Q&A about puberty

Q and A at the book reading in Singapore

Seemeen's question was about how Mo's autism affected his siblings.

Snippets from my memoir # 3

By the time he was eleven years old, signs of Zaki’s puberty had become fairly evident. Not only did his voice break and the down on his face and underarms become heavier, he would walk around with an erection, oblivious to the world. So as any self-

respecting parent would advise, here is what Zoya would say to him pointing at the subject in question, “Zaki you can’t walk around like that sweetheart. You have to push that down or go sit on the pot and put cold water on it.”
“I can’t help it mama”, Zaki would say with not a care in the world. He had no idea of the implications of an erection, till Zoya took it upon herself to enlighten him.
“I know that you can’t help it Zaki and its something very natural beta. All males go through this. You know this means that you can make a baby if you...,” Zoya was explicit and to the point in educating Zaki about sex. She did not know how much of what she told him, Zaki understood, but her objective was to make him conscious of his erection so that at least he knew it was not right to walk around with it. The topic of ‘sex’ would come up every once in a while as Zaki became more and more aware of his manhood and the opposite sex. Zoya was least embarrassed to elucidate on the subject, since Zaki was not a typical teen and needed the matter explained repeatedly.
Unfortunately, the only direction that Zaki was not growing was upwards. He had always been short of stature but the onset of early puberty proved to be detrimental for his height. Zaki managed to grow till five feet and no more after that. A bone-age x- ray had revealed that that would remain his maximum height.
For a child who had a fair amount of awareness about himself, as could be gauged by Zaki’s conversations, a short stature, where clearly his brothers were going to shoot past him very soon, presented a challenge. Despite being told that, “You don’t necessarily grow taller with each birthday,” Zaki would insist the day after each birthday to measure his height with a defiant, “I am older and so I must have grown”. His hypothesis was amusing to his brothers who would laugh at Zaki in jest, but to Zoya it was heart breaking that her son who already had a much more challenging life than the other two had also been short changed in the area of physical growth. She prayed from the bottom of her heart that Zaki would gain an inch or two, for hadn’t Uncle Noor said

that if she wanted something desperately enough, Allah would grant it to her? Astonishingly, no matter how hard she tried to pray for Zaki’s height, the prayer never felt sincere. Every time the words came out of her lips she knew in her heart that they would not be accepted. This only meant one thing; perhaps growing taller was not in Zaki’s best interest. Allah Mian knew best and at times what seemed unfair was actually a blessing in disguise! 

Book reading at the Pakistani ambassador's residence in Jakarta

Here is the link to the video in case it does not work https://youtu.be/FckGVvCgdEU

To purchase a copy of Wrapped in blue go to http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B013BP9Q32

Snippets from my memoir #2

As part of my blog I want to share snippets from my memoir 'Wrapped in Blue' to raise awareness of ASD and destigmatise mental illness.  Hence the following...

She could sense Zaki straining and pressing into the cold, hard marble in the next room. His young bones seeking, almost pleading, satisfaction from the rigidity of the cold, hard surface. As his limbs bore into the compactness of the floor, Zoya’s already constricted chest tightened a fraction more with despondency and pain. She was tired, so tired. She should be picking Zaki up from the floor and redirecting him to another activity . . . but she was just too tired right now, too tired.

In addition to coping with the weight of Zaki’s demanding treatment schedule and 24/7 follow-up, Zoya had to deal with how crappy she was feeling. Her plate was very full, and she was drowning. The feelings of helplessness were compounded by the knowledge that she had no choice but to keep functioning for the sake of her children and that she couldn’t afford to lose control of her life. Ammi had always said that one could survive anything for one’s children. She would too, if only she could stop feeling.

Many a night, Zoya spent crying silently into her pillow, stifling her sobs so that Amaar would not hear her. If he was not willing to help her with her anxious and depressed state, she was not going to ask either. Other nights, when it felt like she could not take it anymore, when she felt scared of losing control, she would call out to him from sheer panic and ask him to just hold her till she could fall asleep. Zoya pined to wake up from the nightmare of her depressive state! 

A crisis has the ability to bring out childlike characteristics in a person, where the boundaries between reality and fantasy get blurred. The desire to regress into a shell and revert to an age in which fairy tales exist, where, if you wish hard enough, dreams can come true, is just a temporary escape from the harsh absoluteness of trauma. Alas, for Zoya, regression and denial were not an option. Her children, especially Zaki, needed her, and she had to deliver. 

To purchase a copy of 'Wrapped in Blue' click on the following link:
 http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B013BP9Q32

Snippets from my memoir # 1

Hello,

As part of my blog I want to share snippets from my memoir 'Wrapped in Blue' to raise awareness of ASD and destigmatise mental illness.  Hence the following...

... first-time parents sometimes don’t know any better as they do not have older children to compare developmental milestones or behaviours with. Moreover, Amaar and she had never had any interest in reading books related to child development and care; after all raising a kid was no rocket science!

Zaki hardly babbled or cooed in his first year, perhaps he would be a lazy talker. He loved music and showed a preference for certain songs by jumping excitedly to the rhythm or clapping his hands and to his parents this meant that he was engaging with his environment appropriately. His eye contact seemed fine as well and since he was a smiley, happy kid, no one was alerted to anything unusual in his developmental milestones. Thus, happy-go-lucky Zaki turned one and his birthday was celebrated with great festivity in Karachi, for which both sets of grandparents flew in from Lahore and Rawalpindi.

The few people Ammar and Zoya socialized with had older kids, hence, their exposure to toddlers was very limited. Had they been in Lahore surrounded by family and friends perhaps they would have caught on to something faster. Someone may have sounded an alarm bell.

Indeed, during one of Zoya’s trips back to Lahore in Zaki’s second year, Abba circumspectly voiced his concern about Zaki’s lack of speech. He was immediately rebuffed with a barrage of responses, “Boys talk later than girls”, “He is only two years old leave him alone”, and, “Uff taubah (By God!) Kami you are always so negative”. But where Zoya’s maternal instinct had failed, Abba’s grandfatherly instinct had made him sneak away Zaki to a paediatrician.

After Abba returned from the doctors with Zaki in his arms, one could visibly see his relief. The doctor had confirmed that there was nothing wrong with Zaki and he was just a late talker, and that was that.

So much for your paranoia Abba, didn’t we tell you there is nothing wrong with Zaki!

To purchase a copy of Wrapped in Blue click on the following link:
 http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B013BP9Q32