All it takes is a spark.
Sometimes that spark is a person who relentlessly believes in your kid as much, if not a little bit more than you do.
There’s a process- we all go through it. You sit in a doctor’s office and you get a diagnosis. And it’s kind of like The Matrix- depending on what color pill you choose, your path can look differently. We chose the blue pill.
The blue pill came with finding additional service providers, spending A LOT of time on the phone with the insurance company, and a LOT of miles on and time in our car.
But it came with A, who surely had become an OT after a stint at Disneyland being a princess and had the magnetic personality to match. She didn’t laugh at our incessant questions, or the fact that he came to therapy in pajamas ALL THE TIME, or the general lack of knowledge we had with our situation. But damn did they connect, and she became more like an older sister than a therapist. When she told me she was moving, I cried for ten days. Not an exaggeration.
It also came with another A, (ABA therapy) who had the most instant connection with him anyone has ever had to this day. The first day she was in our home, I knew there was something special, and she became a second mother to him. She never gave up, sometimes listening to him cry for 90 minutes over putting toys away. The only thing she had more of in her than love for him was the belief that he was capable of every task she put in front of him. She was here on Riley’s first day of kindergarten, when we got Gus- all the epic days in our lives for many years, she was right there with us. She moved too, and I still cry at the mention of her and recollection of what she provided for all of us. She raised the bar for him- for me, personally, and as a parent.
It’s also come with J- who has been seeing him since the first A left and was the first person to make us realize that he relates differently to men. And these two- exist to challenge each other, and do so regularly. What J has done and continued to do (besides love us unconditionally) can’t be measured. I mean when a kid takes your scissors and puts them away because he refuses to cut in therapy, and says “OH SHIT” when he drops legos and your daughter repeats after him and you still love him- that’s next level.
And another J- (I’m just now realizing we have a lot of therapists with the same first letter names LOL!) We honestly chose her out of convenience. I didn’t want to drive thirty minutes round trip for speech if I didn’t have to, and she was literally 4 minutes away from our house. It took awhile- but she has been the biggest progress facilitator for him with speech. She taught him how to lose- and besides being one of our favorite people in the whole world, she might be the only adult besides me who is more stubborn than he is.
We spent so much time immersed in the private therapy sector that it was terrifying to make the leap into public. school. We were shifting completely away from me being at the center of all of the therapeutic efforts and knowing exactly what was going on, to him being gone 6-7 hours a day.
A few years went by that made me second guess our decision. Spoiler alert: private schools for ASD kids are EXPENSIVE. So we stuck it out. And then K came along. And K…she is what should be in every SPED class in America. Scratch that…worldwide.
She’s energetic- passionate, honest and truly believes that we are all in this together. There’s an overwhelming feeling with school district workers that its a different realm than the private therapy realm, and while application and techniques may be different- if everybody’s focus is what’s best and most functional for the kid, shouldn’t that override any territorial feelings? (Rant over!)
K has sought to get to know him on a personal level- because she recognizes evaluations and IEP progress reports only show so much. She spent 40 minutes on the phone with me figuring out how to best motivate him to address his attention issues. She has gotten the entire teaching team on board with his behavior and attention tracking. And even at the end of this worst day- she’s STILL smiling at pick up.
If I could- I’d write a letter to the Emily who sat in a quiet doctors office on Dec 10, 2014 when a doctor told us “autism”. I could say a lot of things- but the biggest three things I wish somebody had told me on that day?
Be Patient.
He will get there- it won’t be on your time.
The right people will come into your lives- but not when you expect them.
And besides that- all it takes is one. And you’re going to get more than one, promise.
Wait.
One more thing.
Get some sleep. Because his sleep issues aren’t going to get better for a few more years.
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