MY WORD
AUTISM: When the Impossible Becomes Possible By Julie Hornok MY DAUGHTER CAREFULLY APPROACHED MY CAR WITH HER HANDS FULL. TEARS WELLED UP IN MY EYES, THREATENING TO EXPOSE MY EMOTION. I NEVER THOUGHT THIS DAY WAS POSSIBLE, BUT BECAUSE SHE HAD COME SO FAR, IT WAS EVEN SWEETER.
“H
i! My name is Lizzie! I will be your carhop today!” she said cheerfully while grinning ear to ear. She handed me my slushie and fried mozzarella sticks. I tipped her way too generously and told her how proud I was of her. It was hard to believe this was the same girl who, at two years old, displayed every sign of autism and was given an on-the-spot diagnosis on our first visit with the developmental pediatrician. According to the latest numbers from the Center for Disease Control (CDC), one in 54 children will be diagnosed with autism in the United States. Every one of those parents will hear the life-changing words, “Your child has autism.” Every one of those parents will feel their world spin out of control and come crashing down around them. Every one of those parents will, at times, feel desperate, confused, and alone...just as I did a little over 16 years ago. When Lizzie was diagnosed, it was not the rare type of savant autism seen celebrated on TV or in the movies. She didn’t display special talents or share insights that blew our minds. She threw hour-long tantrums because she could not communicate even her basic wants and needs. She wandered aimlessly around our home lining things up, flapping her arms, and making screeching sounds. She had no understanding of danger: she would run in the street, jump off a high ledge, or immerse herself in water without any understanding of the consequences. She banged her head on the ground in frustration and bit us when we tried to change her diaper or put her in her high chair. She didn’t answer to her name or respond in any way when we tried to communicate with her. Her eyes were glazed over, and even though her body was present, her mind was somewhere else. She was frustrated and unhappy, and we were exhausted. My daughter had disappeared into the black hole of autism, and I didn’t know if we would ever be able to reach her.
That is the autism most families are living with. To say autism has pushed me to the brink would be an understatement. It was more like I dug my heels in as autism slowly scooted me to the edge of a cliff and left me hanging for dear life. People tried to reassure me by telling me no one was to blame, but an enormous weight had been placed on my shoulders, and even if I hadn’t caused it, it was still up to me to figure out how to make it better. Day after day, together with a wonderful support team, I willingly jumped into autism’s black hole in an effort to pull her out inch by inch. I woke up morning after morning with bloodshot eyes from the late-night hours spent on the Internet researching. I facilitated a 30-hour-a-week home therapy program focused on her behavior, speech, and sensory needs. I hired therapists, immersed myself in learning the ins and
Exceptional Needs Today | Issue 2 | 61
