By ALICE KENNY

ROTON-ON-HUDSON — WAVING purple socks and a fleece jacket, Astrid Vaughan tried to capture the attention of her drenched daughter, who refused to stop bouncing on her trampoline, despite the pelting rain.

"Kee-Kee, sweetie, how about putting on your socks?" she pleaded, standing in a chilly downpour in front of their split-level home in Croton-on-Hudson. "Would you like your jacket?"

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"Wah, he, he!" Kristie squealed, flipping a full 360 degrees, landing on her bare feet, then flying high again.

Mrs. Vaughan long ago gave up trying to limit Kristie's bounces to appropriate weather. Kristie, who is 12, has severe autism, a neurological disorder that encases her in an invisible shell, choking her off from normal communication and interaction. For a decade, she started the day when she felt like it, often at 3 or 4 in the morning, breaking out of the house and onto her beloved trampoline. Like many families with autistic children, the Vaughans installed locks on the insides of their doors, hiding the keys from Kristie. But she escaped by removing — or cutting holes through — the window screens. When stuck inside she bounced on the beds until the beds broke, the box-spring coils collapsed.

Kristie's behavior was erratic. At one moment, Mrs. Vaughan said, she was her sweetheart exuding unconditional love. At another, she would bolt naked from the house and plunge into the neighbor's swimming pool. Her speech was limited to rote responses, interspersed with unintelligible noises. As she grew older, she began to wander, disappearing into the woods, down faraway streets and along crowded mall corridors.

"She has no inhibitions, does what she feels like doing," Mrs. Vaughan said, her calm voice a contrast to her words.

When Mrs. Vaughan first learned of Kristie's diagnosis in 1992, autism was considered a rare disorder. But, during the last 10 years, the percentage of New York State preschoolers with a diagnosis of autism has quadrupled, from one in 2,000 children to one in 500, according to a statewide study by the New York Autism Network.

Doctors cannot completely account for this escalation, nor do they know autism's causes or cures, leaving parents like Mrs. Vaughan and her husband, Mark, a telecommunications salesman, experimenting with unproved treatments and blaming everything from the environment to themselves for their child's disability.

"When a child is diagnosed with autism, it's not the child that is diagnosed, it's the entire family," said Dr. Andrew Baumann, a psychologist and chairman of the New York Families for Autistic Children, a Long Island-based group, and father of an 8-year-old autistic son. "It changes dynamics in a whole strange way, placing a huge strain on the mother and father. There's guilt, fear, shame, anger. Everyone wants to blame someone."

Exhausted, seeing no medical remedy on the horizon and frightened for Kristie, and by the impact of her behavior on their two other children, Julia and Kurt, the Vaughans made an agonizing decision. In late July, they placed Kristie in the New England Center for Children in Southboro, Mass., a year-round residential school, the best they could find, nearly three hours from home. As is true with many families grappling with autism, a cluster of complicated factors shaped the choice, and has left Mrs. Vaughan with a swirl of feelings, part guilt, part apprehension, part hope.

"Could you imagine how you'd feel if your daughter wasn't going to be sleeping at home every night?" Mrs. Vaughan asked. "But I know it's for the best. I know it's best for her and Julia."

When Kristie was home, Kurt, 14, preoccupied with girls and his guitar, was rarely there. He saw his sisters in the car when his mother took him and his friends to games and get-togethers.

Meanwhile, Julia, 10, slight and strikingly shy, stayed away from the trampoline, and away from her sister. She had been afraid of Kristie for years, Mr. Vaughan said — afraid she might hurt her, afraid of her unpredictability. The older Kristie got, the more withdrawn Julia became.

Last winter, something in Julia seemed to snap. Their pale delicate daughter began spending much of her time alone in her room, crying, smelling perfumes, winding strings into enormous balls. With Kristie vacuuming the family's attention, the Vaughans struggled for time to focus on Julia's crisis.

"I'd really like to see Kristie get into a group situation so Julia could have a house," Mr. Vaughan said in early summer, his eyes glancing toward the bedroom where Julia had hidden all day. "She's a child with the ability to be saved. I don't want her falling into the abyss."

