We’ve finally gotten a final diagnosis of Autism for our son.  For those of you who don’t know what that entails, it’s a three hour set of tests designed to see where the little guy stands in certain levels of development and personal interaction.  It’s grueling for the parent and in the case of my son, it’s sheer hell involving rapid changes in activities and a level of contact that he’s not necessarily comfortable with.

For a child with autism, this is a form of sensory overload. It destroys the routines that the child is used to and pushes them far outside their comfort zone. In the case of Lil’ B. the half-way point was the breaking point. An unscheduled 30 minute break was added to the schedule to give him cool-down time at that point and a slow walk around the building where he was in charge of what he did got him back on track for the rest of the testing… Barely.

By the end of the session both he and I were frayed and frazzled, but in true style, he still didn’t nap.  He spent the rest of the day destroying anything he touched and trying very hard to find a comfortable place in life again. I spent the rest of the day trying to make sure that he didn’t do any permanent damage to himself or the furniture, but still lost the sofa in the process. (Yep, it’s a goner, he put three large tears in the back cushions.)

It’s not this one incident that has me writing today, though.  Both my wife and I are thrilled to have a formal diagnosis in-hand.  It’s been a long time coming.  The issue I have is that now every single agency that is supposed to be helping our son has slated another set of assessments, most of which are also full evaluations.  In the next two weeks my son will be in the center ring of his very own dog and pony show and playing the part of both ringmaster and clown.

I’m grateful for the help.  I’m happy that he’ll be attending preschool soon.  I’m glad that everyone is pushing so hard to get this done as quickly as possible, but I hate having to put him through this more than once.  It messes with his mind, it affects his moods and it makes him an emotional wreck.  The last is most difficult since Lil’ B. is almost totally emotionally detached and forcing them to the surface can be painful for him at times.

Trust me.  We’ll be at every appointment. I’ll do my best to keep from tearing yet another psychologist-wannabe into pieces for causing my child distress and we’ll get him into the school he so desperately needs, but I don’t like it and I won’t like it.  I won’t be happy until Lil’ man is done with the process and getting the help that everyone is promising.  that means two assessments this week, one next week and who-knows how many the week after.

I’ll be good, I promise.  He needs me to be, so I will.

Peace. I’m out.

And in the case of our son, he’s figured out how to ask for it. Like most of his breakthrough’s this one came out of nowhere and simply floored both his therapist and his parents.

He signed More, and is trying very hard to say it!

For those not versed in Baby sign language,”More” is signed by bringing the tips of the fingers together with your thumbs touching the index finger of each hand, like so:

It’s a simple thing, but very important.  It gives my son one more tool in his arsenal of things that he can request on his own, even if it is just “more of something”.  The fact that he is completely aware that he’s supposed to be saying the word with the motion is something inspiring in it’s own right.  he’s still just making a noise, but he’s trying.  He signed “more” five times during today’s therapy session, and has done so several more times since, though I’ll admit to not knowing what he wanted more of.

And he’s looking right at us when he does it.

Eye contact is a huge issue with people in the autistic spectrum.  Since they usually have difficulty understanding facial expressions, autistic kids just don’t bother looking at faces.  Lil’ B. has gotten much better at this.  He seems to be getting a small understanding of facial expressions as well, which is heartwarming, since it will make his life a lot easier if he can understand a person’s emotions by the way they look, rather than having to guess at it.

I’m sure there was something else I was supposed to say here, but I can’t remember it right at the moment.

Peace All, I’m out!

Lil’B made leaps and bounds today.  O.K., that might be overstating it a bit, but when you’re talking about a kid that really either does not see the need to speak or can’t seem to fathom the need, and for whom “Playing with others” is a  concept as alien to him as using a jar of southern gravy rather than just making y own would be to me, we’re talking about one very proud Father. Today during my son’s therapy with “Miss Sandra” (also known as the Wise Lady of the Plains) he did several things that he has never done before.

As any parent of an autistic child will attest, new things are remarkable things. Autistic children are resistant to change of any kind and Lil’ B. is no different, but today he took a leap.  Several leaps. This is an immense move for him, both in trust for Miss Sandra, whom he actually allows to touch him (not at all a normal state of affairs with my son) and in confidence levels for himself, which he has shown since the session this afternoon in the form of better eye contact and a fairly mild demeanor.

For the first time in his life, he put something underneath something else.  This is a big deal in the case of our son, who regards anything stacked on top of something else as the utmost in troubling sights.  Today he “hid” a tiny toy bear under a stackable cup, and did so repeatedly, laughing in absolute elation every time he pulled the cup back up and Miss Sandra said “Boo!”  He was so enthralled that he never noticed that I’d placed my ball cap on his head. (another something he cannot usually tolerate.)

