Allen and I were equally shocked with Anton's diagnosis. The similarity seemed to end there. With Allen's shock came anger- at the dev. ped. "How can she come up with this diagnosis after seeing Anton for 2 hours?!...I'm gonna sue her!" To give him a lot of credit, though, he said "I don't believe he has autism, but let's do what we have to do to help him get better." We decided to focus on making him better instead of focusing on the label "autism".
Anton, 5 months old, and Dada
We both knew Anton could not be a serious case of autism. He was on the verge of talking! He also did not have the typical behavior of other children with autism (CWA)- no hitting, banging head on floor, flapping arms, spinning. All he really obsessed about was lining up objects on the floor. Allen and I were both optimistic that Anton would overcome this; but Allen more than me.
"He's okay. He'll be fine. Look, he's starting to talk!" Allen would say to try to calm me down during my ASD depression moments. I couldn't believe him fully. I've read so many things about ASD that I feared the worst- an non-verbal adult who was still in diapers, helpless and alone.
I decided to dedicate my time to making him better. I would do all I can even if it would be costly. I went online, I bought books, I bought videos, I bought therapy materials, I made a lesson plan, I enrolled Anton in OT 2x a week and, eventually, Speech Therapy 2x a week. I was looking into the Gluten-Free, Casein-Free diet and Auditory Integration Therapy.
Allen started to get annoyed at my obsession. He kept reassuring me that we didn't need all these things. That, one day, he would be "normal." He kept squashing my efforts towards non-traditional methods of treatment. I started to feel that he was being unsupportive. This was when I started to understand why statistics say that 50% of marriages in the US end in divorce when a child is diagnosed with autism.
Slowly, I was starting to feel alone in the battle. Not only did I have to deal with the pain of the diagnosis, I had to deal with a husband who did not seem to be grieving as much as I was. He could not understand that the reason why I was so obsessive was because I wanted to be sure that Anton would be "normal" eventually.
One day, in the early months after the diagnosis, I heard the sounds of Anton's meltdown from the playroom. Dad was in the room with him. It seemed that Anton wanted to get out of the room to go to me but could not verbalize the request (or the adults could not understand) and so he ended up in a full-blown tantrum.
I screamed through the door, "stop forcing him to talk! It's too late. He cannot control himself anymore." Allen opened the door and shouted, "I know what I'm doing... Why do you always act like you're the expert on this? You make me feel so inept."
I was stunned. I did not think that my "expertise" on the disorder would be seen as a hindrance instead of help. I told him, "this isn't about you. It's about Anton. You don't know how to handle him because you don't want to learn more about how to." Let's just say it was quiet in the house for a few days after that exchange.
As time passed, Allen started listening to me when I talked about what I learned through research and reading. He kept quiet whenever I would sign up and attend seminars and conventions. He started to copy my actions towards Anton. Most of all, it seemed like he realized that we were not enemies in this. It was autism that was the enemy.
I knew everything was alright when, one day, during a quiet moment while watching Anton sleep I asked Allen, "do you really think he will be better?" Allen replied, "he will be okay..." and then quietly and bravely, "and if not, THAT is okay too." I looked at him and knew- we wouldn't be part of the divorced 50%.
Anton, Mama and Dada during Anton's 2nd Birthday party
I don't know if Allen has ever grieved. I think he did not grieve because his faith was stronger than mine in believing that Anton would overcome it. Slowly, our son is showing that his father was right.
I don't think I am wrong to worry though. I think it is that nagging, annoying worrying that is pushing me to keep helping Anton. Now that he is verbal and (almost) toilet-trained, I just have to work on my fear of his being helpless and alone.
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