Life, According to Sam

The story of the secret garden is one of discovery and realising the value of friendship and love, and of overcoming heartache and obstacles, so for me it couldn’t be a more appropriate piece of music to start writing to.

Sam was born healthy and well after a somewhat rushed arrival into the world; the pregnancy had been difficult for me due to my own health issues and despite Sam suddenly deciding to stop growing and arrive a few weeks early by emergency induction, I was just over the moon that our little boy was here, safe and sound.

We had significant issues getting him feeding, and a mess up there over his blood samples meant he was left dangerously dehydrated and we were stuck for a week on the post-natal ward.

However once home, things settled into a typical pattern of feeds, sleeping (him, not us), nappies etc.

Then at 14 weeks old Sam experienced a seizure and our world turned upside down.

In a matter of hours, Sam had been through a barrage of tests to rule out particular horrors such as haemorrhage, tumour etc., while the seizures continued to hammer him, hard.

They did eventually stop thanks to the amazing staff in the childrens ward, who never once left us that night. In the morning we learnt that our beautiful baby boy had epilepsy; and we assumed that we’d get him started on medication and would never need to see another seizure again.

After all, epilepsy is the most common neurological disorder in the world, how bad could it be?

We soon learned that epilepsy is a nasty, vicious creature, as our baby boy battled hard to live as the seizures torn into him relentlessly.

He developed a rare but catastrophic form of epilepsy called infantile spasms, his seizures simply refused to be controlled by any medication we tried and we could do nothing but watch helplessly as our boys development came to a complete halt.

We wondered, more than once, if we’d ever be able to bring him home… if he survived.

The medical team worked tirelessly to help him, but the look in their eyes of sadness and pity told us far more than their reassuring words that sometimes it just takes a long time to find the right meds combination.

By the end of Sams first year he was like a new-born; the seizures were every few hours and our gorgeous little boy was gaunt, exhausted and had virtually no quality of life.

Our hearts were utterly shattered and any hopes/dreams we’d had for our first (and only) child were long gone.

Grief is a funny old process.

It doesn’t have any time limits, and no two people will experience it in quite the same ways.

I went through a very difficult period when Sam was very small, where I simply didn’t know what was happening and could only survive a day at a time, holding onto my husband and child for all I was worth.

My health both physical and mental suffered terribly.

I still grief for what COULD have been, and there are still days when the feeling of guilt is almost overwhelming.

But I do know that none of this is anyones fault. Sam is exactly the person he was MEANT to be.

This is how he was made, and this is how he is.

Without his challenges, I doubt he’d be the same child he is now.

Fast forward to March 2015 – Sam is more gorgeous that ever 😉

He’s a cheeky monkey who has defied the brutal prognosis of his early days and far from being almost vegetative, he is funny, happy, loving, and a menace who thinks it’s funny to wake his parents up at all hours!

In 2013 we finally found part of the answer to why Sam experiences such a difficult to control form of epilepsy – he has a rare brain malformation called polymicrogyria (pmg for short), that affects both sides of his brain at the frontal lobes.

His prognosis is still poor – likely to be dependent on carers all his life, severe learning disabilities, cortical visual impairment due to the severity of the seizure activity (Sam is registered blind) etc., but he’s far more than that.

His vision has improved with intensive therapy to the point where he CAN see albeit not very far; he knows who we are and loves us as much as we love him… he gives great cuddles and has a smile that outshines the sun.

Sam is by far and away the greatest gift in the world, he’s changed our lives in ways we could never have imagined and changed us for the better too.

If I could go back in time to visit myself at the very start of our journey with Sam I’d be able to say that it really is going to be ok – everyone tells you that at the start but you don’t really believe them.

But it really, really, is OK – life isn’t about what we’re given but about what we make of it!

I will admit, in my darkest hours I wondered how on earth we’d ever cope and grieved for the life Sam should have had and that WE should have had.

There are still bad days but they’re outnumbered 100 to 1 by the good days – when I come home from work and am welcomed back with a huge grin from my little monkey, and a massive snuggle to make the day all better 🙂

Special needs are scary, and finding out that your much longed for baby has huge mountains to climb is soul destroying if you let it be; Sam, his Dad and me stand side by side in our journey together, we’re not sure where the destination is but we’re going to make sure we enjoy the ride.

