I want to share our story. Not only to try to help others but to simply give others a view of what life is like. Granted, this blog won’t be Autism, all the time. I’m sure that other things will slip in every now and then.
Every case of autism is different. No two children will show the same signs or act the same way. My daughter, Isabella, is on the higher end of the spectrum. She’s happy, and very loving and affectionate. I found out that we’re quite lucky since a lot of children with autism have issues with being touched or held and some go their entire lives without ever hugging their parents.
I began to notice the “signs” when Bella was about 15 months old. She wasn’t talking yet. In fact, she wasn’t making any kind of sounds at all. She would squeal. She reached all her milestones on time and was walking by a year. She would try desperately to walk on her toes, even if that made her lose her balance and fall. She would flap her arms and flick her fingers and her favorite thing to do was spin. She could spin in circles for twenty minutes straight and never get dizzy. She would pace our house for hours. Walking back and forth, always taking the same route. The biggest issue was that she would not respond to her name.
After ruling out hearing loss and getting her adenoids and tonsils removed, she still acted as if she couldn’t hear us, no matter how loudly we called her name. On the other hand, the alarm clock, the doorbell and even the timer on our stove would cause her to cover her ears and flinch. As if the sounds were so loud, they were hurting her ears, she would cringe and seek out either her father or myself for comfort.
Only 30% of all autistic children seek affection from others. We are very lucky to see that Bella is in that percent. While most autistic toddlers veer away from physical contact and dislike being hugged or held, Bella seeks it out as a way to comfort herself. When she is feeling too overwhelmed or something is too much for her to handle, she comes to us for safety. The thought that some mothers and fathers never get to hold their children breaks my heart. For her affection, I am grateful.
Although an official diagnoses is months away, our preliminary result is high functioning non-verbal autism with sensory integration disfunction. We are hoping that her classes and teachers can help with the non-verbal part. As far as everything else, we take it day by day. No two days are the same and we never really know what to expect.
Before all of this, she was a happy, loving toddler who loved to look at picture books and fall asleep on her daddy’s chest. Now, she’s the same little girl, only she has autism. All those little “quirks” we didn’t understand now have an explanation. There is some comfort in that.
I am not going to say that this has been an easy thing to handle or deal with. When all of this was just my speculation it was easier to put in the back of my head and ignore. After we got her first evaluation and they confirmed our suspicions, I cried. I cried for her. For all the things I know she’s going to miss out on. For knowing that now, her life is going to be harder. She’s might not understand that she’s different, but I know that part of her will see it when she notices that she doesn’t see things the way the rest of us do. I cried because I couldn’t help but think that I did something to cause this. I’ve been reassured by my husband and all her doctors, but as her mother, I feel like there should have been something I could have done. I know there wasn’t, but it took me a while to accept that.
I’m off to attempt sleep now. Bella has orientation in the morning to tour her school and meet her teachers. Fingers crossed that it goes well.