DANIEL CRIMMINS, the former director of the New York Autism Network at Westchester Medical Center in Valhalla, headed the study documenting the sharp rise in the percentage of New York state children with autism over the last decade. During this period, the definition of autism was expanded to include more able children on one end and more mentally impaired on the other. Using the new definition, one in 250 children were labeled autistic.

Despite the changing definition, Dr. Crimmins said, "When you compare apples to apples we're now talking about one in 500 children having autism compared to one in 2,000 a decade ago."

His results, which have not yet been published, appear similar to the escalating rates noted in various studies across the country.

A child is now more likely to have autism than Down syndrome, a detectable chromosomal abnormality causing mental retardation. A baby is more likely to develop signs of autism than a teenager is to develop schizophrenia. With appropriate support, children with Down syndrome often live at home well into adulthood. Therapy and recently developed anti-hallucinogen drugs can help bring teenage schizophrenics back to reality.

But children like Kristie, even with the most patient parents and best educational opportunities, are often placed in long-term residential centers before they reach their teenage years. The state, county and local school district typically split a student's annual tuition, upward of $100,000. Despite near universal agreement that there is some hereditary link, no genes have been identified and no prenatal test exists to warn prospective parents of this devastating disability.

"As a mother, when something so bizarre happens, something you never heard of, you start looking at yourself," Mrs. Vaughan said. "What did I do to make this happen? What if I hadn't moved here? You investigate everything. Life becomes so difficult because there are only 24 hours in a day."

Did the Indian Point nuclear power plant, PCB's in the Hudson River or fertilized lawns cause a countywide epidemic, Mrs. Vaughan wondered. Did the inoculation for measles, mumps and rubella that Kristie received shortly before her diagnosis unleash her autism? Autism is four times as common among boys as among girls. Why was her daughter stricken?

Dr. Crimmins's study appears to discount Mrs. Vaughan's suspicion that something specific to Westchester caused Kristie's autism. His statistics are based on submissions from preschool directors across the state identifying 4- and 5-year-olds with autism, children with impaired social interaction, communication and behavior. The results indicate that autism rates have swelled everywhere, he said; Westchester rates match the sharp increases found throughout the state.

Working out of Albert Einstein Medical College in the Bronx, Dr. Michelle Dunn, a neuropsychologist, is involved in the largest worldwide search to date for the causes of autism. Like many experts in the field, Dr. Dunn believes there are several primary explanations for the increase but cannot completely account for its four-fold leap.

Autism is a relatively new diagnosis, first identified by Leo Kanner in 1943. Besides the expansion of the definition in the last decade, parents have been more willing to accept the diagnosis as they learn that it enables their children to qualify for better intervention services. In addition, since brain abnormalities are associated with autism, higher survival rates of brain-damaged premature babies leads to more autistic children.

"I also think something else is going on," Dr. Dunn said. "More children with autism are being born. It's like a jigsaw puzzle where we haven't filled in the middle yet and might be missing some pieces."

While scientists have found a correlation between genes and autism, they have not pinpointed which genes are responsible. By studying CAT scans, researchers have identified abnormal brain structures common among autistic children. But they do not yet know how these abnormalities affect brain function.

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Scientists are looking closely at immunizations, infections, metabolic changes and environmental factors. Although various causes have been implicated, none has been proved. Examinations of the relationship between measles/mumps/rubella vaccines and autism have found insufficient evidence to support a link.

"I blame it on the environment," Mrs. Vaughan said. "We're products of our supposed advancement."

IT was an odd blur, Mrs. Vaughan recalled, that day just before Thanksgiving 10 years ago when the neurologist confirmed that Kristie had "autistic tendencies." Kurt, 4, was up to his usual antics, tumbling with his friends. Julia, 8 months old, was starting to sit up. The sun, as best as their busy mother could remember, was probably shining.

But the world suddenly looked bleak, senseless. What forces had replaced their quiet, cheerful baby with a 2-year-old who didn't turn and smile when Mommy called her, didn't lift her arms for hugs and reassurance?

About one-third of children found to be autistic seem to develop normally until shortly before their second birthday.

