I feel uncomfortably grateful towards St Jenny Fkn McCarthy (STFM) these days. She's the MTV witch who doesn't have a child with autism, who paired up with No-longer-doctor Andrew Wakefield once he arrived in the US (where he still practises "medicine") to demonstrate that MMR causes autism (which, again, her child doesn't have) and which she can miraculously cure by humming and throwing milk and painting things purple.
I'm not a fan of St Jenny Fkn McCarthy.
For years and years after Euan's diagnosis of Autism, SJFM would be raised in almost every conversation with anyone anywhere. In a park, with Euan doing His Thing in a puddle (stand very still, watch the world in the reflection, compare it to the real thing, move slightly, watch again, etc), someone would ask why he was different. I'd say, "He has autism" they'd say "Oh but he doesn't have to! Have you heard of Jenny McCarthy?"
Or in a supermarket when someone's child is screaming (a sound that literally deafens Euan - it's a tonal, sensory thing) and Euan falls to the floor with his hands over his ears and someone says "Why is he being so rude?" and I'd reply, "He's not being rude, he can't hear over the sound - he has autism." and then I'd get a tut and "I bet you gave him the MMR... Have you read this book by Jenny McCarthy..?"
While I would still cross the road and gleefully slap SJFM's face to express my gratitude for all the harm and misunderstanding she's caused me (and so many other families), the truth is, it's hardened my skin against idiots and misinformed helpers. On my first evening out with my wonderful friends recently, one person overheard me talking to them about the picnic food I was unpacking.
"Low-carb faddy nonsense," she whispered to her husband, "If she wants to shift all that weight, she should try Atkins."
My friends lifted a glass to her in salute.