Cajer (rhymes with "pager") was diagnosed at age 5. I received the doctor's dx Aug. 15, 1998. I still wonder how something so apparent escaped me for so long. Then again--like many people--I had no real concept of Autism. His first few weeks of life were torture--he seemed angry at being born--fought and screamed and cried. He calmed down when I nursed him. Nights he'd wake shrieking, tired yet unable to fall asleep. Nothing helped. I'd play soft music, rock him for hours while he struggled and cried. Then all at once an amazing lull set in. It was as though he suddenly adjusted to being here. What followed was an almost eerie silence. He was so quiet. So calm that the editor of the literary journal where I worked remarked--looking into his dark, expressive eyes--that he must be my "Fortune baby."
When Cajer was a few months old I'd lovingly dubbed him "Planet Boy," not yet seeing there was anything really out of the ordinary about him. I just figured he was quiet--and because he had some eye problems (lazy eye, which, fortunately, has been corrected by surgery) I automatically assumed he avoided eye contact because it was uncomfortable for him. I also figured his eye problems must have slowed down his communication development. Besides, I tried to convince myself, I was always a shy, quiet kid--wasn't it simply a matter of like-parent-like-child? Still--there was something about him. He'd sit, absorbed, spinning objects. Any object. He became obsessed with lining things up: crackers, blocks, shoes, spoons. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something felt--different. Cajer seemed to exist in his own separate world--a sort of parallel dimension we could see, but couldn't quite reach.
It wasn't until he started preschool and I began to see the dramatic differences between my little boy and his peers that I began to worry. My younger brother--who once worked at a State Hospital--mentioned Autism at one point. I was sure that couldn't be it, but the thought stuck--lurked in the remotest regions of my brain. In retrospect, I believe there was a part of me that knew even then, but continued to reject the idea. Then kindergarten registration came up and I found myself arguing that Cajer simply wasn't ready for "that type of atmosphere." Why wasn't he ready? "Because," I insisted--to myself and anyone who would listen--"Cajer doesn't communicate well enough to start school." A thought that stopped me in my tracks. My 5-year-old son didn't communicate well enough to start school.
Since Cajer's diagnosis, the Internet has become an integral part of my life. I hope this site--as it grows--can help other parents/families/friends of those with Autism to gain a better understanding--and perhaps to cope a little more easily. It does help to know you're not alone! And there is a ton of information out there. My advice--to those of you who may need some--is to do a lot of reading, be insatiable in your quest for knowledge, and never get sucked into "amazing cure-alls." There is no cure for Autism, but its symptoms can sometimes be overcome.
If you're having a tough time accepting Autism in a loved one, you owe it to yourself to read Jim Sinclair's wonderful article, Don't Mourn For Us. I read it, had a good long cry (well, several)--then changed my attitude!
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Want to know where I got the beautiful little spinning Saturn and the cute lightbulb? Found 'em! They were both freebies, too. They were made by the very talented Free. Visit her site at:
