A Gilroy mom is forced to come to terms with her suspicions and her fears when her son is diagnosed with Autism
(Part 1 of 2 parts)
By Kelly Sinon
It has a name, and for the life of me, I keep forgetting it. Maybe I have it too. Then again, I have only just heard the words a little over 24 hours ago.
Pervasive Developmental Disorder – NOS (Not Otherwise Specified) is an Autism Spectrum Disorder and my 12-year-old son is a newly diagnosed case. I have an Autistic son, I keep saying it to myself.
Since Kirk was two and in daycare, I have gotten reports from Miss So-and-So that he misbehaved, he was being picked on, was picking on others. I used to dread coming to pick him up after work and having to see Miss So-and-So because it appeared that she enjoyed the idea of telling a two year-old, “Wait ‘til your mother gets home.” I used to secretly enjoy pissing her off by praising Kirk for his misdeeds. (He was two. Give me a break) Of course, all of that went out the window when my son would see me out of the corner of his eye, while on the tricycle or playing with blocks and come flying into my arms with a huge smile on his face, his huge brown eyes twinkling; the same little boy who would proudly introduce me to all of the other parents, holding me by the hand, as they came to pick up their children.
“This is my mom,” He would gesture with his free hand, a la Vanna White displaying a fabulous new car. As proud as he was of me, I was of him.
School age became more difficult as he wasn’t able to focus long enough to get class work done and he would disrupt the class, wanting to be social, while others were working. Evenings were spent finishing messy class work and doing homework. Each night had to have totaled four to five hours. There was little understanding from teachers, as all kids these days seem to have ADD, ADHD or some other things with D’s and H’s, and are hopped up on a myriad of drugs that would be the envy of Keith Richards.
His teachers had to have me on speed dial. I vowed that if I got one more call from a teacher who was so ill-equipped to deal with an ADD child (he was diagnosed with ADD at 7), I was going to come unhinged. The final straw was getting a call at work, which was typical, because … well, your work day is not complete until your kid’s teacher breaks in, with some moronic complaint like “your kid playing with the zipper on the leg of his pants.” I just saw white. Pure angry white. After years of dealing with this, I snapped, “You’re the supposed professional. Deal with this if it distracts you so much, but I am at work. You do your job, and let me do mine,” That was the last call I got at work. Ever.
Each year, his ADD symptoms seemed to improve as his focus increased. His grades improved and he has a solid B average. But in spite of that, new symptoms were showing themselves and I was baffled. He would spend every waking moment reading, when he wasn’t outside. Not that I minded; his vocabulary is amazing, but he would awaken at night to read and bring food up to his room that he would store “for later.” Lots of it. And yet, when you ask this kid in the light of day if he is hungry after eating a few bites of something, he replies that he is full. He hoarded everything. Little pieces of paper, old school work, broken toys, and could not seem to make a bed to save his life, if he remembered I’d told him to do it at all.
A teacher had suggested along the way that we might have him tested for Asperger’s Syndrome. I think I was in denial. We were already dealing with ADD. What else could be going on? But it kept nagging at me. I researched online and decided it was time. A doctor sent us a thick packet to fill out. A lot of the questions were scary. Does your child hurt animals? I’d read that that was an early sign of a serial killer. Luckily, Kirk adores animals, and says there is a special place for people who are mean to them. His cat is his buddy. Whew … next question. Does your child eat anything that is not food? Oh, Lord. But there were questions I had to answer in the affirmative, and after two days of making little check marks, the packet was sent back to the doctor.
A few weeks later, we were sitting in the doctor’s office answering more questions, verbally and on paper, while Kirk was in observation with another doctor. In two hours, we would have our answer. Why is Kirk the way he is? The answer, while it didn’t surprise me, made me cry. I cried out of fear for him and his quality of life.
But then I remembered. He is now who he was two hours ago, two days ago, two years ago; bright, funny and kind. And he is someone who will need a little extra understanding.
I have an Autistic son.
Kelly Sinon lives in Gilroy with her family. She can be reached at thesinons@yahoo.com
Do you think your child could have symptoms of autism? Two good places to begin looking are Austism Speaks and The Austism Society.
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