A Thanksgiving Later
Well, apologies for a very serious post coming up. This is kind of an important day. I know for all of my lovely American friends that it is Thanksgiving and I hope that you are all having a great meal and spending a wonderful day with your family. Thanksgiving was also a great anniversary for me for a friendship starting. It is also an important birthday for my sister today. I am proud of her for being such an inspiring person and for being an amazing mother. Happy birthday, Tonya. I wish I could celebrate today with you. Enough about you. On to me. Heh. Joking. Or not. Or yes? Happy birthday! Anyway, a year ago on Thanksgiving... I celebrated the worst day of my life.
That might sound dramatic and well... it was. Back in November of 2013, we were in the midst of the Daycare problems. There were threats of kicking him out and there was the Aspergers Letter written by a student and I finally signed my work contract after two years of doubt and it was just a difficult time. We had hired a speech therapist to come by and analyse our son. I had to work late and I texted the Husband "HOW DID IT GO?!?" and he responded "Good! Will tell you about it when you get home!" I was in a cheerful mood and headed home. After putting the Kid to bed, the Husband told me that in fact the meeting had not gone "good" and in fact, there was something seriously wrong with our son. This also led to a very important conversation about texting false things.
I was a wreck for the rest of the night and I woke up in a state and I quickly scheduled a meeting with the speech therapist for that morning at my workplace. I was desperate to find out what she had surmised. We met at the cafe at work, on Thanksgiving morning and I was pretty much told that my son was severely autistic and that we were facing at least 10 hours a week of therapy and that his future looked bleak. After a 45 minute talk, I headed back to work where I spent the rest of the day dry heaving and trying to keep it together. I will also never forget the support of my co-workers and my Facebook friends. You helped more than you will ever know. Thank you.
I left work around 4 and headed to our local where I ordered wine and held back the tears. I texted my friend that I was a wreck; asking if she could meet me for a drink. She had the flu but she instinctively knew that I was not alright and in all her snotty glory, she came and she let me cry. And cry I did. And I will be eternally grateful that she came. At 6, I stood up and crossed the street to our place. My heart hurt and I was a complete wreck. Would I look at my son differently? Could I be a good mother? Was my future going to never be the sepia toned photo album I had imagined? I choked back some more tears and put the key in the lock.
My son jumped off the sofa and ran at me, throwing his arms around me. He exclaimed "MOMMY!" and then he yelled "QUACK! QUACK!" which was the Mickey Christmas DVD he had become addicted too. I paid the Nanny, settled on the sofa with the Kid and put on the DVD. And then he laughed. He laughed and then I started to cry again. But this time, it wasn't heart wrenching. No, it was me crying from joy because just then I realized that I would never accept that my son would not be amazing. That with a lot of work and determination, he would have a future.
A year later, a lot has changed. We tried out another daycare where I was told I should try and re-birth my son because I had a C-section. We had countless appointments with specialists. We had 20 sessions of ergotherapy. We moved to a new apartment and started at a kindergarten that is a perfect fit (would be nice if they could keep him after noon). We have seen a complete change in his personality - no longer do we have to restrain him for an hour as he loses his shit which would lead to me crying into a pillow every night... Even though his language has regressed and that brings me to tears every other day, seeing how happy he is snaps me out of my sadness every time. We still have a long road ahead of us. We have two different appointments at autism centres next month and we are currently arranging some private ABA therapy for him as well. Only time will tell. I write about my snobby ways, my materialistic wish lists and how I give the Husband a hard time for not vomiting diamonds on special days... but truly... my one wish this Christmas is to hear my son talk again. And it will happen one day.. because really? What a difference a year makes. And I can say, with optimism, watch this space.
That might sound dramatic and well... it was. Back in November of 2013, we were in the midst of the Daycare problems. There were threats of kicking him out and there was the Aspergers Letter written by a student and I finally signed my work contract after two years of doubt and it was just a difficult time. We had hired a speech therapist to come by and analyse our son. I had to work late and I texted the Husband "HOW DID IT GO?!?" and he responded "Good! Will tell you about it when you get home!" I was in a cheerful mood and headed home. After putting the Kid to bed, the Husband told me that in fact the meeting had not gone "good" and in fact, there was something seriously wrong with our son. This also led to a very important conversation about texting false things.
I was a wreck for the rest of the night and I woke up in a state and I quickly scheduled a meeting with the speech therapist for that morning at my workplace. I was desperate to find out what she had surmised. We met at the cafe at work, on Thanksgiving morning and I was pretty much told that my son was severely autistic and that we were facing at least 10 hours a week of therapy and that his future looked bleak. After a 45 minute talk, I headed back to work where I spent the rest of the day dry heaving and trying to keep it together. I will also never forget the support of my co-workers and my Facebook friends. You helped more than you will ever know. Thank you.
I left work around 4 and headed to our local where I ordered wine and held back the tears. I texted my friend that I was a wreck; asking if she could meet me for a drink. She had the flu but she instinctively knew that I was not alright and in all her snotty glory, she came and she let me cry. And cry I did. And I will be eternally grateful that she came. At 6, I stood up and crossed the street to our place. My heart hurt and I was a complete wreck. Would I look at my son differently? Could I be a good mother? Was my future going to never be the sepia toned photo album I had imagined? I choked back some more tears and put the key in the lock.
My son jumped off the sofa and ran at me, throwing his arms around me. He exclaimed "MOMMY!" and then he yelled "QUACK! QUACK!" which was the Mickey Christmas DVD he had become addicted too. I paid the Nanny, settled on the sofa with the Kid and put on the DVD. And then he laughed. He laughed and then I started to cry again. But this time, it wasn't heart wrenching. No, it was me crying from joy because just then I realized that I would never accept that my son would not be amazing. That with a lot of work and determination, he would have a future.
A year later, a lot has changed. We tried out another daycare where I was told I should try and re-birth my son because I had a C-section. We had countless appointments with specialists. We had 20 sessions of ergotherapy. We moved to a new apartment and started at a kindergarten that is a perfect fit (would be nice if they could keep him after noon). We have seen a complete change in his personality - no longer do we have to restrain him for an hour as he loses his shit which would lead to me crying into a pillow every night... Even though his language has regressed and that brings me to tears every other day, seeing how happy he is snaps me out of my sadness every time. We still have a long road ahead of us. We have two different appointments at autism centres next month and we are currently arranging some private ABA therapy for him as well. Only time will tell. I write about my snobby ways, my materialistic wish lists and how I give the Husband a hard time for not vomiting diamonds on special days... but truly... my one wish this Christmas is to hear my son talk again. And it will happen one day.. because really? What a difference a year makes. And I can say, with optimism, watch this space.
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