I Just Couldn't See It

I just couldn’t see it.

As I lay on the examining table, dreading the jab of the amnio needle, out of the corner of my eye I saw Andy jump for joy. The tech looked up and smiled at him …

“Looks like we’ve got a boy here..” he smiled.

My heart sank. A boy? How in the world would I, the biggest girly girl in the universe, successfully manage testosterone and football games and frogs and all that boy business?

I just couldn’t see it.

But of course, I fell in love with my boy and the whole idea of him within a few hours. Our boy, our beautiful Jack completed our happy family. Amy showed no signs of jealousy, loving him from day one. We watched Barney and The Wiggles, changed diapers and lived that crazy, elusive American Dream. As Jack grew older, I made sure that he was appropriately placed on the wait lists of the very best preschools.

I knew that he was going to be just like his Dad. Valedictorian of his class … captain of the football team.

So when the director of his prestigious preschool pulled me aside and whispered “I think Jack may not belong here…” I was shocked. Defensive.

I just couldn’t see it.

True he was two and not talking. But he was a boy. Boys develop more slowly. When our beloved pediatrician wheeled her round stool across the examining room and shared her concerns … “Jack should be talking, pointing, playing with trucks and airplanes. He should look at something when you point at it.. We’ve got to figure out what’s going on here..”

I just couldn’t see it.

Within two weeks he was diagnosed with autism. Two foggy, mind-blowing weeks.

Autism.

Hot, heavy tears fell down my cheeks into my lap when the neurologist gave me the diagnosis. “Well, what did you expect to hear?” he said to me, looking almost puzzled.

He didn’t understand… I just couldn’t see it.

But I had to see it. My son gave me no choice. And eventually my blurred vision came into focus. I opened my eyes to help and hope. Jack started receiving treatment. We worked with many committed therapists and doctors, helping Jack to learn a way to communicate. I tempered my expectations along the way. Couldn’t bear to experience the pain I had felt in those early days. Jack’s autism was severe. I had accepted that. We would do the best we could for him.

So last fall, when I took Jack in for his yearly evaluation with his beloved neuropsych, I was taken aback when he grinned and looked at me. “This kid is moving!” he exclaimed. He then reminded me how just a year ago Jack was testing at the development age of a 6-12 month old, even though at the time he had been 4. But this year, at the tender age of 5, Jack was testing at a 2-3 year old level. He had made dramatic gains in just a year! Dr. C put his hand on my shoulder and told me I might just want to adjust my expectations a little bit…Maybe start using the world “moderate” instead of “severe.” Silly, shell-shocked me…

I just hadn’t seen it.

I’m writing this appeal just a year later and my beautiful little boy continues to improve. His vocabulary is broadening. He’s learned how to point. He is reading sight words, just like other six year-olds.

He is happy.

Thank God, he’s happy.

And me, I’m a different person than I was 4 years ago. My tear-filled eyes have been opened to so many things. Autism research is still in its infancy, but we’re learning more and more about what autism is and how to effectively treat it. Unfortunately, during these difficult economic times, budgets are being cut, and research is slowing. But for me, one who has finally allowed herself to really hope … to dream..

I just can’t see it.

Autism services in medical and educational settings are still extremely limited. Our sweet Jack has been fortunate to receive the best of care. He attends Nashoba Learning Group, one of the best schools for kids with autism in the country. He receives medical care at the LADDERS clinic, part of the Autism Treatment Network, funded by Autism Speaks. I smile when I hear his doctor say things like “This kid is moving!” But the reality is Jack’s good fortune hasn’t just fallen into our laps. We’ve spent thousands of dollars accessing treatment for him.

Personally, I’ve advocated. I’ve worked….very hard.

For those that say autism = hopeless; who tell me I should be happy with the scant support that most people with autism receive …

I just can’t see it.

I write to you today, because you are part of my life. I hope that somehow you can share my vision for kids like Jack. They need and deserve solutions. Autism Speaks, through difficult economic times, continues to lead the charge in scientific research, global awareness, advocacy and family services for autism. Their work must continue. It just has to.

Team Jack Attack will be walking once again at this year’s Greater Boston Walk Now for Autism Speaks. We hope to raise $20,000, a lofty goal. But if all of our family and friends would chip in just what they can, I believe we can make it.

To make a donation, please visit our team page at http://www.walknowforautism.org/greaterboston/teamjackattack.

You can join our team, or just make a donation on my personal donation page. If you prefer to mail in your donation, there’s form you can print out and mail in on my page as well.

Finally, please take moment and visit my Happy Birthday Jack page. It tells you everything you need to know about help, hope and love.

Trust me.

You’ll see …