Autistic boy makes impression on Otter

By DAN POPKEY

Spencer Stiegemeier can't tell you what a recession is. He doesn't know a budget from a governor. Ask him if he wants some chicken and he'll say, "I do not like green eggs and ham," rather than, "No, thank you." Try to put anything on his feet except sandals or snowboots, and he'll balk. Spencer, a 6-year-old diagnosed with autism, has become Gov. C.L. "Butch" Otter's symbol for the real-life impact of Medicaid cuts he's ordered to help balance the budget. Otter first spoke of Spencer earlier this month, telling reporters he thinks of the boy with every mention of Health & Welfare Department spending. In his State of the State speech Jan. 12, he asked lawmakers to remember autistic children and to help him rebuild the economy so services can be restored. Out of respect for Spencer's privacy, Otter didn't mention the boy's surname.

Now, his mother, Amy Yardley, has agreed to talk about the bundle of energy who's become an unintended celebrity. Four feet tall and blue-eyed, Spencer loves crayons, cinnamon crackers and the Petco goldfish tank. He's allergic to dairy and gluten and drinks a "milk" of grains, nuts and seeds. He dresses himself, mom prompting him at every step. His favorite "froggy" shirt is from the Oregon Aquarium. Spencer repeats phrases from Dr. Seuss and other books, a trait called "echoalia." He gets obsessed with the same passage in a book or movie, making him a "perseverator," rewinding, rewinding, rewinding to watch Flick shout "Rain!" in the climax of "A Bug's Life." A recent Petco visit was a triumph because his mother was able to draw Spencer away from flashing goldfish to see the birds, ferrets, snakes and a tarantula.

Spencer doesn't have the odd gait or flapping movements of many autistic kids. He does have trouble with crowds, and he screams and throws tantrums when he gets frustrated with tasks like gluing, scissoring and pasting. But he does backflips off the bed and delights in swimming Lake Coeur d'Alene, just as his mother did growing up. "We laugh every day," Yardley said. "But it's like having a 2-year-old, only you've had a 2-year-old for four years." Since he began 30 hours of weekly kindergarten at North Star Child Development Center in August, he's learned to write his name and is working on washing up, brushing teeth and sitting in a circle with others. Such tasks are vital if he's to be mainstreamed in public school. Spencer was diagnosed at St. Luke's Regional Medical Center in Boise not long before his fifth birthday. His mother and father consider themselves fortunate that Spencer was potty-trained earlier than many autistic children, shortly after his diagnosis.

In raising their only child, they rely on state aid. Spencer's father, Franz Stiegemeier, 57, is retired from state government in Alaska. His health plan, like most, doesn't cover the 30 hours of "intensive behavioral intervention" offered by Medicaid. The therapy will be cut to 22 hours in April unless the family wins an appeal. Health & Welfare spokesman Tom Shananan said children like Spencer are eligible for other therapies in the public schools, and the cut applies only to services at private agencies such as North Star. Yardley, 41, fears incidents like the arrest of an 8-year-old Sandpoint girl on battery charges earlier this month after school officials said a child spit on and inappropriately touched two staffers. The child has Asperger syndrome, a type of autism. Yardley says early intervention will pay off. "I don't want him on Social Security when he's an adult, I don't want him on Medicaid, food stamps, getting public housing," she said. "I want him to be self-reliant."

At North Star, Spencer and each of the 18 developmentally disabled children are accompanied by a certified therapist. They are integrated with 23 ordinary children, according to school director Beth Marceau. Because of the cuts, "We're going to regress in the early years when we have an opportunity to make a difference," Marceau said. The school plans to replace the current 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. schedule with half-days. Spencer was diagnosed later than many children; the news was a blow. "Everything you ever felt about what your kid can accomplish in life, it's dead, it's gone," Yardley said. "And then, everything you gain from that point forward is a huge victory." Yardley came forward, in part, because many listeners to Otter's Monday speech thought it was Spencer's mother whom Otter had described as saying, "You people don't care." Otter spoke of the mother of an autistic boy who confronted him in Rathdrum on Dec. 17, the same day Yardley asked him to remember Spencer's face as he wrangled with the budget.

But Otter was talking about another woman who alleged state officials are indifferent to the human consequences of budget cuts, said his spokesman, Jon Hanian. "If he was going to talk about Spencer, he would have used the name Spencer," Hanian said. Otter closed his speech with the anecdote, saying, "We may be guilty of a lot of things in state government, but not caring is not one of them." Yardley said she was glad to hear the clarification. "The governor's priorities are different, but I would never judge anybody on whether they care or not," she said. "I just wanted people to know that's not what I said. Yardley says she sympathizes with the tough choices faced by Otter and legislators. She's just doing her best to champion the long-term benefits of therapy: "We fight for every single step." Though she fears dying and leaving Spencer alone, there are hopeful moments. "On the really good days, I'd like for him to graduate high school, go on to get further education and a job and have a family," she said. "But in the end, I just want him to be happy."

Source: http://www.theolympian.com/northwest/story/737066.html

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