Ever have one of those moments that you feel is divine intervention? I've always been a person that believes things happen for a reason, but most times it's when I'm reflecting back on a circumstance or event. Let me also say that I'm not a religious person, and by that I mean I don't believe in organized religion, but believe in God. The moment I had today felt like God was looking down on me yelling, "Hey, listen to me and that feeling I put in your gut". Before I get ahead of myself, let me give you an update on our situation and the events leading to my "it happened for a reason" moment.
After we got over the initial shock of being told, after a minimal assessment, that our 2 year old son was autistic, we went into research and questing mode. When all was said and done, my husband and I landed in a place where our heads and hearts were confident our son did not have autism. We know our son best and it just doesn't add up! If we took the limited speech out of the equation, there were no signs of an autistic child, just a typical two year old with lots of energy and stubborn as can be (he may get that from me, but I blame his dad:). So, with a call to the assessor on Monday morning we opted out of the autism test but wanted to proceed with the other evaluations. But why was there this voice in the back of my head telling me something still wasn't right with the whole thing. I chalked it up to nerves and kept the appointment to have our son evaluated by a psychologist.
And that brings us up to Wednesday. Ever wonder why your kids sleep in only when you have an appointment or somewhere to go early in the morning? But on the days you can sleep in they're up at the ass crack of dawn? Yup, that was our morning. Had to wake the 2 year old boy up at 8:00 for a departure time at 8:20 to get the 4 year old to school at 8:30 and then the psychologist appointment at 8:45. With limited time and half sleeping kids we raced out the door with dry cereal in bowls to eat on the way. On time, morning is now running smooth, we're on our way. Get to school, drop the girl off at camp and head to the door. Hey, there's one of my 2 year old's teachers, the one who took the initial information for our assessment. She smiles and says, "how's the process going?". Front door to the school half opened, the boy behind me, "not really that happy to be honest, the assessor threw out "autism" on the first visit!". From behind one of the other desks, a well respected school official "can I ask who it was who did the assessment?" Blood curdling screams from behind me...
I looked down to find my son's two fingers caught in the closing door jam of a very heavy door. Pull them out to see blood and sever indentations on both of his fingers and they're already swelling. Three school employees come rushing to help us and take us back behind the desks while he screams in pain. After a few minutes he calms down, but wants me to hold him while his poor little fingers are bruised and possibly broken. I had an enlightening conversation with someone who is involved with autism children, knows Cole and I, and is well versed in the process of diagnosing autism. I won't go into detail due to confidentiality, but I'm sure anyone who sees me at the playground will get an earful. She opened my eyes to how much control I had in the situation, the pressures schools have to find and diagnose autism, and questioned the process we were currently involved in. The gut feeling I had that we were going down a path that was not ours became clear. The whole time we knew what we wanted, his speech assessed, not a psych evaluation or to see an occupational therapist. Speaking with this trusted professional I realized that I determine my son's path, no one else. Oh, and sorry baby boy that you had to take one for the team to get Mommy's head out of the sand on this one!
No comments:
Post a Comment