The Road—Part 4

           

            We learned very quickly that most Physicians are not capable of assisting you when the autism card is in play.  They can refer you and hand you a “So You Think Your Kid Is Autistic?” pamphlet but other than recommending that maybe some anti-depressants (for you) might be in order, they are incapable of diagnosing, recognizing, dealing with symptoms or assisting in treatment.  The real unfortunate thing is that the pamphlet doesn’t tell you what to do when you think your kid really is autistic.

            We got on the waiting list for testing so that we could get an official diagnosis—we were told that it would take 8-13 months to see anyone.  It could be over a year?!?!?  We only thought we knew frustration.  In the mean time we found out that our daughter was “too old” for many of the services that are available for children in Kansas.  Who knew at the ripe old age of THREE that my daughter would be declared unserviceable because of age?  Luckily, our school district came to our rescue.  They promptly got Myriam tested, for district purposes, and got her in the preschool program—mid year, no less. And after three months of constant harassment, on our part, the medical facility that was in charge of Myriam’s testing agreed to send a team to us to begin the testing process.  I don’t know what exactly I was expecting from the testing.  But the results came back, after several months of waiting, our daughter, our baby, my little girl, was autistic.  The official diagnosis was mild to moderate autism.  The report was broken down into sections and each section contained a list of general topics with a bunch of numbers and percentages next to them that I still don’t understand.  That report represented the death of all of my hopes and dreams for my daughter.  (Please note that I used the past tense.) 

So now I was a member of a club I never wanted to be a part of.  A part of a community that I would rather pretend never existed.  That sucked!  I spent three months crying about the daughter I had lost—the imaginary one that you make up in your head.  You know, the perfect child that cures all the diseases, who marries the perfect person and gives you the perfect grandchildren.  Maybe that’s just me….  I spent the next nine months avoiding the responsibilities that come with having an autistic child--you know finding the right doctors and therapies.  Learning how to best enable my child to live in the “normal” world. 

So that pretty much brings us to today.  Myriam’s on the waiting lists for all the right doctors.  I’ve taken some classes that help me to teach her skills using ABA techniques.  And in my quest for acceptance of my daughter’s diagnosis I’ve swung 180 degrees…in exactly the wrong direction….  I’m now that mommy--the-Mommy-with-a-special-needs-kid.  It’s now the first thing out of my mouth, “Hi this is my AUTISTIC daughter, Myriam.  Did I mention that she’s A U T I S T I C?”  You don’t have to tell me how annoying THAT Mommy is.  I know!  I’m annoying to myself! 

I have no idea where I am on the road to acceptance and I hope that the prize is in sight.  But so far on this journey I have learned a couple of things, I know that just because Myriam isn’t that “dream child” doesn’t mean that she isn’t a dream come true.  And I also know that just because she isn’t going to walk the road I wanted her to walk, doesn’t mean that she won’t walk—AND WALK WITH FLAIR!

Read the Saga:
The Road--Part 1
The Road--Part 2
The Road--Part 3
The Road--Part 4

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