Perspective and Acceptance

I've been getting asked a lot lately, Lili, why haven't you written any posts on your blog?  Well, it's been since September since I have typed up anything worth reading.  But I've had a lot to say.  I think I needed to focus my thoughts back into this project.  I had this nagging thought, the thought that maybe I was exposing TOO much of my life on such a public forum.  Exposing my feelings, my fears, my dark secrets about how I dealt with the "Big A".  And for a second I thought that maybe I'd regret sharing so much of our personal lives with whomever reads my blog and I felt a fear of being judged.  But after some time, I remembered WHY I began this project.  I started writing this all down so that I could let that skeleton out of the closet.  I was getting tired of feeling like all eyes were on us, because when something makes you stand out, as autism has done with our family, you feel as if the world is scrutinizing your every move.  Why does your kid flap his hands?  Why does your kid not talk?  Why does he make awkward noises?  Why does he walk on his toes?  Why isn't he potty trained?  You must not talk to him enough, that's why he doesn't communicate the way he should.  You're either not trying hard enough, investing enough time or money on toys, therapies, special diets, powders or pills...all in an effort to make him seem more "normal".  I'm not too sure that I like "normal" anymore.  I have two other "neuro-typical" boys whom I adore, but even they get bored when Emilio isn't around.  He's the life of the party!

 

 

This nagging thought, the thought that led me to believe that my family was living in a fish bowl, that everyone was watching and judging...I don't really think that's particular to my situation.  I'm sure many people outside the autism community must feel like that sometimes.  But I've been actively working on minding my own business and letting people think what they will.  I'm an autism-mommy warrior, and I'll tell you all there is to know about Emilio and his diagnosis if you're willing to listen, but I can't spend any time worrying about what people think.  Emilio is different than any typical kid, I know that!  But he's freakin AMAZING!  He makes funny faces, he pretends he's an active participant in a conversation by making word like noises (kind of sounds like my Catholic mother when she's praying lol) which I think is HILARIOUS!  He's loving, honest, playful, and really, really adorable.

 

 

This really eye-opening, life changing thing happened recently.  I noticed that when I began to ACCEPT all the quirks that come with this little ball of fire we call Emilio, everyone around me began to do the same.  We were out to breakfast one Saturday morning, I packed Emilio some little die cast cars, his Ipad, and made sure the salt shaker was near by.  He loves the salt shaker like Paula Deen loves butter :)  and in typical Emilio style, he flipped the little car over and spun it on it's roof.  That's his thing, watching things spin.  He checks the "spinability" of everything!  My husband took one of the die cast cars and said "look Emilio" and flipped it on it's roof and spun it too.  This was a "one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind" kind of moment. 

 

 

 

In the attempt and desire to make your kid behave as "normal" as possible we would have typically flipped the car back onto its wheels and made "vroom-vroom" noises as it traveled through imaginary peaks and valleys.  But my husband didn't...he didn't try to change or modify his behavior (could you tell we are trained in ABA lingo).  Instead he just accepted that Emilio gets a thrill of watching things spin and he joined in on the fun.  He became part of Emilio's world instead of trying to make him fit into our little box of what's acceptable or "normal" behavior.  That little act which might have gone unnoticed by anyone else almost made me cry.

 

 

Instead of feeling like we were in a fish bowl I changed my perspective on the way I viewed things, people, and situations.  Instead of a fish bowl I changed it into a magnifying glass.  I was watching the world and looking for opportunities to rejoice and celebrate.  It wasn't very long before I found my next eye opening moment.  I went over to my parent's house for a visit, they live about 2 miles away and I spend a lot of time there on the weekends just hanging out and enjoying each other's company.  When we got there, Emilio found a bottle cap on the floor and was busy checking its "spinability".  My dad, the Harley Davidson riding, leather wearing, mustache and earring sporting, "tough guy" type got down on the floor and spun the bottle cap too!!! That immediately sent Emilio into hysteria.  His laugh was so contagious that everyone came to see what the heck was so funny and just started laughing at the fact that this bottle cap could bring so much amusement to this kid! 