Genetics

I have been amazed at how our girl has blossomed. She has gained weight, she has outgrown many clothing sizes and she went from barely sitting up to now walking with assistance.

She has learned to communicate by using sign language and she is hearing with the assistance of a cochlear implant.

Even with all the discoveries, we still have many unanswered questions.

Our medical paperwork has huge blanks due to her medical history and family history being unknown.

Last week, our doctor suggested that we explore the field of genetics for more answers.

We will be going to a genetics clinic later on this month and begin testing in hopes of learning more about Afua.

A part of me is excited to gain more information and a part of me is nervous that we may find something more devastating.

But like our Doctor said, knowledge is power and we can be more proactive about Afua’s care once we know more.

The Positive Side of My Daughter’s Disability

I was born into a family that always saw the worst aspect of anything and everything that ever happened.

Even if what happened was really a good thing! I grew up believing that the glass was always half empty and never half full!

My family members thrived on doom and gloom and their own misery!

They wallowed in their own unhappiness without restraint and attempted to seduce anyone who crossed their path into joining them

I hate to admit it, but as a result of growing up in such a hotbed of wretchedness, I often wrestle with my own distorted way of looking at life.

I certainly don’t have to stretch my imagination very far or need any help in order to find something to darken my day or dampen my mood!

Negativity is in my genes!

Of course, having a child who was diagnosed with a brain tumor at age two and then disabled by the surgery to remove it has given me lot’s of fuel for my “negativity” fire!

Yet even though it’s an ongoing struggle for me, I long to see my world through rose colored glasses!

I crave positivity! I yearn to see the good in all things!

As difficult as it is, I am striving to become more aware of and focus on all of Bethany’s good, positive, and happy moments as well as call attention to and celebrate her many awesome accomplishments, achievements, and improvements!

Below are just a few of the positive characteristics of Bethany’s disability that I am choosing to focus on and celebrate!

• Bethany has absolutely no low self esteem issues. She does not worry about keeping up her appearance or image.

In fact, I doubt that she even has a self image at all!

She doesn’t fret about what she looks like, or her weight, or if she’s wearing the latest styles! Neither does she worry about being popular.

• Bethany simply does not comprehend that there are people who might judge her by the way she looks or acts!

She doesn’t recognize when people make fun of her and she’s completely oblivious to people staring at her when they notice that she’s not acting her age, that she talks funny, or when she’s having a seizure in public.

• Bethany accepts everyone just as they are.

She doesn’t judge people in any way whatsoever- not by the color of their skin, their religious beliefs, their lifestyle choices, the way they look, the clothes they wear, or how much money they make.

Making fun of anyone is not even within her ability.

• Bethany is satisfied and content with a few very basic and simple pleasures in life, like following her routine, watching her movies, tapping her craft rocks, playing games, going for a ride in the car, and playing with her friends at club.

She has absolutely no desire for expensive video game systems, diamond rings, stylish clothes, money, or fancy sports cars.

Though I must admit, she does love her technological devices!

• Bethany does not get frightened about things like being in the dark, bad people, getting hurt, or even what will happen to her in the future.

She has absolutely no concept of the future, that there are bad people in the world who might wish to harm her, or that the boogeyman might be hiding under her bed at night.

• Bethany will always be my sweet and innocent little girl with a childlike faith in God and humanity!

Even though Bethany’s disabilities come with daily struggles, challenges and occasional heartaches I will continue to search for and celebrate the positive in even the most negative of situations!

The Ominous “First Year”

I was told that the appointments would die down, we would accept what happened a little better and we’d have time to digest what had happened before we were plunged into this crazy world of cerebral palsy and tube feeding.

The intensity of raw emotion is something that I don’t think many people will experience in their lifetime.

This time last year I was full term pregnant and desperately hoping for my little bundle of joy to arrive soon.

You have these idyllic images in your head of baking together, painting together, going on walks, those first words, those first steps etc.

I became so impatient in my pregnancy as the discomfort grew.

I had a sweep and was due another but my waters broke.

Next thing the contractions started and we rushed to the local hospital.

The heartbeat slowed down and in the end I was rushed for an emergency c-section.

It took 8 minutes to bring our little girl back to life and then she was rushed to the city hospital for cooling treatment as she had sustained a severe brain injury.

We were told she may not make it through the night and that if she did she would be a “total vegetable”.

We never gave up hope, not at all. As the weeks went by our little girl grew stronger.

