Just Another Day

Yesterday was something for my son that I've heard referred to as "diagnosis day." That phrase always incited a small bll of fear and anxiety in me. It sounded cold and forbidding. Like life as you know it will never be the same after "diagnosis day." For months I've been in a strange place of simultaneous dread and eagerness for an answer. A name to give this entity that has the power to control, mystify, and delight. So yesterday, I sat across from an experienced psychiatrist and at the end of a couple of hours; there it was. The thing that causes my son to have so much anxiety about leaving the house, that causes noises and florescent lights in the grocery store to make him "car sick," the reason he can read with the skill of a child five years older than himself but can't remember how to spell his favorite color, the reason he hops on his toes and flaps his hands when he gets excited, the reason he was stoic when I was in tears because a childhood friend of mine passed away, but was beside himself when I casually mentioned he needed new bed sheets. It's the reason for the disparities in his skill set, his avoidance and ineptitude of social interactions with his peers, his rigidity in not being able to perform a task unless it's on his calendar. It's also why he's so interesting, so verbose, so gifted and intelligent. It means he hasn't had a haircut in over a year because he can't handle the feeling of clippers vibrating or loose hair touching him and he's irrationally terrified the scissors will cut him. He's a scientist, logical and honest to a fault. It blows his mind that not everyone thinks like him and other's mistakes frustrate him to no end. He's currently obsessed with Tolkien, Pokémon, and Abe Lincoln and will discourse about them for hours. He's eccentric and quirky and absolutely beautiful.

 My son has Autism Spectrum Disorder. My son's version of this spectrum disorder is called Asperger's Syndrome. And while it makes him the beautiful, inquisitive, and unique kid that he is, it's not all rainbows and good times. With his Asperger's comes crippling anxiety, obsessive thoughts, compulsive behaviors, vocal and motor tics, possible seizure activity, learning difficulties despite being highly, highly intelligent. It comes with visual perceptual difficulties, auditory processing issues, fine motor skills delay, and a staggering amount of clumsiness. He endures sideways looks and stares from people who don't understand how a kid can look perfectly normal one minute and meltdown from sensory overload the next, effectively reverting to behavior that looks more like a three year old than a gifted first grader. He has vocal tics that he can't control at times. Many people don't seem to understand that he doesn't WANT to clear his throat every forty five seconds; he simply can't stop. He wants to play with the other kids on the playground, but he doesn't know how and it causes him so much stress to think about it, he ends up sitting under the picnic table with a book instead. You will always know where you stand with him because he will give you honest answers, even if you don't like what you hear.

As the psychiatrist gave the diagnosis we knew we'd hear, he said something that resonated with me and my husband. He said, "We use labels for kids like your son to give them answers for their behavior, not excuses for it." My son's diagnosis is an answer. He'll still have to make his bed tomorrow and he will still get grounded from screen time if he hits his sister or speaks rudely to me. He doesn't have an excuse; he has an answer for who he is and how his mind works. I could've hugged the psychiatrist, but my son has taught me to respect the physical boundaries of others, so I said thank you instead.

We left the office and took the kids to the park. I called my mom and told her. She was glad her grandson had an answer that would help him. I messaged my best friend, who happens to be a fellow spectrum mom. I told her the relief I felt. She said simply, "I get it." And I know she does. I asked my son what he thought about the whole thing. He said, "The doctor told me he had lots of other patients with the same things as me, isn't that cool?" I texted my son's occupational therapist (who gently encouraged or search for answers). She texted back, "Welcome to the A-train!"  We are lucky and grateful to be surrounded with support and people who appreciate my son and our lives for what they are:  spectrummy.

My dad said it best, "Today is like any other day for me. I love your children."
 He summed it up well. Our son has an autism spectrum disorder, what some call Asperger's Syndrome. We love him.

And that's it. Diagnosis day. Just another day, but with answers.