I'm not great at staying on top of my blog. Especially when we have SO much going on all at once. But, I'm at a point right this second where I need to share my thoughts and feelings on our most recent bout of diagnostic sessions.
We've known for two years now that our son has Autism. We've accepted that fact ... or so I thought. In order for our son to be accepted into the Social Skills groups at Little Friends Center for Autism, he had to go through yet another round of diagnostic tests. His school gave him the ADOS1 test in May, so Little Friends gave him the ADOS2 among other tests.
You know how it is when you KNOW something in your core, but you've not voiced it to anyone because you are hoping that you are just being too harsh? You are comparing your kid to every single other kid out there and keep thinking "Well, he does pretty well with this situation even though he needs to avoid that other situation." But no matter what, you find yourself hoping that maybe you are seeing something that isn't there because you are striving so hard to help him fit in more. I'm here to tell you that KNOWING it isn't the same as seeing it on paper or hearing it from someone else's mouth.
There is nothing in my experiences leading up to that meeting a week ago today that prepared me for the way it would feel to see everything I've secretly known about my son written out on that piece of paper that was shoved in front of me. There was nothing to prepare me for the sudden yanking of the carpet from under me, and the ripping and tearing of my innards as I read the words "Classic High Functioning Autism", "Gross Motor Skills equivalent to 5 yrs 3 mos", "Fine Motor Skills equivalent to 3 yrs 7 mos", and "Social Skills equivalent to 5 yrs 6 mos". Sure, his speech is at 10 yrs 3 mos and I have him reading at a 6th grade level, but that's only a small part of what he NEEDS to make it through life today. Then the other shoe dropped. I was shown his sensory scores. He has one area that is "slightly at risk", where every single other one was "at high risk" .. meaning his ability to function in an environment that has a lot of sounds, new smells, and ANY activity around him is next to zero. This means that his ability to participate in a mainstream classroom doesn't exist. He needs to be in a smaller classroom with an aid to help keep him on task.
Then .... suddenly ... the train came out of nowhere and hit me square in the heart. Our son has always had this fascination with explosions. I've always blown that off as him just being a boy and doing what boys do. That at least SOMETHING was "normal". Nope. Not at all. Not "normal" because he can't STOP talking about explosions, bombs, shooting things, and bad guys dying. I was told that the kids they see that have this type of fascination are the ones they see end up being suspended from school, put in jail for making violent threats (or what people perceive to be a violent threat), or dead because they are experimenting with explosive devices, guns, or something similar.
I cried all day after that appointment. My husband held me, told me that we'll face this together, and that we'll make sure that our son gets the support he needs so that he doesn't become a statistic. I'm still having a hard time with everything we learned, but I refuse to allow our boy see how completely devastated I am over what the doctor said. Instead, I am becoming something of a Helicopter Mom. I have to. There simply isn't another choice available to me because my son, my baby needs me to be on top of every little thing and help him learn how to be him while still "fitting in" with everyone else.
