Charlie has been learning to type, using one finger (and using both his right and left hands). Control of a computer mouse has long evaded him; he can’t seem to get the fine motor movements down (his fingers are very long) and also has trouble seeing and tracking the cursor. The trackpad on my laptop is completely confusing (though he has learned to tap part of it lightly when the screen goes dark).

Lo and behold, someone is developing an alternative keyboard that addresses these very challenges. As reported in the August 28th ESchoolNews, the OrbiTouch has only two keys and was developed by an engineer, Pete McAlindon of BlueOrb in Florida, for use by people with carpal-tunnel syndrome and poor use of their hands.  A user can input letters, numbers, and symbols by manipulating the OrbiTouch’s “two computer-mouse shaped grips forward, back, diagonally and to the sides”; a website notes that that the OrbiTouch is a “computer and mouse in one,” without the distractions of the QWERTY keyboard (more on using the OrbiTouch here). A curriculum called Project Blue Skies has been developed with the intent of helping autistic students “develop social skills” (from being able to communicate better, it’s presumed).

We are still waiting to see what the school district’s speech and language assessment of Charlie (done in early August) says. While Jim and I have regularly raised the question of some kind of augmentative communication device or other assistive technologies for Charlie, these have been routinely turned down. “He has enough language to express his needs,” we are told. “He doesn’t need a device. Studies show that when children use a device, they talk less.” 

One point that gets regularly left out of these discussions is whether or not speech is the most appropriate way for Charlie to communicate (especially when he’s in high anxiety mode). Over the past couple of months, Jim and I have become more and more aware of how what Charlie says is not often exactly what he means. Charlie seems to have a limited repertoire of words at any one moment that he uses and, too often, he simply says what comes to mind or what he’s learned to say in a specific situation. More and more, it really seems that what he wants to say is far in excess of the one and two word phrases he manages to get out.

Charlie asks a lot for edible and potable items and the “black car”; for tangible, physical objects. Sometimes he is, of course, hungry and thirsty. But when he asked to go to the “diner” at 10.10am Wednesday morning---with the remains of a bagel or two he’d just eaten in the back seat of the car---we’re not so sure that he really wanted to sit down with a hamburger, fries, coleslaw, pickle, and lettuce and tomato. (And ketchup.) “Diner” seems to have moved into the category of words that Charlie says because he’s in distress and seeking a certain kind of comfort. Our sense that he’s not always hungry but wanting something else arose over the past summer when Charlie asked for “diner” or “burger,” ate about half his food, and got very upset within a half-hour possibly, partially, from a stomach ache, but also from something more in his mind.

Emma recently posted about Disablism in Action on her blog, The Iron Chicken. As she writes about Dimitri (who has Angelman’s Syndrome) not wanting lately to leave his house:

But what if Dimitri had a wheelchair and could get to places with it? He might have other places to walk, other things to do, other and more experiences.

What if Charlie had a way to communicate that just involved pressing a button or tapping a key or doing something besides talking?

Of course it is always a lovely  thing to hear Charlie’s (deepening) voice, but we also need to be open to thinking about how to enable him best to communicate, in the ways that are best suited to him, rather than simply convenient for the rest of us.

autism Asperger’s children mother parenting food communication language technology