I owe the “weird kid” who ate the cookie in second grade an apology. Now I understand that it was not surprising, but that he had autism. This was a time when autism was not recognized, not diagnosed, and especially not high-functioning autism, even Asperger’s. I own it now. My son has autism.
The distinction between the inventor and the life of my son. A long, slow, grueling process. It is not in itself. I knew something else when he was six months old. It was something beyond personality. I already had two older children, both boys with different personalities. This was different. It was doubtful, no one wanted to believe me. And neither did I. I’ve always taken care of any well-wishing institution, but there was always a reasonable explanation for why things weren’t quite what I expected. He was a preemie. It is the closest age to the middle childmiddle and is not given the opportunity to explore so much. Late talk runs in families and I will say my oldest is late. And more. Much, much more. I didn’t want my son to have problems, so I let you convince me. Such as This is done until before three years old.
We were at Disney World and he asked me how old he was. I answered two. But the learned man smiling at him said; “oh” in a way that means “typical two year old behavior”. Then it dawned on me that the next three weeks would pass, and some of these behaviors would have already passed.
Well taken at three years old, I told my doctor that I had concerns. Difficulty. I didn’t know what it was, but it was something. I just started to do my usual run-a-round, but this time I would stand my ground. Literally. I stood up from my chair and said, “I’m not going in without a problem. I’m loose. Humor me.” I know this well because I have had to say it many times. Our pediatrician wasn’t bad at it; He had the reputation of an excellent diagnostician. It’s just that our guy doesn’t fit the mold. He did everything late, but he fell in with a wide range of income—if only barely—for most. It seemed quirky, but it could just be a quirk. He was, and still is, a really lovable child for adults. But I am a mother. I spent more time with him than anyone, and I just knew that something was off. I walked outside the establishment with a referral for a hearing test and speech assessment. That’s when everything started to fall into place.
Hearing the exam came out perfect. He didn’t quite cooperate, but he knew enough that he had no hearing impairment. I knew this. He came on the road after the prayer. I waited for this. He waited for the pediatrician, who had recently come to the care of the speech. But more importantly, the speech clinic worked with autistic children and saw something in my guy. Something familiar. Something that doesn’t fit with the typical child-development. Something that seemed a little autistic. And he recommended that he not only speech therapy should start immediately, but that he needs social care and referral to a developmental pediatrician and a pediatric neurologist.
This was not the end, but the beginning. There were lots of assessments and lots of forms. Much has been given to “is” then “isn’t”. More, “perhaps, it is difficult to say.” by the same From different Basically, I couldn’t give a therapist like my son a developmental pediatrician who could give a definitive answer. I felt like I was a part of the Ping-Pong game and my son was the ball . I searched. I read books from parents who have been there and from doctors. I am no stranger to the special needs parent blog or message boards. I finally made my decision: my son was autistic. Asperger’s or autism.
I went on a journey. No one denied his signs, so we treated. There was speech therapy, social therapy, personal foreplay and regular foreplay, occupational-therapy, I was waiting for etc. pediatrician appointment of development; in our space a waiting list can last up to 3-4 years. The first year of eligibility for Kindergarten came and I decided to hold it for a year that had not yet been trained. I advised the school to be involved with many meetings-at school with my older children, I decided to participate as much as possible, knowing that it would benefit my little guy (I still decided to move up). I was treated with dignity and my concerns were taken seriously enough to make sure my guy was sent to an inclusion class that had a paraprofessional and a special education teacher coming and going. This was truly a saving grace.
At the end of the first week I was called into the office of the chief. It is never benevolence, by the way. They wanted permission to do an autism assessment. He saw help. The teacher saw special education. The general education teacher knew she was in over her head. From that day, until the end of the assessment, it was six months.
It was time to start the paperwork process and evaluation. So we had 90 days of observation and testing. We found that he had a very high IQ, no learning disabilities, problems with social language, speech problems, and was “progressively autistic” by a licensed school psychologist who does 150+ of these per year. I sat in an honorary meeting before the official (ARD-Admission, Review, & release), and I cried when I was told. There were no tears of mourning. Tears were a relief. He opened my hand and said, “It feels good when they believe you, doesn’t it?” That’s my biggest confirmation ever. It was healing. It also meant that we could start to really help my son.
We switched pediatricians. The new pediatrician looked at my son’s chart, listened to my concerns and felt the same as our old one, until I said “The general pediatrician problem in they are not trained in autism and only learn to screen for low-functioning autism”. I could see him contemplating what I said, and then agreed. He asked for a report from the school and said he had us fast track the progress of the pediatrician. He said he never followed his mother’s instincts. He also wrote a medical diagnosis of autism on his medical record.
The big Ah-Ha moment didn’t hit me over the head. It was done little by little. I knew deeply. Perhaps since he was born prematurely, breastfeeding without a reflex, with low blood sugar, and water in the lungs more from I knew it was going to be a challenge. I didn’t know about autism, but now I can live it independent and in the right way. producing a living life. He’s not a failure, but he’s different, and I love him more.