By this point we were tube feeding experts and were learning as much as we could to facilitate getting her home faster.

Eventually she was home with us and we were still in a deep state of trauma from what had happened.

The trauma of the past, the difficult present, and the uncertain future.

Every professional through our door was a well meaning but painful reminder of the severity of the situation.

We learned how to put on brave faces and how to get by on almost no sleep.

As time went on, surgeries happened, hundreds of hospital appointments and home visits the routine started to set.

You become sort of numb to it all but every now and then something will just rise on up out of nowhere and smack you in the face and it’s “Boom. Feeding issues. Boom. Mobility issues. Boom. Money issues” etc.

I genuinely think the first year will indeed be our hardest.

The first Birthday will be full of joy, gratitude, grief, anxiety, hope, anger, celebration, sadness and so much more.

A nurse said to us at the start there will be good days and bad days. I can see that today is a bad day, but just wait for tomorrow and it’ll be okay.

Our appointments are actually on the increase as we are planning to learn sign language, attend messy play to help with feeding issues, constant dietitian appointments for g-tube related feeding issues, physio (soon to be group physio) and various other things.

I am learning to enjoy the appointments now and to view them as giving our daughter the best opportunity possible to achieve her full potential.

I love our specialists, they are all genuinely dedicated to helping us and can all see how full of promise our bright little girl is.

For anyone earlier into the journey than myself – A few things I wish I had known back start.

Your baby is so tiny right now… they don’t stay that way long… whilst this is a difficult time do enjoy every nice part of this that you possibly can.

Accept help – you are not weak for needing help. If you are struggling mentally then go to a doctor – you are not weak… your brain might not be releasing the chemicals you need to cope with this very unexpected and trying situation.

Stay strong, rest as much as you can (easier said than done).

A diagnosis does not define your child, your child’s “limitations” are merely challenges, it does not reflect your child’s amazing personality, eagerness to learn, and cute traits.

For anyone further into the journey than us – continue being you, and being a huge inspiration for us at the start of this.

Happy Birthday to our amazing Amy-Rose.

You have been through more in your first 12 months than most of us have in our entire lives and you are our world.

I’d like to take this opportunity to send out a massive thank you to absolutely everyone who has supported us in this last year.

To friends and family that have been there for the tears, but also been there for the amazing parts.

Rare Conditions Are An All-Too-Common Story

I’d been waiting all afternoon to talk to the attending doctor, and he still hadn’t arrived by eight in the evening.

But as luck would have it, he of course arrived at my daughter’s bedside just minutes after I’d left the unit.

My husband was still there pacing back and forth like a point guard next to Mia’s bedside, so I knew she was in good hands.

The long awaited talk with the attending doctor is always a special occasion in the hospital, not only because we get to talk to the person that is calling the shots, but because it is also the chance to explain the intricacies of our daughter’s rare diagnosis.

Being able to convey these details sometimes can make a difference in the clinical care that is provided.

Carrying the badge of a rare diagnosis means that nine times out of ten, even the most versed doctor will not have heard of your child’s condition—or let alone even met another child with the same diagnosis.

It also means that the hidden unknowns of the rare disease can often cause surprise side effects to typical medical interventions.

Parents of children with rare diagnoses spend a great deal of time researching and networking through the glory of today’s social networks.

Gathering information and anecdotal experiences, basically anything that can paint a picture of the rare condition at hand and hopefully allow for some insight into medical care.

My husband did his best to convey the prevailing characteristics of our daughter’s diagnosis, even spelling out the syndrome twice to ensure that the doctor could do his own research.

So I was a little surprised, when I later read the patient medical history, which read, ‘Patient has an extremely rare genetic disorder called Phasing McMurphy Syndrome. It is not listed in any database.’

I had to laugh at that one, it sounded more like a popular pub than a diagnosis to be reckoned with.

My daughter has a rare syndrome, but it actually is recognized internationally with an estimated 1,000 children and adults currently diagnosed worldwide.

She happens to be the only registered case in Switzerland, even though statistically there should be more.

It is called Phelan Mcdermid Syndrome (P-MS), and involves a micro deletion on chromosome 22, so it is sometimes also referred to as 22q.13 Deletion Syndrome.

Sadly, this is not an isolated scenario.

Families with rare diagnosis children are born into the role of advocate from day one, mostly out of necessity.

