I'm sure most of you think that you know what this post is going to be about. Maybe about my first real date? His name was Kevin (I think Kevin was my first date....), my father dubbed him the "sheep herder" because his family raised sheep
my Dad's clever like that. We were sixteen or maybe seventeen,
I don't really remember I'm really bad with details. He was from a rival school district. It was very
Romeo and Juliet
, ya know, without the dieing or the bloodshed.
Or maybe you think it's about my first kiss? Yeah, that would be Kevin again
yeah I was kind of a prude (I really wish I could remember for sure....). I was shocked at how bad it was. Way too much saliva! Yuck! I kinda felt like a mouse on the business end of a boa, if you get my drift. That was the main reason it didn't last--the kissing never got any better; that and the fact that we were sixteen or seventeen
I don't know.
Or maybe you think this is about the first guy I fell in love with? That would have been my first fiance
Chill! There were only two., Sergei (yes he was foreign). It was very
foreign-film-romantic and exciting
meaning the relationship could have used subtitles because he never really understood a word I said.
And I'm sure there are more than a few of you that think this post is going to be about my
first date with the Hubby. It was arranged by a matchmaker you know, and we paid a small fortune to be introduced to each other. I still don't understand why it cost me more! I mean he's the one that got lucky!
I had them beating a path to my door....
Well, if you guessed any of those you'd be
wrong, Wrong, WRONG incorrect. Today I'm going to speak about a date with a psychiatrist. Up until this meeting, the term Autism had been thrown around by a lot of clinicians, doctors and therapists but it meant nothing to me. My daughter had a folder a half inch thick full of papers stating that she was autistic but what that meant to us was less clear than all the formal language in those papers. They could have just as easily told me she wasn't human for all the sense it made to me. We'd never seen, touched, or known autism. We didn't know how the diagnosis really applied to our daughter. That is until we met with that psychiatrist.
"Is she a
toe-walker," the psychiatrist asked.
I had never heard that term before. But it sent an electrical charge through me and as I groped for my husband's hand he turned his head and looked at me with a wide-eyed expression that said he too felt the jolt of energy course through him, like what happens when you grab your friend's hand and then grab an electric fence.
I struggled to force words into my mouth. But my air had left me. I felt like I was drowning and yet like I was surfacing at the same time. The clarity of realization was upon me. My daughter was a toe-walker. If she was a toe-walker, than she was also autistic. My daughter IS autistic. But before I could find my words my husband squeezed my hand and answered for me.
"Yes. Yes, Myriam is a toe-walker."
"Yes," I mumbled and nodded.
My daughter is a toe-walker. My daughter is autistic....
**This post was inspired by Mama Kat's--PRETTY MUCH WORLD FAMOUS--writer's workshop.