 

 

It was the most awesome thing I have ever seen the two of them do.  Perspective AND Acceptance is everything.

 Paula Deen might not agree :)

Own It.

I mentioned in one of my lasts posts the thing that was the most difficult to talk about - Emilio's diagnosis.  I think its time to openly talk about the second most difficult thing - how I coped with Emilio's diagnosis.  And that's what this story is about.

When Emilio's special needs teacher met with me, along with his case worker at the Regional Center to tell me they wanted him to have a psychological evaluation to determine if he had a learning disability or Autism I KNEW what the results were going to be.  But its the way they said it and the harsh words they spoke that hit like a bucket of ice water.  They said "Lili, we would like for you and Emilio to come to our headquarters to meet with our psychologist.  The evaluation will take about 2 hours to complete and we'll be able to determine if Emilio has Autism or Mental Retardation".  That word "retardation" was a knife to my heart.  Instantly I left my body and it was as if I was watching myself in that room wondering how I got there.  They couldn't have been speaking to me!  And definitely not about Emilio!  This perfectly adorable, smart, funny, little bouncy baby boy was not that word they had just uttered.  Retarded people had extra chromosomes.  That's what I thought.  He would look different.  He would act...differently.  Emilio was normal.  He looked normal and behaved somewhat...normally.  But denial is one of the first phases of grieving according to Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, M.D.  I didn't know that until I came out of my hole...isolation.  One of the other phases of grieving.  Hmmm.  Now I see.

I couldn't get that word to come out of my mouth.  The "R" word cuts so deeply when you are newly diagnosed.  Still in denial we showed up to our appointment with the psychologist at the Regional Center.  I believed 100% that they would tell me that Emilio was just developmentally delayed.  It was February 14th, 2011.  Just 4 months shy of his 3rd birthday, and Valentine's day, nonetheless.  I felt an arrow through my heart.  But it wasn't shot by Cupid's bow.  2 hours later the results came back.  The psychologist sat with us and said Emilio tested as "mild mentally retarded" according to his IQ.  He was no longer "developmentally delayed" as I had hoped for.  It was now called Mentally Retarded and we were crushed. Not only was he epileptic, a nightmare in of itself, now he would have this lifelong condition that would limit his potential.  One doesn't outgrow a learning disability.  A child with mental retardation will grow into an adult with mental retardation and it would only become more evident as he got older.

So I went home and cried.  And cried and cried and cried.  Then I opened a bottle of wine that night  and googled "mental retardation" for days after.  Trying to learn everything there is to know about it.  Hoping that there'd be some magic bean I could find that would miraculously rid my youngest son of this horribly tragic outcome.  I fell into this very deep depression.  I could feel a black cloud over my head that wouldn't let up.  I was living with my own ghost as my soul had died.  The world changed colors and I felt happiness run out the door and not look back.  Yet I still had to go on.  Having two older boys, then 4 and 6 years old, I had to manage to get up, get them dressed, feed them, take them to and from school, and do homework with them at night, all while hiding this massively frightening skeleton in my closet.  I drank a lot during those first few weeks.  I finished a bottle of tequila within 3 days.  That's the only way I could put myself to sleep and let my mind rest.  I was mad at God and I wanted to shout "FUCK YOU AUTISM!!!  FUCK YOU EPILEPSY!!!"  But I didn't. Instead I allowed myself to spiral in this downward motion of self pity, hate and misery.  I was going through the motions of life but was not living.  I was completing my obligations as a mother, but I was not enjoying my babies.  I was so self involved and rolling downhill like a snowball and I was creating my own avalanche.  After a few finished bottles of wine and tequila I decided I needed to go see my primary doctor about a month after the diagnosis.  I told her what was going on and she gave me a years supply of Zoloft.  I felt immediate relief.  Not because it made me feel better, but because it made me feel NOTHING at all.  I was able to think of single thoughts at a time again, not this avalanche of sounds and images brought on by my intensive, incessant online research on mental disorders.
And that's how I coped for a few months.  I numbed myself of any feeling which made it not necessary to drink every night and it helped.

