By Larissa
You know those life changing moments that create a ‘before’ and ‘after’? Your wedding. The horrific pain of childbirth. The wonder that is Netflix. The beauty that is shellac. We all have those moments, ones that are just ours and ones that we all share. One that is a clear stand out for me, even moreso than my life before and after the Backstreet Boys, was my now six-year-old son’s diagnosis of Autism Spectrum Disorder.
At two and a half years old, our son was, let’s say, ‘spirited’. There were days when I would cry on the couch after putting him to bed, so tired and confused about why he had had ten tantrums between daycare and home. Having had zero (and I mean, absolutely zilch, zip, nada) experience with small children, I thought every child was like him and I often found myself thinking How on earth do people have more than one child? What about those people who have 20 children! What is wrong with them?!
One day I mentioned my concerns to my husband but when I said that I thought something was going on, his response was, “He’s a boy. You just love drama.” He wasn’t entirely incorrect. I am obsessed with The Bachelor (mainly the US version because it’s so much cattier) and love to stare when people are arguing in the supermarket line. Still…the thought wouldn’t go away. I booked our little boy into a paediatrician and of course diagnosed him using Dr Google before we got there. Language delays. That’s what it was. On the way to the appointment I said to my husband “It’s definitely not autism because he’s too affectionate. And it’s definitely not Asperger’s because his language isn’t that great.” Ten minutes into the appointment the paediatrician suggested we book in to see a psychologist to have him assessed for autism. I heard nothing else after that. The rest of the appointment felt like those moments in the movies where a bomb explodes too close to someone’s head and all they can hear is a high pitched noise.
I had never felt so overwhelmed and devastated. I later heard another mother of a child on the spectrum say she wouldn’t take it (the autism) away even if she could. I was floored by that. ASD makes life more difficult. Why? The world isn’t made for people with ASD. It’s noisy and busy and full of unspoken expectations. Why else? No one person with ASD is the same and so there’s no full proof way to make life a bit easier. You try this visual schedule and that low casein diet because it worked for that other mother, and then it does bugger all for your child. I would do anything to take away our son’s ASD. I’d give a limb, hand over everything we own and even give up the dream of Nick Carter singing ‘As Long as You Love Me’ just to me. Anything! It’s a moot point though, isn’t it? Because I can’t take it away. I’m his mother, the one who gave him life, his protector and the one who loves him to the very core of my being, and I can’t take it away.
After three years of tears, therapy, specialised settings, thousands spent on resources and seminars, more tears, deferring school for a year, completing a Grad Cert in Autism and starting a Masters in Special Needs Intervention, reading every book the libraries had, even more tears and too many ‘First…Then’ cards to count, it was time for our baby boy (so tall people think he’s in Year 3) to start Prep. We decided on mainstream education. Our son has the same right as neurotypical kids to learn in a typical setting and as a teacher in public education, I feel strongly about my children being part of it.
I expected he would be okay on the first day. Boy, was I wrong. He wasn’t even in the vicinity of being okay. When I finally managed to leave him in the classroom I cried from the door to the car and for hours afterwards. I sat on the lounge, my youngest in daycare, and stared at the TV. I was back in that paediatrician’s office. Shell-shocked. I managed to Google ‘home-schooling’ and decided that while I’d happily spend my days at the museum with him, the curriculum was much more than dinosaur fossils and plants. I rallied on pick up, thinking surely he would have had a good day. This wasn’t his first relationship with rules and other kids. Imagine the sick feeling when the teacher asked me to stay back. On the first day! I was never a well behaved teenager at home (cue scenes of my father picking me up from a boy’s house when I was meant to be at a sleepover) but I was always good at school (aside from the occasional detention for talking too much, which was never my fault!). The teacher was lovely and raised some things that had happened that day because she wanted to know what I could suggest. I appreciated her concern and agreed that getting naked and waving around his boy bits wasn’t ideal, but again cried from classroom to our house and for a good hour or so after. What do I suggest? What should I suggest? What if I don’t suggest the right thing? What if I suggest something but it’d too difficult for her to implement? Should I provide some research behind my suggestions? Start basic? Tried and true? Step out of the box? One suggestion? Five?
He's been in school for eight days now. Eight. Long. Days. We’ve had three good days, three average days and two awful days. I know it’s not going to be a walk in the park. After three years on this journey I’m not naïve. I just didn’t expect to feel so overwhelmed. You know what it mainly is though? Sadness. A heavy cloud of sadness and worry has settled over my head. What if he continues to struggle and the other kids don’t want to be his friend? What if he continues to struggle and try as she may, his teacher doesn’t warm to him? What if he continues to struggle and he disengages from learning? Sadness is what it is at the moment. I come back to the point I raised before; I’m his mother. I’m meant to guide him through life and sometimes, even though I know schools and the way they work, I don’t know how to make sure this journey, while bumpy, is mainly positive.
I read a quote recently that said something to the effect of ‘If you’re worried about whether or not you’re a good mother, you’re already a good mother’. I call bullshit. While caring and worrying is a good start, I better be able to do a lot more than that if I’m going to help him conquer his challenges.
I think I’ll go with three suggestions.
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About Larissa:
Larissa is an amazing mum of two, local high school teacher, and is also completing her Masters Degree.