spot, right across from the pig, and refuses to budge until he has had his fill of pig-watching.
I am bored. I explore the entire area adjacent to the pig’s enclosure with my eyes. I see dirt, dead grass, the fence against which Leo presses his face, an intriguing house-sized cage next door with tropical birds drowsing in the afternoon heat. I sidle toward the cage and position myself so that I can watch the birds while still keeping an eye on my brother in the background.
Sometimes I play a game in my mind, fantasizing that I walk away from him and go to visit two or three other animals while he is entranced by the pig. Unlike Leo, I don’t have a favourite animal. I like to see them all, to take in the different sights and sounds, to explore the whole zoo as much as possible. I hate staying in the same spot every time. When I’m with Leo, and I’m always with Leo because our family takes him everywhere, we never get to see more than a few animals each week, because we spend most of the time pig-watching.
Walking away from him is just a fantasy; I am fully aware that I can’t take that risk. If anything happens to him, my parents will never forgive me. I’m responsible for getting him back home, safe and happy, once the lessons are finished. If he makes any mistakes, gets into trouble, or bothers anyone, perhaps by going up to them and hugging them, or sitting in a man’s lap to stroke his beard admiringly, it will be my fault for not watching closely enough. I am the third parent. I am 11 years old.
During Leo’s pig phase, he drew pictures of pigs, made pig-like sounds, received toy pigs for every special occasion, and watched that same pig every week for the whole summer. When we asked him not to “eat like a pig,” he would reply, “Why not? I love pigs.” He squealed with delight when our grandmother brought him a huge life-sized pig toy from Japan, covered with fabric in a curious floral pattern reminiscent of an Irish granny’s dining room. The two of us spent many happy hours throwing the pig at each other in a game we called “Dodgepig.”
As Leo matured, he stopped worshipping pigs. Now a middle-aged adult, he paints many kinds of animals, especially African wildlife, and his #1 top favourite is hyenas. I think he first fell in love with hyenas when they appeared onstage as masked humans in military-style khaki combat boots, snarling rebelliously and plotting against the Lion King.
These days we don’t see each other more than once a year or so. The New Year has started, and it is the night before Leo has to get up early to catch his flight home. We’re both tired, but we don’t want to go to sleep just yet. So we are lying side by side, enjoying our time together, not wanting to say good-bye until the last minute.
I ask, “Leo, why do you like hyenas so much?”
His reply is simple: “Because they’re carnivores.”
I think I know what he means. Hyenas are powerful, strong, clever animals who eat fresh meat. Like dogs, but they get to run wild and free. They watch larger predators kill their prey, then move in to scavenge their meals. When Leo eyes my unfinished plate, asking “Ummm.. do you have plans for that?” he is scavenging extra food along with the hyenas.
Leo opens his mouth and emits a sound I’ve never heard from any human throat before. It is a low growl, almost like a Tuvan throat-singer’s undertone, which I cannot reproduce no matter how I try. After years of voice lessons, he can relax his throat and reach below the normal range of his baritone voice to produce this frightening, throaty growl.
This sound inspires me to make a hyena mosaic. I select shades of Mexican smalti (glass) for the hyena’s body and mix dark grey marble and glass to make that fearsome growl come alive. While I outline the shape of the hyena, a bright red and orange crown emerges unbidden on her head, so I call the piece “Hyena Queen.” I mail it to Leo in celebration of his 40th birthday.
He calls me while I am at work and leaves a voicemail: “Hey, Sophia! I want to give you a message. Your parcel just arrived. For my birthday present. The hyena mosaic. And… I like it!”
Above is a photo of us with Leo’s hyena collage and drawing, a sculpture of a hyena, and my mosaic on the wall behind us.
Posted by Unknown
at 11.34,
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