April 6, 2007...Good Friday...
Starts out as just another day...final preparations for Easter - do I have enough stuff for my boys' baskets? Do I have something for them to wear on Sunday? Do I have all the stuff for the artichoke pies? What am I wearing? Always the same pre-holiday questions...
At approximately 4:20 pm, I am moving from the hallway to the kitchen, and out of the corner of my eye, I catch Oprah on TV - my eye is caught for 2 reasons - first, because she still has those giant yellow chairs that I always loved (same ones that Tom Cruise did his Crazy-Katie-I'm-In-Love routine on)...second, because behind Oprah is a big screen...on this screen is a list of four things...at the top of this list are the words SIGNS OF AUTISM...
My heart starts to race. I read them and I read them again. They describe my son. Perfectly.
I go into the TV room next door where Luke is "playing" - I call his name. He doesn't look up. We have already had his ears checked. Twice. He is 20 months old.
I put quotes around playing because it's actually his version of playing. This is before I learned all of the dreaded and horrible words that would take over my life in the next few months...appropriate play, purposeful play, meaningful play...I will learn all-too-soon what all these words mean...right now I just think that my son likes to spin shit, jump high and throw stuff.
"Look how fast he can spin that wheel! Wow!"
"He's got some arm - what a throw!"
"He's getting major height on that couch! He's very athletic!"
By the time my son was 19 months, I was convinced that he was going to be in either the MLB, the NFL or the NBA - or maybe he would become the first one ever to do all three!
At 20 months...things changed.
I knew within five minutes of reading those word's behind Oprah's head that my son had autism.
That night, after the boys are in bed, I broach the topic with Adam. Before I can even get out the words, he looks at me and says "You think Luke is autistic, don't you." - no question mark - he didn't ask it as a question. He said it like a statement. A statement that he wanted me to refute or laugh at - not one that he wanted me to confirm. But I did. Confirm it.
"Now what?" he looked at me with tears in his eyes.
And thus began the journey...initial appointment with pediatrician - "I wouldn't worry about it -he's probably just a late talker - let's wait until his 2-year check-up"...the second I walk in my house from that appointment I call the state (sorry Doc) - Early Intervention is what they call it - evaluations scheduled - some are at the hospital, some are at my house..."professionals" spending 15 minutes with my kid and giving an opinion...is that really enough time? I think not. Watching him "play" in front of them, willing him to put the right damn shape in the correct frigging hole. Just once. Prove them wrong baby.
"We don't think he has autism - we think it's just a delay with the SIGNS of autism"
Quite possibly the most damaging sentence that a doctor has ever spoken to me...due to that sentence, I spend the entire first year of this journey in semi-denial - oh, I got him all the therapies, and did what the case worker told me to do...but I did not utter the word autism...did not read one book, article or blurb about it. You know why? Because of what that doctor said. He doesn't have autism.
But he did. Oh boy, did he ever. I went into the Early Intervention phase confident that we had "caught it in time" - that getting him so much help at such an early age would nip this shit in the bud. That's not what happened.
The 6 years since that day have been more heartbreaking than heartwarming...the progress is slow and torturous...the setbacks are devastating. The questions have no answers. The problems have no solutions. There are no experts. Oh, there are a hell of a lot of people who THINK they are experts. But they are not. Is it medical? Is it neurological? Is it environmental? Why is this happening to so many kids? Why boys? Why New Jersey? The questions don't stop.
And every year, on Good Friday, I think back to that day. Oprah. The yellow couches.
The A-Ha Moment I never wanted.
