A Mind of My Own
Posted by Gail | Filed under Autism
Chapter Eleven: It’s All Greek To Me
I have always been puzzled by the things people say. Some of the things they say don’t make any sense. And sometimes the things I say don’t make sense to them. I know what I want to say, but the words don’t come out in a way that makes it easy for other people to understand. When they say, “What do you mean?” I usually just give up and say, “never mind.” My mom never gives up. She bugs me and bugs me and bugs me until I try to tell her what I mean. Then she tells me what she thinks I mean. Sometimes she’s got it right and I tell her. Then she looks very happy. Other times, I just can’t explain it so she keeps guessing. I wish she’d stop. So then I get mad and she backs off.
Chapter Twelve: I Just Don’t Understand (Part 1)
Chapter Twelve — I Just Don’t Understand
When I took Malcolm for his diagnosis, I was in a panic. After watching him at pre-school for two days, and then getting on the internet and researching what I’d seen and what his pre-school teacher had spoken about, I was convinced Malcolm was autistic. I called my GP at home one morning.
“Rob,” I said. “Malcolm is autistic. We’ve got to get him tested.”
“Don’t be silly Gail,” he said reassuringly. “Malcolm isn’t autistic.”
“Yes he is,” I said in tears. “I’ve seen it and we have to do something.”
Four weeks later a developmental psychologist, Mary, contacted me and appointments were set up for Malcolm. Both Mary and her partner in crime, Nolene, the language pathologist, subsequently told me I had a great friend in Dr. Rob who had worked wonders getting me into the system so quickly. I loved Dr. Rob because no matter what I said, he always believed me. And I came to love these two women (I called them “The Girls”) because they helped me understand my son.
Throughout the testing and during the reporting, a lot of psychological words were used, many of which went right over my very intelligent head. I was afraid, almost in tears, most of the time. I was desperate for information I could understand. “Give me a book,” I appealed. But there was practically nothing available at the time. And the more information I got, the more sure I was that I wasn’t a match for what was to come. I was wrong.