They’re Saying Aspergers

Ten years. It had been 10 years since I delivered my last baby boy, and I was telling the nurse that if she didn’t grab a doctor immediately, she or my husband would have to try to play catch.

Everything since that moment has been a ruck I was not equipped for.

I look back through photos and I see it more clearly now. Isaiah always had this almost constant anxiety/intensity about him, this more focused look in his eyes. I remember bringing it up to a doctor once, but she didn’t think too much of it.

That was pretty much the trend throughout the next six years of Isaiah’s life. Little moments or big ones made me scratch my head, but ultimately, I’d shrug it off as this, that, or the other.

I remember the very last playgroup I dared take him to. He was having a hard time with the drooling babies crawling over, falling on, and eating his little creation of something probably car related, as it was his obsession at the time. I kept explaining to him that they didn’t mean anything by it; they were just babies. That didn’t give Isaiah any relief though; he truly could not understand why they wouldn’t just stay away from his space.

And though I stayed nearby, sat on the floor beside him while trying to simultaneously listen in on the week’s discussion, I still somehow missed that moment when he pushed a baby for taking his freeway overpass. That baby’s mom, new to our group, yelled at me, and in quite dramatic fashion I might add.

I was at such a loss for words. I was tired and sleep deprived; I was already having such a hard time pretty much everywhere with Isaiah. As it was, I barely managed to convince myself to go at all. I felt my face tremble with emotion, and I couldn’t have gotten out of there any faster.

(By the way, to the facilitator of that playgroup who pulled that mom aside and to the sweet mom who helped me gather up my things as Isaiah had a total meltdown from having to leave so abruptly, thank you. You gave me comfort, and I could not have buckled him in without your help.)

That was the last time I took Isaiah to a playgroup in that state, but it wasn’t the last time he got to play with other children. The next time, it was with children more his age. Soon after, I learned about Early Head Start, and I worked very quickly to get him in. He loved it there. The teachers had a hard time with him, though, during transitions especially, but really, as a whole.

I could not understand why he was so difficult. It wasn’t that he was always, to me, obtuse; he was quite sensitive, sweet, concerned, thoughtful, and so tender. I’ve never met a more loving kid. So why was he so hard to parent?

Over the years, the trend continued and began to shape itself a little more. His kindergarten teacher found a way to give him his own space in the classroom without completely separating him. This helped her get through the day/lessons and Isaiah preferred it. She also devised a unique chart for him that I still recommend to his teachers today, as the color chart nearly destroyed him at the beginning of 2017 with his first 1st grade teacher at another school.

(Can I just say, if you have a great teacher, spoil her with gift cards and thank-you notes. They are the gems that keep our children’s hearts healthy while they’re away from us.)

Why was he having such an extreme and over-the-top reaction to his dad’s first deployment? Why was he throwing pencils in class? Why was he a regular at the principal’s office? None of this had ever happened…before.

It was that terrible experience that led us down this path of discovery, though, and for that, I’m grateful. He was tested for learning disabilities through his new school, and it turns out he’s super smart, but no working IEP was implemented.

Coincidentally, my mother is a speech therapist. In fact, she said Aspergers about two years ago, but it fell on my deaf ears. It’s because of her encouragement, along with others, that I went the medical route, and thank goodness I did because…

…they’re saying Aspergers.

I think I about fell into the chair I was already sitting in when the psychologist told me. I mean, I knew nothing. I didn’t even know how to react. Over the next several days, though, I read like book-burning was gonna make a comeback.

Overnight, my time consisted of me replaying memories that now started to make sense. He was dangerous. He didn’t seem to note that his baby sister was asleep, like, ever. He gravitated toward much older children. Stranger Danger meant zip to him. Every single year he is a Storm Trooper for Halloween. Every craft, drawing, book… it’s all Storm Troopers.

Oh, and there was that one day when he woke up before the sun and we couldn’t find him. It had snowed the night before and he really loved snow, so according to him, he got properly dressed in his shorts, open jacket, snow boots, but no gloves, and he unlocked our front door and went outside to make a snowman. Facebook reminds me of that morning every year with a picture of him sitting on the sofa under a ginormous pile of blankets.

So many things and so many memories were now making sense to me.

I called my family and said, “Hey! Guess what? Isaiah’s not a bad kid (traditional Mexican family) after all! Turns out, he’s on the spectrum.”

The Spectrum—this set of words that kept popping up on social media, but I knew nothing about. It’s a whole world in itself, and I wish I had been educated enough then to have seen it sooner. It would have spared us all so much confusion.

But, here we are, and now we get to work to get him a working IEP, among other things.

Until then, I find minutes here and there to read up on Aspergers and Autism, and I’m learning about my beautiful son Isaiah.