On Friday, the Times profiled two young men with high-functioning autism who are each trying to make their own way in the world--with differing levels of success. In part two, the Times looks at what can be done to help integrate the growing number of young adults diagnosed with high-functioning autism into society.

The parents of teenagers entering adulthood always worry.

But the mothers of Cameron Dunphy and James Lee have more reason than most to be concerned about their sons' futures.

Dunphy, who lives and grew up in Chilliwack, has Asperger's syndrome, a distinct, high-functioning form of autism. Lee, who attends university here, has a high-functioning form of classical autism. Both 19-year-olds have a deep desire to live and support themselves independently. But their mothers worry that without substantially more help than exists now for people with autism, the two men will be exposed them to the darker side of adulthood.

In part because of his refusal to take anti-psychotic and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) medication, Dunphy has been declared by a doctor to be easily led astray and in need of parental consent. Yet with all the rights of an adult, Dunphy often decamps to Vancouver, where his mother worries he will end up dead.

Lee's life is more stable, but despite being able to cook and clean for himself, and having a learner's driver's licence, his mother also worries that he is at risk.

As young adults with autism, Dunphy and Lee are hardly alone. Diagnoses of autism have steadily climbed since the condition was first diagnosed more than 60 years ago. It is unclear whether more people have autism, or more people are simply being diagnosed with it. But either way, even as we have learned that many, many children have forms of autism, the support systems have changed little--especially for those at the high-functioning end of the autism spectrum.

Not enough money invested

Adults can qualify for CLBC assistance in two ways. First, those who have IQs under 70 can receive help. Or, secondly, they can qualify for assistance from the CLBC's new personalized supports initiative (PSI), which is open to those with autism and fetal alcohol syndrome who have "significant limitations in adaptive functioning."

Dunphy and Lee both have IQs exceeding 70. As for the PSI, Lee, for one, doesn't have substantial "adaptive functioning" problems, at least when compared to other men and women with autism. Dunphy's mother, Andrea, hadn't heard of the program before being told about it by the Times. She was initially skeptical about whether her son would qualify.

The Ministry of Children and Family Development certified Cameron as autistic and eligible for funding in 2007. But just two years later, as Cameron neared adulthood, CLBC sent Andrea a letter that said "In reviewing the documentation we have on file, it does not appear that he has a developmental disability. In order for him to be eligible for CLBC services after age 19, we have to have a psychological assessment from a Registered or School Psychologist confirming this."

Andrea had previously paid a registered psychologist more than $700 to assess Cameron. She said she couldn't afford to do so again, especially if it wouldn't help Cameron anyways.

Which was a very real worry. The money invested in the PSI is puny--just $10.3 million this fiscal year--compared both to CLBC's $700 million operating budget, and the thousands of adults with autism or FAS.

And the demand for help continues to be unmet, according to those who work with autistic adults.

Karen Davis, who runs the Fraser Valley Autism Society, agrees.

"I always get asked if there's services for young adults and I honest to goodness haven't found a lot," she says.

Those services that do exist are available to only a small number of people with autism spectrum disorder, according to Chilliwack Society for Community Living executive director Brenda Gillette. Gillette says many of the autistic children whom her organization helps won't qualify for assistance when they reach adulthood, "which leaves them, basically floating in outer space."

"I've been involved in this field for 36 years," says Gillette, "and they've constantly fallen through the cracks, that group, because the services just aren't available."

Those holes, Gillette and others say, remain, especially for those with IQ scores over 70.

"The dilemma is," says Gillette, "if you don't qualify for services at all, because you're IQ's over 70, then it's a whole different ball game because there's nothing for you."

Autism doesn't preclude someone from having a sky-high IQ score--the subject of the movie A Beautiful Mind is just one famous example. But someone with an average or above-average score may still need some help to live a successful and productive life. They may need help convincing an employer that they can excel at a job. And most, says Lee's mother, Deborah, need someone to pay regular household visits to make sure that they are living in a stable and clean home.

Yet Deborah says that the effects of autism on high-functioning young adults like her son is frequently underestimated by authorities fixated on IQ scores.

"If it's not for families stepping in, where are they going to be? On the street, which is really sad, because they want their independence," said Deborah. "They want to [be independent], they're willing and able, but due to the restrictions putting road blocks up, that makes it impossible to get ahead."

Slowly, finally, at least some detours are being built around at least some of those road blocks. Just before this story went to press, Andrea Dunphy contacted the Times to say that a CLBC representative had called and urged her to bring Cameron to their Surrey office to have a psychologist assess his eligibility--at CLBC expense--for the PSI.

Whether the government has a plan for the future is unclear, though. April is Autism Month, but despite repeated attempts to contact him, Harry Bloy, the provinical minister of social development, did not make himself available for an interview.

Determined to succeed

In the third and final part of the series, we'll meet two teenage boys with forms of autism and their mother who is determined to see them--and other autistic children--succeed in life.

Clarification

In the first part of the series, the Times reported that a doctor had declared Cameron Dunphy her son unfit to make his own decisions.

To clarify: the letter was a medical assessment for the Ministry of Social Housing and Development that declared Cameron unable to give consent and easily led astray, but which is not legally binding.

Cameron also worked as a lifeguard at the Landing Leisure Centre.