S
oon after Patrick Kelly started school at age 5, his teachers told his parents he belonged in special-education classes. His academic performance was poor, and his behaviors were disruptive: hand-flapping, rocking, hitting his head with his wrists and tapping his desk repeatedly. He often seemed as if he was not paying attention to people when they spoke to him. He would stare off into the distance, head turned to the side.Kelly’s teachers assumed he had intellectual disability, known at the time as mental retardation. Then when he was around 9, a routine eye exam at school revealed that he could barely see. With glasses, he went from underperforming to outperforming his peers in every subject but English in just two years. And it turned out that he had been listening in the classroom (and to his parents talk about him) all along. Finally, at age 13, a psychologist diagnosed him with pervasive developmental disorder-not otherwise specified, a form of autism.
Now 29 and a college graduate, Kelly works in Malone, New York, as a direct-support professional, helping people with autism, intellectual disability and related conditions learn how to do basic tasks such as shopping, along with communication skills. In his work, he says, he frequently encounters stories like his own — autistic people who were erroneously thought to have intellectual disability. “I have seen way too many cases of people with [autism] who, after resolving a confounding issue, start to do really well,” he says. “We’re weird, there’s no denying that. But there’s a difference between being different and straight up not understanding things.”
The medical establishment once considered autism and intellectual disability to be virtually inseparable. In the 1980s, as much as 69 percent of people with an autism diagnosis also had a diagnosis of mental retardation. By 2014, the figure for a dual diagnosis — with mental retardation now called intellectual disability — had declined to 30 percent, as researchers had sharpened the diagnostic criteria for autism.
These figures are fluid, however, because the line between autism and intellectual disability remains fuzzy: Doctors often mistake one condition for the other or diagnose just one of the two when both are present. Genetic overlap further blurs the picture. Most genes identified as autism genes also cause intellectual disability. And researchers face roadblocks to progress in making the demarcation, including a funding imbalance that favors autism research and the fact that it is often easier to study autistic people without intellectual disability than with it.
Overcoming those challenges would have widespread implications. In the lab, illuminating the biological distinctions between autism and intellectual disability could lead to new insights into the causes of each condition. It could transform research by enabling researchers to accurately document the diagnoses of participants in their studies. “What’s at stake is the state of our science,” says Somer Bishop, a clinical psychologist at the University of California, San Francisco. “I think that if we lose all the specificity of what makes each [condition] unique in its own right, then we’re slowing down discovery.”
In the clinic, clearer diagnoses would guide a large number of people into the services most appropriate for them. “We have to figure out who has only autism, who has only intellectual disability and, importantly, who has both intellectual disability and autism,” says Audrey Thurm, a child clinical psychologist at the National Institute of Mental Health in Bethesda, Maryland. “That’s millions of people who could be better served by having an accurate distinction that would put them in the right group and get them the right services.”