Graduating from Portage

The National Portage Association is “named after the town of Portage in Wisconsin, USA. It was developed there as a way of supporting parents in helping their children in their own homes” http://www.portage.org.uk/.

t is a charity that works closely with the county council community services and provide educational play therapy for children with additional needs.

They work with profiles and developmental checklists which feed into the journals used by early support services and educational settings, helping to identify additional needs, strengths and targets for future learning.

Our Home Visitor has been fantastic!

Of all the people we have met through early support services she is the one who has got to know Twinkle the best, partly because she has had such regular contact, but mostly because play therapy is fun!

She gets to see more of Twinkle’s developing personality than anyone else and bring out the giggles in her.

Another dimension has been that she is a parent of a child with additional needs herself and therefore has been in our shoes.

Of course this isn’t a pre-requisite for providing caring therapy to a child, but it really does make such a difference emotionally for me as a parent knowing that I am speaking to someone who really does understand a lot of the journey our family is taking.

Our Home Visitor has been a regular visitor and friendly face to the whole family.

Someone to answer questions about the often confusing early support, health and education system and the person who sorted out the gaps in support for Twinkle for us – the involvement of Visual Impairment team (much needed as Twinkle has cortical VI) and a referral for Music Therapy (which Twinkle loves and really brings her to life!).

The portage service in our area help to run weekly groups for children with additional needs at various children’s centres around the city. They have also been running an annual portage party!

We went to the party last year and it was great to meet lots of other families similar to ours and to be in an environment where we were all ‘normal’!

We met some lovely people who we have since kept in touch with (in real life and also found we were in the same online support forums – small ‘additional needs’ world!).

However, now that Twinkle has gone up to 15 hours at nursery we have come to the end of our entitlement to portage visits and we had to have a very emotional (for all of us!) sign off visit a few weeks ago.

My little baby is growing up and growing out of early support services ready to start school!

And we will really miss our regular visits from our lovely friend……I really hope we will manage to keep in touch!

I Run 4

Tim explains; “I run because I can. When I get tired, I remember those who can’t run, what they would give to have this simple gift I take for granted, and I run harder for them.” (source: http://www.whoirun4.com/about-ir4/)

I registered Hugh, my 4 year old son who has severe developmental delay, and he was quickly paired with a runner from America.

Runners and their ‘buddies’ are encouraged to post regularly ion the Facebook group with photos, details of their run or workout, news and messages of support.

The page is a hive of daily activity with buddies and runners from all over the world sharing stores, building relationships and making connections.

Some runners compete in races wearing t-shirts emblazoned with the name of their buddy then send the medals on to them.

Some runners and buddies have met, others run in virtual races and clock up the miles to cover the distance between them.

Some runners post photos of their workouts all with the message – ‘I’m doing this for you’; the person they’re running for spurring them on to train harder or run faster.

The buddies send regular updates – what they’re doing at school for example – and some post cards and letters or pictures to their runners.

They also have two secondary organisations, building on the foundations of the original idea:

Kerri on: I run for remembrance: where athletes are paired with families who’ve lost members due to special needs conditions, sudden death or other tragedies

I run 4 siblings: the unsung heroes: which pairs athletes with the brothers and sisters of children with special needs.

Hugh being matched with a runner was fabulous, but he is profoundly disabled and has no awareness of it.

I have enjoyed making connections with his runner though and sharing stories about Hugh with her and she has offered encouragement and support, particularly when Hugh has been in hospital or unwell.

For our family it is The I Run 4 Siblings group which has had the most positive impact.

Siblings of children with special needs are often the forgotten heroes in the drama.

Sean, at just 6 years old, has witnessed and experienced things no child ever should.

He has watched me resuscitate Hugh countless times, he’s witnessed his baby brother being whisked away in an ambulance with blue lights and sirens, and he’s seen him hooked up to all kinds of monitors and machines in hospital.

From a very young age he knew how to ring for an ambulance and he’s already adept at tube feeding.

Even with the best of intentions our lives revolve a little (and sometimes a lot) around Hugh. If Hugh’s ill we can’t leave the house – friends and family take Sean to school for me.

If Hugh’s in hospital (which is often), Sean is palmed off on whoever can help, since I need to stay in the hospital and their dad needs to work – unfortunately those bills still need paying!

We do our very best to make Sean feel important and special but he knows, and accepts with his adult-like empathy, that often Hugh’s needs are our priority.

