Autism: Our Story

I can't talk about motherhood without talking about autism. My 3-year-old son was diagnosed shortly after his second birthday. While autism is something I have a hard time talking about, I am willing to talk about it.

I guess I should clarify our situation by saying that Cory does not have classic autism. He has what is called Pervasive Development Disorder. This falls under the umbrella of autism, but he doesn't have all the symptoms of autism. Cory stopped speaking shortly after his second birthday, and when I say stopped, I'm not exaggerating. This was a child that since birth developed ahead of his peers. He was crawling, walking, and talking faster than the other kids his age. I sensed something was wrong, but it wasn't until my med-student husband expressed his concerns that I started to panic. I took him to our doctor who said it was normal for a child to withdraw a little at the introduction of a new sibling. I didn't buy that explanation at all. Our second child, Kevin, was already six months old! Why would Cory withdraw now? Our doctor told us to come back in a month if he didn't start to come around. Well, he didn't. All he wanted to do was sit and stare at the TV all day. I know what you're thinking, "typical kid." No, Cory would push the rewind button on the DVD player and watch the same scene from Finding Nemo over and over again. It was enough to drive me insane! He started lining up his toys instead of playing with them. He refused to play with his friends. His tantrums were more than I could handle, and his screaming made me want to kill myself or the people who had the audacity to say anything about it.

It was around this time that I watched an episode of Oprah about autism. She had Jenny McCarthy on there talking about her son who was recovering from autism. I couldn't stop crying as I recognized all the symptoms she described. I was devastated.

When we become parents we are instilled with this hope that we are making the world a better place by bringing so much love into it. My son was the embodiment of love. He was so beautiful and cheerful and full of light that I had no doubt that heaven existed and that there was a higher power who loved me enough to give me such a precious gift.

When Cory started having all these symptoms, I felt robbed. I wanted to hate God for taking the light out of my son, but I couldn't. From the depths of my being I knew that all was not lost because my son still hugged me. That connection was what gave me hope that I might get him back.
I guess I was in denial for a little while because I thought that since he did hug me, he didn't have autism. I had heard that children with autism didn't like physical contact, so I made it a goal to constantly hug Cory. This was probably the easiest goal I've ever set for myself to achieve. I would even wake up in the night with this urgency to hug him for fear he would stop letting me. I would take him out of his crib and hold him for hours while he slept. Sometimes he didn't like this, but I didn't care.

After talking to a friend of mine who had children with developmental problems, I looked into a program run by our school district that would send teachers to your home to work with your child. I called them up and had someone come in and screen him for autism. I hated this woman right away because she, in the nicest way possible, informed me that my son did have all the signs of a spectrum disorder. Boo. I wanted her to tell me it was just a phase or that I was just a bad mother that needed some training.

I made another appointment with my doctor with the sole purpose of getting a referral to another pediatrician who specialized in developmental disorders. I really dreaded doing this, and I prayed really hard for the courage to tell my doctor that I wanted to see someone else. You see, I HATE confrontation. Hate it. I really liked this doctor and I felt we had kind of become friends. I valued her opinion and expertise, but I knew her expertise was limited in this situation. I wanted to die as I walked into that office.

As I did, I heard the receptionist on the phone talking to what sounded like a doctor who couldn't come in the office. I listened as the receptionist assured whoever was on the other end that she would call the scheduled patients and reschedule.

I sat down in the waiting area with a little tinge of hope that it was my doctor who couldn't come in, so my dreaded confrontation would be delayed. Sure enough, it was my doctor who couldn't come in. Her daughter was sick, so would I be willing to see another doctor in the office? WOULD I? Yippeee!! I could easy ask a different doctor for a referral! My prayers were answered!

Still, I had no idea just how well they were answered until I met the substitute doctor. This doctor just happened to be someone who specialized in childhood development and had been a child therapist before going to med school. She knew exactly what needed to done to get the ball rolling. Most of all, she listened to me. What should have been a fifteen-minute visit turned into an hour and a half. She whipped out questionnaires, fliers, brochures, all sorts of reference materials. She set up appointments with a diagnostician and an autism specialist. She gave me the phone numbers of programs that could help Cory, and support groups for my husband and me. It was a miracle.

I think because my prayers were answered that day, I have my son back. Cory still has a lot of challenges to overcome, but he has come so far. I have my son back!