Just the beginning

The end of the assessment process is just the beginning of a lifelong journey to manage a condition that seems to touch on every aspect of life. Andrew has been diagnosed as mildly to moderately autistic. As much as I had anticipated the results, as much as my intuition told me shortly after we came home with him in 2005, hearing the psychologist talk about the formal results of the testing was a blow for which I had no defense.

The written report is ten pages long and is a combination of the statistical results of Andrew's tests and family and observational narratives. Both my husband and I are teachers, so looking at statistics related to assessment is something we are used to doing. I can't help but think about those parents who are far less educated than we are and how they confront a litany of numbers and percentages. What was most striking to me was Andrew's score on verbal-based skills. He could easily answer many questions aloud. He stumbled, not surprisingly, at defining things in a manner that another person could understand. I remember that his definition for train (an object of obsession) had something to do with tracks and that was it. Overall, his verbal score was in the mid-normal range. His performance skills, on the other hand, were very low - 16th percentile. Tasks in this skill set included pencil and paper tasks (which he did not complete) and grouping pictures together based on similarities. The categorizing test was the one I thought he phoned in. As with any assessment, the picture you get at the time is it. If a child is not trying, that lack of effort is just mixed into the results. Overall, there was nothing in the assessment report that surprised me. I've been living this for four years now.

The report ends with nine recommendations. Some of those tips address the cognitive skills (welcome to Momma's summer school) and some address the social/behavioral issues that he exhibits. The social worker will contact us next week to set up a meeting. From there, we will set up a series of goals to help Andrew. For example, he has been screaming "I NEED HELP" when he grows frustrated at the littlest thing (i.e a Lego won't stick exactly as he wants it). Teaching him breathing exercises to help him regulate himself is very important.

I've received a great deal of encouragement from many people. I've been reminded that I am a fierce and strong and there isn't anything I wouldn't do for this little boy. I told myself that I would give myself one night for crying and then get to the business of living. That's easier said than done. I know that it will take a great effort on everyone's part to help him figure out these social situations that have prevented him from getting any birthday party invitations this year. It will take great effort to help him understand that making eye contact is important. It will take great effort to encourage to one day tell me spontaneously tell me that he loves me(I get jealous when I see his classmates run to their parents and jump in their arms and scream I love you). All of this and balancing it with the life I've been trying to carve out for myself is a daunting task.

Andrew has had to fight from the day he was left on that bus station floor. It is a marvel to me that he has come this far and I know that he will zoom to great heights. If there's one thing we can do as a team, it's to fight for what we need. I am physically and emotionally drained. I'm also grateful that my son is healthy and generally happy. His condition is not disabling and can be managed and somewhat diminished. I need to catch my breathe and get started on a different leg of this journey.