This would have been more than enough for me.  Just that much of a switch to “normal kid” from the normally withdrawn child that my son is.  But he went ahead and exceeded anyones expectations anyway.

He said “more.”  Or to be precise, he aid “owwe”, but you get the picture. He said it when he meant “more”! (we’re talking about a two year old with delayed speech.  Imagine that a “normal” kiddo his age would probably say “mowwe” and you kind of see the point.  He also leaves the first sound off of “straw” and simply says “waaww”.  All kids are different, and that’s his way.)

A new word in this house is cause for celebration.  It’s a very quiet celebration, because giving Lil’B. Accolades on something new is a sure fire way to make sure that it does not happen again.  I’m not sure if it embarrases him or if he just assumes since he got it right that he doesn’t need to go any further.  We’ll have to wait for full on speech for him to be able to tell us, and at that point it will be… Well… A mute point.  Circular, I know, but that’s the way it is.

The routine from therapy remained constant.  Within 20 minutes of Miss Sandra leaving (and the prerequisite meltdown that comes along with that), Lil’ B. was asleep.  That time was used by Dad to inform mom of the progress made, then to find my own place to curl up for a while, since a very stubborn cold had kept me up almost all night.  I woke feeling better, he woke in a terrible state.  The reasons for that are stil unknown. The rest of the evening went well and I am currently awaiting his departure to dreamland so that I can do the same.

For now I have a few things to do befoe the house is safe once again from ravaging hordes of puppies that we invited in for whatever reason, then off to watch something terrible on television until the little master finally succumbs to sleep.

Until then I will celebrate the little strides he made today.  They are the first steps on his way to finally being able to choose his own journey, rather than having life dictate it to him.  In the end, that journey is all that matters, at least to him.  Though I doubt he knows that yet.

Peace all, I’m out.

I’ve said before that this story is a lot like other epic tales.  Our hero must first overcome a series of challenges before he may eventually gain the honor of doing battle with the dread foe, thus saving the world and redeeming himself in the process.  The writer in me likes this metaphor and the narrator in me finds a means of expression from it.  It works for the nonce, and I’ll continue in that bent.

There are other parallels in our tale that mirror the epic tales of old.  In those tales our hero almost always seeks the aid of a mentor to help him learn the skills or gain the golden gloozlegig that will aid in his battle against the great evil he must face. This mentor may be an aged wizard with motives of his own, a knight of the Old Republic, quietly waiting in his hut in hopes that a hero will one day arrive, or a master at arms who is rumored to have defeated the same foe in the past (this last is a new trend in literature, but it is still valid.)

Our hero is no different from these heroes of old and yesterday marked his first meeting with the “Wise Lady of the Plains” (Played by the lovely Sandra), who has taken on the task of training our young hero in some of the skills that will help him along his way. The magic she teaches is called occupational therapy.

According to the Wise Lady of the Plains, our heroes first session went better than expected.  he managed to stay on task and at times even mastered one or two of the lessons she has begun teaching him.  Some of these skills include following direction, critical thinking, problem solving and the beginnings of a great magic that will allow him to speak, even in the worst throes of the silence. A magic called sign language.

Our hero has not grasped the significance of speaking in the silence, but then since silence is all he has ever known, I expect that it may take some time before he catches on.  he has found his own ways to let his sidekicks know what he’s needed in the past, but the wise one wishes that her way be used instead.  Our hero is confused by this, but as the hero of the story, this narrator is sure that he will adapt in time and overcome, it’s just the way these stories go. They always lead to a happy ending.

I’m not narrating a tragedy here.  It’s my job, were the story to turn in that direction to don my not-so-shiny armor and face any foe that might stand in our hero’s way.  After all, the only evil the knight in not-so-shiny-armor cannot defeat is the dread Aut-ism itself.  And if I’m not enough, the good Queen will get involved.  That is a fate I wish on no one.

Trust me, they would rather deal with me.

At the end of his first day in training, our hero found himself tired and worn.  How he felt about it is something i cannot tell you.  What I do know is that he settled in for a much needed respite and slept for a few hours before facing taking his evening meal, then returned to bed at a far earlier hour than usual.

Who would have thought that a couple of stacking toys, a shape sorter and a bottle of bubbles could wear him out so easily?

For those of you who aren’t happy reading this tale in metaphor, here’s the short of it.

Therapy went well.  Lil’ B. was exhausted afterward and took a long nap, followed by an early bedtime.  The therapist said it was a great first day.

Only time will tell if we continue with “great days”

Now, I’m off to narrate another tale.  Peace and the grace of whatever powers you hold dear be with you.