And that makes me very sad.

So when Sean got paired with a runner I was delighted to share it with him. This was something just for him.

He has been really involved with messaging Sarah, his runner, and is excited to hear from her.

The teacher in me couldn’t resist using it to teach him about the world – so we looked at where Sarah is from in America and where she has been deployed to with the army and found them on the globe.

We found out the time zones in both those places and at various times of the day we’d check to see if Sarah or her family at home would be awake or asleep.

Sean’s really impressed she’s in the army and has asked lots of questions about war in the Middle East.

He eagerly scours the photos she posts for any tanks or guns and even asked if she might be able to send him a real one!

In return, Sean likes to tell Sarah about football (or rather soccer as she calls it).

He’s shared his love of Aston Villa with her and about the matches he’s played with his local team.

And when he received an engraved medal at his football-themed birthday party earlier this year – he asked me to post one out to Sarah. Last week Sean was off school with a bug.

He sat curled up on the sofa watching films.

Then up popped this: All the way from an army base in Kuwait came a get well message. #And what followed were messages to ‘feel better soon’ and ‘get well’ from runners and buddies alike all over the world! Sean was absolutely delighted.

If you would like to find out more about I Run 4, their website is here: http://www.whoirun4.com/

Hello! Everyone meet AJ

After a perfect pregnancy and an eventful labour, he was born blue, floppy and lifeless with apgar scores of 2, 2 and 7.

As part of Cerebral Palsy Awareness Month, today’s post is from Emmy Heaton.

Mum to AJ who has Cerebral Palsy.

He needed a lot of help and resuscitation, and with that he took his first gasp at 6 and a half minutes old, and then another one at 9 minutes.

He was then intubated and whisked off to NICU to be cooled as part of the TOBY trial. Cooling is where the babies core temperature is lowered to 33 degrees (induced hypothermia) for 72 hours after birth.

This was to help slow down and hopefully stop any further swelling/damage to his brain.

When AJ was born he were diagnosed with severe hypoxic-ischemic encephalopathy HIE, grade 3 and he had bleeds on his brain.

Whilst in NICU me and my partner were told to expect the worst, and at the very best we should expect our precious boy to be severely disabled.

We were given ‘the talk’, the talk which no parent should have to sit through.

Did we want them to stop helping him with his breathing?

Of course we didn’t want them to stop, why were they even asking us this?

He was our baby, we didn’t care about how much care he would need, we just wanted him to survive.

It was like a huge kick in the gut, and if it wasn’t for the help and support I got from the NICU nurses, my partner and family, I don’t think I would’ve got through it like I did.

Aj has had a lot of struggles in his life, countless tests, Physio appointments, OT assessments, EEG’s, MRI’s, blood tests, sensory assessments, hearing tests and Botox.

Sometimes I think we should live in the hospital!

But he has undergone all of these tests and appointments with grace and he still manages to come out with a big beautiful smile at the end of it all.

While he was a baby, I feel I was quite ignorant to the fact he had extra needs, it was our normal (I had no other children). He missed a lot of milestones, yet I was still in denial.

He will catch up, he has to”.

I think I also put aside my own feelings more than I should’ve. I pushed people away and lost quite a few friends. I just didn’t have the time for people anymore!

Aj was 11 months old when he was ‘officially’ diagnosed. They said he has significant delays and that he has cerebral palsy. Spastic quadriplegic cerebral palsy.

I wasn’t shocked, I knew it was coming, but I didn’t expect it to hurt like it did. I felt like we were back in NICU, because that’s where we’d last heard that term.

Eventually I felt comfortable enough to tell people his diagnosis, I tried to avoid telling people face to face, as I hated to sympathetic head tilt, and the “Aww but he’s so cute though”.

I didn’t want people to pity us.

It’s getting easier to tell people, and easier to discuss his difficulties with others. But I still struggle when I think about his future.

I worry whether he’ll be happy, whether we can do enough for him and sometimes I worry I do too much for him.

I worry he won’t have friends and one of my biggest fears is bullying or what will happen when I’m not around to protect him?

In September Aj should hopefully be starting at a special needs school. I am SO excited for him to go, I’m really hoping he’ll blossom whilst he’s there, they have a huge sensory room which I know he will love!

The thing I would most like to tell people, is to find joy in each day.

Whether it’s something huge or just a little something to smile about.

