Ground Zero

"Autism"

Photo ©From Jen's Lens Photography

Photo ©From Jen's Lens Photography

Autism

It's incredible how destructive a single word can feel.  When we first heard that word from my son's developmental pediatrician six months ago, I felt it rip through me like a knife.  I swear every fiber of my being was wounded that day.  I'm still recovering from the blow.  It has taken six months of anger, denial, bargaining, and sheer, unrelenting grief.  I was angry with myself.  I was angry with the world.  I was angry with God. 

My husband refused to believe that our son was anything but a perfectly normal child.  I had a hard time accepting it myself.  Instead of embracing the diagnosis, I researched speech and language delays, and obscure diagnoses like 'Einstein's Syndrome,' convinced that I could fit my son into some other category.  When nothing else worked, I settled into the motions of everyday life with my children, battling crippling depression. I would look down at my beautiful son lining up his cars - watching their wheels turn - and wonder: 


"Will he have friends?" 

"Will he be able to go to a normal school?"    

"Will he ever fall in love and have children of his own?" 
 
"Will he be able to hold down a job?"   

"Will he even be able to live on his own?"


There were so many hopes and dreams I had never realized I had for my son, and the only reason I discovered them was to see that they might never be possible.

And the worst part of all was... it was my fault.  I was the reason my son was the way he was.  Don't believe me?  Step back to the beginning of the timeline with me.

Twelve Months Old

My son's pediatrician raises concerns at his well visit because he isn't talking.  No 'Mama,' no 'Dada,' no 'Baba' - nothing.  The doctor suggests we contact Early Developmental Intervention Services (EDIS) so that Jack can begin working with a speech therapist.  I almost laugh out loud at the suggestion.  After all, he's only one for heaven's sake!  And he's smart!  We can tell that he understands us when we speak to him - he just isn't responding... yet.  But boys always take longer to talk than girls!

 

Eighteen Months Old

The doctor's advice has gone unheeded for six months. By the time my son is 18 months old, I'm concerned too.  My husband is not.  I allow him to convince me that our child is just a late bloomer.  After all, he can understand and follow directions, he just isn't speaking for himself.

Again, the doctor urges us to contact EDIS so our little boy can get the help he needs.  Again, but with much greater reluctance, his advice is brushed aside.

Two Years Old 

How can I describe the emotions that come with watching my non-verbal son in the company of other children his age?

I am a bad mother.  I am a lazy mother.  I am the reason my 2-year-old son is still not talking.

I blame myself because there is no one else to blame.  I'm the stay-at-home mom.  My job description is simple.  Take care of my house, take care of my husband, and, most of all, take care of my child.  I have failed somehow.

I've never been one of 'those' mothers whose every waking moment is spent reciting nursery rhymes and quizzing with flashcards.  I've never felt the need to be that mom because my son is brilliant.  He understands everything we tell him.  He's a good listener and generally does what is asked of him.  And he knows words.  I know he knows them.  I've heard him say them.

Banana................. Yay............. Uh oh............ Milk................ Hello.....Hi..................................

......................Bye............Apple...............................Thank You.....................I love you.......Here

I've heard all of these things from my son, but he always regresses back to babbling and gibberish as though he had never discovered any of them.  It's frustrating.  It's maddening.  It's heartbreaking.

In the past, I've told myself to be patient as I watch children months younger than him excelling in expressive language.  I've told myself that every child develops differently.  Somehow it's different now.  He's two now.  So in the absence of noticeable improvement, I become THAT mom.  I increase our book-reading time from the enjoyable to the ridiculous.  I pull out the flash cards.  I label everything in my path until I'm no longer playing with my son - just talking at him.  Still, words fail him.  Dismayed, I come to the conclusion that I'm a terrible mother and a terrible teacher.

Finally, a full year after being counseled to do so, I call EDIS behind my husband's back to schedule an appointment. I'm so glad I did.  He's so glad I did.

Photo ©From Jen's Lens Photography

That single call started a chain reaction that led to the diagnosis of Autism.  I was angry, depressed and devastated when I head that word.   But I was relieved too.  It wasn't our fault.  It wasn't his fault.  And finally, we had a clear way forward.

Photo ©From Jen's Lens Photography

It has been six months since my son was diagnosed.  It has taken me every minute of those six months to reach acceptance, and to learn how to be the mother and the teacher that my son needs.  It took two-and-a-half years for my son to say "Mama," but he did it, and he's learning more new words every day.  If I still need someone to blame for the way things are, I blame myself... but blaming myself means I'm responsible for the triumphs too, not just the frustrations.  I am keeping this blog not only to chronicle our journey, but to remind myself that good things do come to those who wait - sometimes the wait is just longer than we expected.

Photo ©From Jen's Lens Photography

Wish us luck.