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recommended to us. This specialist school had a facility for autistic children but, in spite of that, after viewing the school I didn’t think it would be an appropriate place for Angelo. Sean and I were convinced he would be better off going to a mainstream school with one-to-one tutoring. We felt he would have the added stimulus of other ‘normal’ children, which would help him integrate and progress more satisfactorily. I know this sounds cruel, but I did not want Angelo to go to a special school for children with learning difficulties and physical disabilities – I just couldn’t help the way I felt at the time.
    The following day a health visitor called round to see us but, surprisingly, she didn’t have any information on autism for us. Instead she gave us an information sheet with names and addresses of help groups and voluntary societies. She remarked at how amazing Sean and I were, in that our marriage had not suffered in spite of all the problems we had already faced over the previous six years with Patrick. She told us she knew problems of such magnitude often split couples up and I remember desperately hoping that our marriage would be strong enough to withstand all the extra pressure it now faced.
    After another depressing meeting with Mrs Porter, we learned that Angelo would need lots of help – at least two years of intense psychotherapy – and she stressed the need for us to prevent him from performing all his habitual rituals. By now, I was not feeling too good. I was beginning to feel like a wind-up toy, my brain filled to saturation point, but at least Sean and I had a nice romantic evening at a local pub that night, which made me feel a little better.
    A couple of days later, though, the cracks began to appear between Sean and me, when he just stopped talking to me, even though the rest of the family were being supportive. I’d been finding it difficult to concentrate at work but the silence from Sean was even harder to deal with, because he was bottling up his emotions. To my mind, he was in denial, but I really wished we could talk it out between us, that we could work together, not only for our sakes but for Angelo’s.
    As a child, I would keep diaries but, after a while, I had stopped doing so. Now I just felt the urge to write my feelings down on paper once again. I began writing each day. I guess it was my way of sharing my problems with someone – even if it was just myself.
    Fortunately, within a few days, the tension between Sean and me subsided and, after I’d made it clear to him that we would have to work together if he wanted to see an improvement in Angelo, he made more of an effort. Meanwhile, I’d spoken to Ingrid, a trainee social worker from Network 81, a support group of parents of children with special educational needs. She was very helpful and assisted me through the process of obtaining disability allowance.
    After a couple more days Sean was in a much better mood, which was surprising, especially since Angelo had had a very disturbed night, not having slept until around 4 a.m. I was absolutely shattered. Unfortunately, the following night he wouldn’t settle again. I found myself getting increasingly tired and cross with him, even though I knew I shouldn’t. Sean eventually snapped, ‘Shut up!’ at Angelo and went up to bed, unable to cope with his laughing loudly and constant running around the room. Angelo eventually went to sleep at 2 a.m. – a sleep pattern that would become all too familiar to us in the years to come.
    The less Angelo would sleep, the more hyper he would become. With his seemingly boundless energy and night waking, it was rare to get any decent sleep and often I found myself sleeping on the sofa downstairs. I even took to doing my housework in the early hours, reckoning I may just as well be doing something useful if I was awake anyway. Sean and I were becoming exhausted. Both Angelo’s and Patrick’s disturbed sleeping patterns were having