I’ll admit, I struggle to find things to smile about some days but it does help when everything’s not all doom and gloom.

Our lives are still pretty busy, we have around 4-8 appointments every week, sometimes even more!

The list of diagnosis seems to be growing again, he is currently under investigation for epilepsy and autism.

They should include on that list that he has an infectious smile and his awesomely, cheeky personality. The difference now is I make sure I talk about it, whether it’s to the doctor, my partner or my mum.

I make sure someone knows how I feel about it all. And that helps a LOT! My sunshine keeps shining bright throughout all this, he keeps me going.

Conductive Education Therapy

CE consolidates forms of education and rehab in a client centred approach, and helps people with lifelong disabilities improve/maintain their maximum level of independence by improving their physical, cognitive and problem solving abilities by working collaboratively with a multidisciplinary team (Tuersley-Dixon et al, 2010).

The role of the ‘teacher’, known as a Conductor; Analyses, provides feedback, keeps tempo, guides, practices, coordinates, encourages and motivates individuals as they gain mastery of their minds and bodies.

The “conductor’s music” is the particular functions and everyday tasks that a person needs to perform in order to reach their maximum level of independence and control.

This method aims to avoid learned helplessness that may come from doing too much for a child, rather than teaching the child to do things for itself.

Who can be treated?

Conductive education is suitable for children and adults with neurologically based disorders of movement, balance, voluntary and involuntary muscle control, perception, speech and language.

Suitable conditions include; Cerebral palsy, Parkinson’s Disease, Multiple Sclerosis, Stroke and Acquired Head Injury

Conductive Education in Northern Ireland

Background

In Northern Ireland, Conductive Education is administered a Buddy Bear Trust School.

This school was set up by the Buddy Bear Trust charity for children who suffer from cerebral palsy and motor disorders. Conductive education at the School has had life changing consequences for some of the children who have been lucky enough to attend.

The School can only help 12 children, each on a part-time basis. This is due to lack of funds and consequently, lack of teachers.

The school is, however recognised by the Educational Authorities in Northern Ireland as a Private Independent School.

Cost

The Buddy Bear Trust School is an independent school recognised and inspected by the department of Education.

The Education and Library Boards have paid the fees to enable children to be educated at the school since it opened in 1993.

The Education and Library Boards also pays a travel allowance to parents/guardians if necessary.

Parents pay nothing for the provision of the services of the school.

Whilst all political parties in Northern Ireland have been very supportive over many years, public funding has been very limited.

Referral process

Any parent who wishes to have a child attend the school should first of all contact the school and arrange an appointment to meet the principal Ildiko Veres who will then assess whether the child can be admitted to the school.

Any child of school age will be considered for admission.

Children of pre-school age will have the opportunity of attending the Mother and Child Group.

Parents may indicate a preference for the Buddy Bear School and if the statement names the Buddy Bear School the Education and Library Board must place the child in the school and pay fees and may also pay a contribution towards travelling expenses.

Arranging for a Board to place a child in the school can be quiet a long and complicated procedure so it is recommended that the parents start the process as soon as possible.

Contact

Buddy Bear Trust Killyman Road Dungannon BT71 6DE

Tel & Fax: 028 87752025

Email: [email protected]

Research

Strong evidence based research on Conductive education is limited and it has been assessed in only a few controlled studies which have focused mainly on progress in motor skills, and the method has been compared to traditional physiotherapy.

These studies are known to have been unsuccessful to reveal the dominance of conductive education.

There has been no scientific examination of long-term success or cost effectiveness of the therapy as a whole.

A review by Darah et al in 2004 found that the research literature did not provide conclusive evidence either in support of or against conductive education, and that the limited number of studies and their poor quality made failed to provide purely evidence-based decision-making about conductive education.

References

Darrah, J., Watkins, B., CHEN, L., BONIN, C., 2004. Conductive education intervention for children with cerebral palsy: an AACPDM evidence report. Developmental Medicine & Child Neurology, 46, pp.87–203.

Fossberg, H., Rosbald, B, 2000. Conductive education -an educational program for children with cerebral palsy, Swedish Council on Technology Assessment in Health Care.

Sutton., A, 1999. Towards Conductive Education. In ISBN 978-963-85499-2-1

TUERSLEY- DIXON, L., FREDERICKSON, N., 2010. Conductive education: appraising the evidence. Educ Psychol Pract, 26, pp. 353–73.