"We know from videos that they lose language and social skills," said Dr. Isabelle Rapin, professor of pediatric neurology at Albert Einstein Medical College in the Bronx. "Their play skills go down the tubes." Considered by many the doyenne of autism, Dr. Rapin has spent decades studying the disability. "We have no idea what causes this," she said. "We don't know. We don't know. I'm telling you we don't know."

Mrs. Vaughan shouldered the task of trying to rescue her daughter from disability. She joined parent groups advocating for research and treatment and searching for a cure. She tried therapies, drugs and special diets. The trampoline was supposed to help Kristie focus and better understand her body in space.

Instead of returning to her former high-level sales position with Intercontinental Hotels, Mrs. Vaughan accepted a job as an office assistant at a local water vending company, scheduling her work hours around Kristie's school day. While insurance covered most of Kristie's medical bills and the school district paid for her education and therapies, it was hard to afford the $15 per hour charged by qualified baby sitters.

Over the years and with her school district's backing, Mrs. Vaughan tried many different educational settings, from home schooling to inclusive classrooms to special education. Kristie did make progress. During the structured, fast-paced program at her most recent school, Devereux Millwood Learning Center in Millwood, she appeared completely aware, giving short, practiced responses to her behavior therapist's questions. But when the therapist became momentarily distracted, Kristie reverted immediately to her own language of bings and beeps, squeals and screeches and to her private, special world.

IN July the sun beat down mercilessly, as one day melted into the next, marking the countdown to Kristie's move.

"The day goes; the whole day goes," Mrs. Vaughan said. "I can't even deal with putting her stuff together. I'm walking around like I'm in a coma."

After holding her family together for 10 years with courage, grace and very little sleep, she suddenly seemed vulnerable, disturbed by her husband's resignation to the situation, second-guessing the decision to place Kristie far from home, wondering whether even she might need counseling.

Since Kristie's verbal ability was severely limited, Mrs. Vaughan planned to prepare her daughter for her new life by showing her snapshots. But Kristie refused to look at the photos. When her mother mentioned anything about the move, Kristie's response was always the same, "No."

Mrs. Vaughan intended that after Kristie's mandatory first month on campus, she would return home every other weekend. But there was no way to explain that to Kristie. "I don't know how to talk to her about this," Mrs. Vaughan said. "She probably won't get the concept that she'll still have her home and her room here. When the bus picks her up and brings her home to us; that's when she'll know."

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Although she rarely broke ranks with her husband, she was annoyed by Mr. Vaughan's practicality. "Another family — the whole family went to therapy after they placed their child in a residential school," she said. "His feeling is `no one's going to need therapy in this house.' "

THE trampoline stands silent now. No squeals, no beeps, no bounces.

"It's quiet, too quiet," Mrs. Vaughan said. "I think about her every minute."

Her husband took to tackling big projects, cleaning out the garage, emptying the tool shed, anything, Mrs. Vaughan said, to keep from feeling the pain of Kristie's absence.

Kurt appeared bewildered. "It's a lot different," he said. "I was used to her screaming and running around. I'd get angry at her but I always loved her. Now there's something empty in my house."

But for Julia, Kristie's move appeared at first to open a window to safety and freedom. Julia who for months, even during July's heat wave, refused to leave her hot room, immediately began swimming daily at the local pool. Less than a week after Kristie's departure Julia invited a girlfriend over, her first guest since early spring.

Although Julia still has much to work through, Kristie's move seems to have helped mend the sister's relationship. During Kristie's visit over Thanksgiving, Julia, who used to cringe when Kristie came near, instead took her big sister's hand, spoke to her softly and smiled.

While Kristie appeared ecstatic to be home, she also seemed adjusted to her life away. When the school van pulled into the Vaughans' driveway, Kristie bounded out, squealing, barely allowing the bus to brake. And when the van returned after the holiday, Kristie ran across the lawn, leaped back into her seat and sat ready for her ride back to school.

Although her departure has lightened the family's workload, it has not alleviated their heartache. They lean on one another and friends for support.

"It's very strange," Mrs. Vaughan said. "I miss her so much. I almost miss the stress."