In April of that same year Emilio suffered a massive seizure.  He was feeling sick and had a slight fever.  I was lying in bed next to him, watching him drink his milk out of his sippy cup hoping he'd go to sleep and rest the fever away.  A few seconds later I hear a gasp and I look over at him.  His eyes had rolled to the side of his head and were bouncing around.  I called his name and got no response.  He began to vomit and his lips turned blue.  I called 911 and 4 minutes later I heard the sirens screaming up my street.  The fire department was the first to show up. I tried my best to tell them who, what, when, where, and why without my voice cracking.  Emilio stopped breathing.  We were rushed to Children's hospital where he had to be intubated and placed on life support.  Again I felt my soul leave my body.  This was just too much.  Was I really watching my baby die in front of me, helplessly?  I wanted to scream, I wanted to run around, I wanted to collapse and take his place.  I begged God to please take me instead.  He had no use for Emilio up in heaven.  He was mine and I didn't want to let go.  I hate thinking about that day...or the days following. 

My grandmother passed away that same week.  She helped raise me, my childhood home and hers shared the same lot...she was like a second mother to me.  She used to make my dresses as a little girl as I was her first granddaughter.  She was always my favorite.  I had to leave my son's bedside at the hospital to attend her funeral.  This moment right here, those two simultaneous events would have crushed what was left of my weak soul had it not been for the numbing effects of the prescription anti-depressant.  I didn't like NOT feeling anything...but at this time I NEEDED to not feel pain.  It got me through the most terrible time in my life.

Soon after, I decided that I needed professional help.  I called the Regional Center and they provided me with a name of a therapist.  I was given 8 sessions as a parent of a special needs child and I was determined to make the best of it.  The therapists asked me about my number one goal.  That was easy.  I remembered back to when I was working at a credit union and one of my clients had a set of twins with Aspbergers.  One of them was "normal" looking, but the other had severe physical limitations.  But she spoke about it as if she were having a conversation about the weather.  I really admired her strength, her courage, and her determination.  So I said to my therapist "I want to be able to OWN Emilio's diagnosis.  I want to be able to talk about it without feeling my throat close up because I want to cry.  I want to be able to face all his challenges and confront them proactively".  By the end of the 8th session I was able to accomplish ALL that.  The dark cloud had evaporated.  I no longer felt dead.  I didn't feel the need to numb my feelings anymore.  And that skeleton in the closet?  I've let it out, through this blog and it took off running and hasn't looked back.

 This is my way of shouting it on the rooftops.  I have a little boy with AUTISM, he's EPILEPTIC, and he has a LEARNING DISABILITY!!!  And I LOVE and ACCEPT him for who he is!!!  Not for what I THINK he SHOULD be!  I am OWNING every piece of it and I no longer feel the chains of restraint.  It has been an incredible learning opportunity and I am forever grateful for the lessons I've learned.  And one of those very valuable lessons has been to OWN my life.  I own my mistakes, I own my bad decisions, I own everything I can own.  I reposesses the power from anything that tries to keep me down and have me back in that isolated hole I was once in.  I refuse to be victimized and I have thrown all my party favors to those pity parties I used to throw myself.  And if for some reason I feel like I'm slipping that slippery slope, well I still have that prescription and a bottle of tequila on standby shall I need it in the future.  But as for now?  I'm the happiest I've ever been, and its completely organic and unmodified.  I own my happiness too.

I HOPE that my former skeleton can help SOMEONE out there who might be feeling the same or who can somehow relate.  Thank you for reading my blog and I wish each of you the very best.

Lili

To my boys, I am sorry.

This is a letter to my sons which hopefully one day, when you're grown, you'll stumble upon and read.

