At one point all I could see was a monster and not a child. Had I not walked away I could have easily kicked him in the head; LIVING WITH AUTISM: ONE MOTHERHER'S POWERFUL STORY.

Byline: Kaiya Marjoribanks

JOURNALIST Kaiya Marjoribanks, 36, lives with her husband Chris, a 41year-old services manager, in Falkirk.

The couple have two sons, 11-year-old Daniel and Lewis, nine.

Seven years ago, Lewis was diagnosed with autism. Since then, Kaiya and her family have had their lives turned upside down.

Here, she reveals what life is really like with an autistic child.

In her own words, she describes the pain and heartache, the frustration and anger of living with Lewis.

If you have no idea what autism can do to families, Kaiya's story will not only shock, it will inspire you to help the thousands of others like Lewis and Buy A Brick For Struan donate pounds 10 to help build a new school for autistic childen.

LIFE with an autistic child is all about extremes. I've lost count of the times I've heard: 'Oh, but all children do that.'

But what is a 'normal' child's hobby is an autistic child's obsession. A toddler's tantrum is no comparison to a no-holds-barred autistic nine year-old in full flow for an hour.

And there is no form of reasoning or bribery which can filter through to a child who wears invisible blinkers and has no concept of other people's feelings, never mind the desire to take them into account.

Wee Jimmy down the road loves watching Thomas The Tank Engine. Myson Lewis LIVES for Thomas the Tank Engine and while wee Jimmy is three, Lewis is almost nine.

While wee Jimmy goes in the huff because mum wants to watch Corrie rather than a Thomas video, Lewis will spend the half hour (and the rest) screeching at full pitch and trashing the house until I decide I'll never watch another soap for as long as I live.

And even then, he isn't satisfied until he has Thomas playing at top volume on at least two TVs in the house and can play and rewind his favourite five seconds of it constantly for an hour.

Low points are many but perhaps the lowest for me was when Lewis was around four and still unable to talk.

He had to be removed from a cinema after five minutes, with no concept of why he was there or what was expected of him. It was possibly his most frustrated moment.

Afterwards, it took one hour to get Lewis from the cinema to a car park. As he lay on the floor, screeching maniacally and banging his head off the floor tiles while everyone looked on and with no sense of the pain he was inflicting on himself my foot was inches from his head.

And at that point all I could see was a monster and not a child. Had I not walked away, I could have easily kicked him in the head.

Not something I'm proud of but, if I can help one other parent who has ever had the same feeling to realise they are not alone, then it is worth admitting.

Lewis has rhymed off Postman Pat in Gaelic and taught himself the alphabet at the age of two by watching Countdown but don't ask him his favourite colour or to explain why he is happy to strip off in the middle of the supermarket.

He'll have no idea what you're on about and no desire to find out.

In comparison to many autistic children, Lewis is very lucky. He is beginning to communicate verbally.

At five, he had only just started to point but couldn't tell you if he wanted any sort of drink, never mind whether it was juice or milk. He has started to respond to some questions, whereas at one stage he didn't even respond to his own name.

I have been blessed with a childminder who is nothing short of a Godsend and, in recent years, finding the right school has helped Lewis more than I could ever have thought possible.

Unfortunately, at the moment, that's not an opportunity which is afforded to the vast majority of autistic children.

A long time ago, I came to terms asmuch as anyone could with the fact that my child would always be autistic and I determined that, whatever happened, I would strive to do whatever it took to maximise whatever potential he has.

But first I had to 'grieve' for the child I thought I had and for the adult I thought he might become no matter how 'relieved' I was when someone took me seriously enough to have him assessed and diagnosed.That was at the age of two and a half, when he showed no interest in either talking or communicating.

Now I realise it was a child I never had give up even trying to get out. But in our house, the person who suffers most is his brother Daniel, who has had a great deal to put up with in his 11 years.

There is no doubt that Lewis takes up 90 per cent of our attention. Holidays consist of Chris and I 'swapping' kids every few hours. That way Lewis keeps some sense of calm by running through whatever routine he has established and Daniel can do something with at least one of us.

Last year in Tenerife, it was the twice-aday scenario of park, Burger King (with same meal in same seat), followed by the same number of coins to pump into the same game machine next door.

A day out to the water park ended up as a 15 minute trip where no one managed to put as much as a toe in the water before we had to leave. And Daniel didn't have a word of complaint.

On our first day, Lewis slipped away through reception and was lost for four hours, sparking a full-scale police search.

-other than in my own mind. Taking away Lewis' autism,which has such a huge bearing and influence on his life and already remarkable character, would be like losing that child all over again.

I can never be glad that Lewis is autistic for his sake and even our own but I will always be glad that he is part of our lives and he is who he is.

Autism, stubbornness, charm and all. What I have never managed to come to terms with are the attitudes of other people towards my child.

I completely understand why people can see an otherwise normal-looking child screaming like a banshee, thrashing about and trying to trash the shelves in the supermarket and think to themselves: 'I know what I'd do if that were mine.'

What I can't understand are the people who approach you to tell you just that often giving your child a poke in the chest and a piece of their mind.

These days, after years of practice, my skin is thick and my 'just don't look up' attitude works wonders.

I'll explain exactly what the problem is without bursting into tears if people choose to listen.

The all too few who approach with offers of help are, however, worth their weight in gold.

Perhaps there is nothing they can do in practical terms but just a few kind words can be the difference between tears and finding the inner strength to cope with the seemingly impossible.

