A good friend of mine lent me this book. She read it (so did Jackson's 5th grade teacher) and I hesitantly took it. Jenny McCarthy kind of creeps me out. I saw her on Oprah, telling her autism story, probably 3 years ago. She seemed "New Age"-like and I remember thinking, if I had your resources maybe Jacksons Story would be a different one. Anyway, I took the book and I've been reading it. I have been surprised how much it resonates with me. I'm also saddened by it in a way. Her son is probably 3 years younger than mine. By the time Jenny came on the scene, I had been there and done that, know what I mean?
Reading it reminds me how diverse the autism spectrum is. Jenny McCarthy's son Evan literally seemed to fall off a cliff into autism--yes, she writes about things not being quite right all along, but he began with these life threatening seizures and fell off into the abyss that we know is autism. Jackson actually started on the shores and just waded into autism. Looking back, nothing, not one thing about his developement was unusual, until about 16 months. Even then, he just seemed to stop progressing. He has always been lovingly affectionate, he never lost words. My baby didn't even start the flapping until he was 5 and in special needs school with other autistic children who flapped.
She writes about a metaphorical "window" and pulling her child out of autism through that window; how the window has a time limit. Man, I remember believing that so fiercely. I believed, beyond hope, that RIGHT NOW was the time to FIX my baby. I remember reading everything I could find on the subject--trying the GFCF diet, mixing vitamins into everything imaginable to get my child to take them. The desperate trips from specialist to specialist, and not one of them really knows what is wrong or how to fix it. Mortgaging the house to send him to a private special needs school where they worked with children with autism in very small class sizes. Visiting the geneticist to see if we should chance having another child....
Time is wisdom. Honestly, when Jax was 5 or 6, I lost sleep over the idea that he would wake up one morning and just stop gaining--or worse yet, regress. I tirelessly worked with him, kept him engaged with me, convinced that if he didn't learn it all by 7, it was all over...the window would close and time would stop for my son. Time is wisdom. My beautiful son is 4 years past 7; somehow each day, he continues to grow and amaze us.
I'm not what Jenny McCarthy would probably call a "Warrior Mother" anymore. I've learned to relax and accept my son. That is not to say I wouldn't be first in line for a cure proven to be >90% effective; nor to say I still don't feel a sense of panic and urgency about helping him be everything God intended him to be. I just can, finally, appreciate my son for all that he is. I hope all of you reading this can understand and appreciate that.
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