“Fowler.”
Fifteen year old Ryan received an invitation to a Christmas party about two weeks ago. He asked if he could go, and after seeing who sent it, I responded, “Sure.” He then gave me the invitation. “What am I suppose to do with this?” I inquired. He looked at me with the expression of “duh”. I informed him that I was not going to call. “If you want to go, you call.” I knew I had a few weeks before any action really had to be taken, so I was not worried about him missing the party.
The invitation positioned itself quite nicely in the middle of our fridge, beckoning me to make that call. I had to resist. Well, today WE had two VICTORIES! #1) I didn’t give in, and #2) Ryan made the call, just out of the blue. He was well spoken, concise and clear. This was his first time responding… He didn’t waste a word. Not that he ever does. The job was done. YEA!
I know that a fifteen-year-old making this phone call is an ordinary occurrence in many households. Not mine. This is the kid who wasn’t verbal until he was five, and then it was only one or two-word phrases. Doctors thought he’d never talk. I was told to accept it, deal with it, but there was certainly NOTHING I could do. I remember I heard the word “institution”. Keep in mind that these doctors were telling me this before Ryan was even diagnosed with autism.
Ryan had been born healthy, and he hit all those baby milestones early. At four months Ryan could grasp his dad’s hands and pull himself from a sitting position to a standing position. He was walking at nine months. He was able to turn on the TV and put a video in the VCR by 12 months. At the same time he said his first word: flower; well, it was, “Fowler”. He said it looking straight at a rose bush. Little did I know that Ryan would not utter that word for six more years, when he was seven.
Ryan learned “mom” and “dad” and anything that meant food. Or ball. He was all boy. A very normal boy. However, by the time he was two, I noticed he was not talking much. I mentioned it to the pediatrician who assured me that I was an overly-concerned mom. “Everyone develops at their own rate, but by the time they’re five, they’re all the same.” The doc was wrong.
Ryan had 31 “words” by the time he was four. I still have the list. Over half of those “words” were utterances that we could decipher. The other half was torture for both parents and child. If we could not figure out what he wanted within 30 seconds or so, the tantrums began. Screaming. Running. Crying. All uncontrollable. If I were home alone, I didn’t have much time before I joined the crying. How could I not know what he wanted? I’m his mom. I was a frustrated, frantic, anxious mom. Worst of all, I was helpless. I could not give my baby what he wanted or needed. Tragic. He was my third child; I certainly should have had enough experience. I didn’t.
I remember being at the store one time, and Ryan “said” something to the clerk. He asked me what Ryan had said. I looked at the clerk blankly, and replied, “I heard what you heard.” He looked at me in dismay. That look accused me. How could I not know? Why? Because I was this baby’s mom. Yeah, no pressure.
Fast forward through years of tests, doctors, hearing tests, and the problem was “in my head”, but a mom knows when something is wrong with her child. Looking back now, I think some doctors “diagnosed” him with something, just to shut me up. He’d been diagnosed with many different things, and through my research, I found that all those “things” combined could indicate autism. I knew this only because six months prior to Ryan’s diagnosis, Ryan’s younger brother was diagnosed with autism, and I was learning all about it. Autism. Ryan was finally diagnosed at age seven with autism. I grieved. At the same time that Ryan was diagnosed, his littlest brother was also diagnosed. I grieved for three boys. Autism had no cure.
Years of speech therapy loomed in Ryan’s future. He had to learn how to make sounds, blend sounds, form words, all leading up to talking in phrases. Then sentences. Then… So now, at age 15, he is comfortable enough with words to be able to RSVP to a party. High five! This definitely is a success story! He’s slowly conquering that autism. Or maybe there’s a pretty girl with a flower…
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