I’ve debated for a while now on whether to talk about this on my blog just yet.
I reached out to a few friends and opened up about it, told family, entrusted those who I thought would be supportive of us no matter what. And, since my Instagram and Facebook posts have kind of come across as a bit down-trodden the last few days, I thought maybe it was time to talk about what’s going on.
For those who don’t know what that is, it’s a form of high-functioning Autism.
I hesitated to share this because we still don’t have an official diagnoses. But, because a) this is my blog and I can say what I want to; and b) some of the people that I thought would be in our corner and supportive as we walk this unknown road have proven us wrong; I needed to get a lot of this off of my chest.
And putting it out here for all of you to read, is a relief all on its own.
And just a note for those of you who believe that, that’s fine well and good. We all have opinions. But, before you go sharing articles that slam parents who choose to vaccinate their kids and blaming them for their child’s condition, take a moment to consider how a mom who has an autistic child and DID vaccinate may feel reading that.
Much of my stress has come from the tantrums that we have been dealing with the last three months. Many people, family included, had just deemed Noah as a “difficult” child or a “strong willed” child. That’s not what is going on. It took forever to get the support and the backing of a pediatrician because all we heard, like many who I have talked to, was that “he would grow out of it.”
There are things that make Noah seem like any other child. But what you see in public and what goes on at home are very difficult. You don’t see the slamming of his fists and kicking of his feet when he doesn’t understand something. Or when the wrong kind of hot dog is purchased. Or when his lunch box falls over and spills the contents on the floorboard of the backseat.
You don’t see the tears when he comes home from school upset and heartbroken because the children at school picked on him because he couldn’t figure out how to cross the monkey bars. You don’t see the heartbreak when a little girl tells him that he needs to apologize for being ugly because he doesn’t understand that sometimes everything that he thinks is fun and interesting isn’t interesting to someone else, and he gets upset.
My husband and I have read books upon books and done plenty of studying. We are in the “testing” phase…where we are waiting for all of the appointments to finish lining up to get the “official” diagnoses.
We know that we can handle whatever situation comes our way. I have more faith than I ever have because I have had to. The days are very, very difficult. The emotional toil of watching your child struggle and not being able to help him wears me out. The physical aspects of having to hold him and cradle him to soothe him, are draining. Listening to the screaming and the shouting and the crying is nerve wracking.
So some days, like these last few days, it gets to be a bit much and I cry. And I drink more coffee than I should. And I have to take an extra pill or two for my anxiety (don’t worry I’m allowed).