AUTISM: WHEN THE IMPOSSIBLE BECOMES POSSIBLE

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.

“Hi! 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

As the days and years went by, Lizzie continued to gain language, the ability to communicate socially and understand how to work well with others to accomplish mutual goals.

outs of the complicated step-by-step programs, and carried the concepts through the rest of our day when there wasn’t a therapist present.

I changed her diet and ran every medical test possible to make sure we weren’t missing something. When we ran out of money, we borrowed from family, applied for grants, and went without to make sure her therapy wasn’t interrupted. I lived in an alternate reality centered around pulling my daughter out of autism’s abyss. I know the real world kept spinning around me, but my hyper-focus on my daughter kept me from caring. I pushed everyone away. A mother is only as well as her sickest child.

That was my reality for many long, difficult years. There were no shortcuts or magic bullets. The progress was seen through the daily work.

When Lizzie was about four years old, I was sitting at a table with her, trying to entice her into painting a house, and as usual, she refused to acknowledge me. I instinctively picked up the paintbrush and playfully painted her nose. She looked up at me with surprise, and our eyes met. For an instant, I could see her soul. The interaction between us caused the hairs to stand up on my arms.

Tears streamed down my face as I felt a connection with my little girl for the first time since she was a baby. I light-heartedly tried painting different parts of her body until she stood up and walked away. I had seen the light in her eyes return, even if it was only for a second. She was telling me there was hope.

As the days and years went by, Lizzie continued to gain language, the ability to communicate socially and understand how to work well with others to accomplish mutual goals. She is smart, kind, and works harder than anyone I have ever met.

Now, at 18 years old, Lizzie still very much has autism, but it is a beautiful watered-down, functional version. She is a cheerleader at school, has friends, and is looking at colleges.

We have always loved, adored, and seen her worth exactly as she was, but now she is actively striving to become the best version of herself. And that is all I would ever want for any of my children.

Julie Hornok is an award-winning author, speaker, and advocate for autism. She co-founded the non-profit, Labeled and Loved, to bring hope to special needs moms through online and in-person community-building events. Her book, United in Autism: Finding Strength Inside the Spectrum, is available at UnitedinAutism.com or anywhere that sells books online.

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