My screaming, thrashing, biting child I can cope with. Barbed comments are a different thing.

Like any child, Lewis can 'play up' and try to wind you around his little finger.

But, as his mum, I can differentiate between those times and the incidents when he is genuinely distressed and even terrified by something he can't understand or convey to anyone else.

I am eternally grateful that my child's condition is not life-threatening and have the deepest respect for those parents who find themselves in that position. But what autism most certainly threatens is the quality of his life.

In many ways, Lewis is more than happy to be isolated but we and other families are isolated by default.

Isolated when everyone else's children are eagerly waiting for Santa to call out their name. Isolated when other children enjoy their birthdays and your child can't begin to understand the concept of colour, never mind their own 'special' day.

Isolated because, while other people are pushing their children to pass exams, to go to university, get a wonderful job and live in wedded bliss, you are wondering our child will ever have or even want iend, or just tell you they love you.

No matter how understanding your friends are and mine are certainly that, you shut yourself off because the thought of taking him to their homes and watch him do his usual 'whirlwind' routine and hope he doesn't urinate, or worse, on their carpets is too much to contemplate.

It's one thing watching him bounce off the walls in your own house. It's another watching him do it in someone else's. Bythe time you get him to bed if you get him to bed it's too late to be making those phone calls you keep meaning to but never get round to.

Finding someone who has the sheer courage to look after him of an evening is nigh on impossible and eventually youHe was eventually found three miles away playing with the sand in a golf course bunker having crossed two dual carriageways.

In those four hours, the longest of my life, I vowed that, no matter how hard things ever got, they could never be any worse than being without him altogether.

The head-banging, the screaming, the incontinence, the refusal to sleep, the constant jumping, the infuriating and rigid routines, the wallpaper stripping phase, repeated flooding of the bathroom, throwing himself about in the car.

For those four hours, all the day-to-day strain and pressure was forgotten and replaced with something infinitely worse.

It was only a couple of years ago that Daniel divulged to a researcher from the Scottish Society for Autism the cruel comments he put up with about his brother from other children because he didn't want to upset me.

Luckily, he has many friends who have stayed the course and some whom Lewis has even become very fond of but, sadly, there will always be some who find Lewis a figure of cruel fun, a 'freak' and a 'village idiot' with which to taunt Daniel.

He has cleaned Lewis when he has soiled himself and put up with constant screeching while trying to do homework.

As a family, everything we do revolves around whether Lewis is going to cope with it, meaning all too often the things other children take for granted don't happen for Daniel.

I have always stressed to Daniel thathe should take care of Lewis only because he wants to and not because he needs to. But inevitably there will come a day when Daniel will be the only person Lewis has.

That's why it is vital that as much is done as possible to help children like Lewis have a degree of independence. That is made all the more difficult if there are sections of society which are not prepared to meet them half way.

An autistic child's expected life span is as long as anyone else's and money spent on supporting them at an early age will pay dividends. In cold hard cash terms, it is cost-effective for everyone.

Better education of more professionals and increased public awareness will help make the world a more welcoming place.

As the parent of an autistic child, your best friends are a thick skin and a pretty sick sense of humour. In time they start to override the 'guilt' factor.

We all ask ourselves if something we did caused the autism, questioning everything from tripping on the stairs to having a spoonful of coleslaw.

But the best advice I ever had was from a psychologist who told me it was highly unlikely it had anything to do with me and I would do best to stop beating myself up and get on with making sure Lewis had the right opportunities and support.

Of course I still cry when I find the time but I prefer to laugh, find humour in his eccentricities and wonder at the many ways he somehow finds to show he loves us.

Every day I marvel at this very special child I gave birth to and wish more people could allow themselves to look beyond the screeching boy in the supermarket.

How you can help

nWE'RE asking for pounds 10 a brick and that covers all the added extras in the building of the new Struan House School for Scotland's autistic children. The love comes free.

If you can't stretch to a tenner, don't worry. Every little helps. And every week we will feature the Sunday Mail readers with the biggest hearts.

So here's how you can help lay the foundations of a great cause that will benefit EVERY child with autism in Scotland:

Net it

nUSE your debit or credit card by logging on at: www.autism-in-scotland.org.uk

Phone it

nCALL 0845 270 0159 (lines open Sunday 9am to 5pm and Monday to Friday, 9am - 9pm) and make a donation by debit or credit card.

Post it

nSEND a cheque or Gift Postal Order, made payable to The Scottish Society for Autism, to: New Struan Appeal, The Scottish Society for Autism, Hilton House, Alloa Business Park, Whins Road, Alloa FK10 3SA.

Bank it

nYOU can donate over the counter at any Royal Bank of Scotland branch. Please pay in to Sort Code: 83-15-15, Account No: 00259763.

Do it

nCALL our Events Hotline for information on our dynamic, adrenalin-pumping events programme on: 01259 728 340 Do you have an idea for a community event to raise money? Call our Community Events team on: 01259 720 044.

PS: If you're a boss

nLET the New Struan Appeal work with your company to help realise its corporate social responsibility.

For details of innovative ways you can get involved, call 01259 720044.

deepest respect for those parents who themselves in that position. But autism most certainly threatens is

CAPTION(S):

Unconditional love: Kaiya admits being mum to Lewis is a strain but when he went missing for four hoursits being mum to Lewis is a strain but when he went missing for four hours she realised she wouldn't be without him; Stunning: How new Struan House will look