Dear Boys,

I'm sorry for the many times I pulled your ear when you weren't listening...or appeared not to be listening but were just tuning me out.
I'm sorry for yelling at you and calling you spoiled little brats. 
I'm sorry for spanking you, throwing my chancla at you, or reaching behind the my seat while driving to pinch you. 
I'm sorry for getting down on my knee to look you in the eye and whisper a torturing "promise" of whipping your butt if you didn't straighten out.  I think I was more scared of you calling my bluff than you were of me following through.

I'm sorry for the endless time-outs.  For taking away your TV privileges, your Wii, and you're BB guns that Tata shouldn't have bought you to begin with.
I'm sorry for making you write out sentence after sentence of "I will behave, I will make better choices" in your room til you were so tired you fell asleep.
I'm sorry for making you eat lettuce and tomatoes and giving you water instead of a second cup of juice.
I'm sorry for leaving you at Nana's while I took your brothers to Chuck E. Cheese to teach you a lesson on getting bad cards at school.
I'm sorry for making you scoop up dog poop and washing dishes and making you clean your own urine off the toilet seat.

For all those "mean" things I did, for which one day you'll resent me for if you haven't already, I'm truly sorry.

But one day, when you become a father...or an uncle, or a teacher, or a cop, or simply an adult, you'll look back and thank me.  Because you'll know then that disciplining you hurt me more than it hurt you. 
Hopefully one day you'll see that teaching you right from wrong, the once in a while spankings, the ear tugs and time-outs were used in the hopes that one day that ALMOST-spoiled little brat would keep from becoming a self righteous, entitled adult whom lacks respect for authority.
I did it because I love you and it was the only way I knew how.  And I HOPE that beyond all these things you know that to be fact more than any lesson I could teach you.

Shut up About Your Perfect Kid!

Here it is... the wonderful month of June.  Everyone is getting promoted to the next grade or graduating which means one thing: A whole lot of status updates talking about how AMAZING their perfect kid is.  How their incredibly super smart child has maintained a 4.0 GPA, has been on the dean's list, is going off to a super expensive college on a scholarship, has won this award or that recognition.  Well give me a second to brag about my IMPERFECT child! 

Just to make y'all braggers out there WISH your kid was as awesome as mine, here's a quick list of things I thought about while taking inventory of God's secret blessings in Autism.  In no particular order:

1. Emilio NEVER talks back. 

2. Stickers make him happy.

3. Elmo makes everything better.

4. Fountains and faucets provide HOURS of entertainment.

5. He doesn't care if his clothes come from Nordstrom's or Target.  It doesn't even need to match...as a matter of fact you can put a dress on him and he'd be none the wiser.

6. He doesn't need or want any new video games, or the Wii, or PS3.  He's happy playing with measuring spoons, bubbles, and picture frames.

7. Emilio will NEVER drink and drive.  He may actually never drink OR drive which for me means better sleep knowing he's safe in bed and my car is still in my driveway.  Which leads me to...

8. Emilio will NEVER take my car for a joyride.

9. He will never leave to be with his in-laws for Thanksgiving or Christmas.  He's mine, forever...or until God wants his angel back.

10. Emilio tells it like it is!  If you're a bad cook, he'll let you know it asap.  You can trust he's being honest.

11. Emilio NEVER lies.

12. Emilio never steals either...not purposefully anyway :)

13. He will never knock up his high school girlfriend...odd, but hey, kids are crazy.

14. Emilio has no concept of money, which means he never asks for a DIME!  Unlike my two other pocket drainers.  One of them even pulls out teeth so that he could tax the tooth fairy!

15. Emilio doesn't care if you're brown, black, or white, short or tall, fat or thin, rich or poor...as long as you give him attention he'll be your most loyal friend. 

16. Emilio always notices when I change my nail color and he likes every hue.

17. Emilio never says "are we there yet?" or "I'm bored".  I don't plan on teaching him the sign for that either.

18. He doesn't care that I sing out of tune.

19. Emilio can spin just about anything.

20. And lastly, Emilio never takes a good park for granted.  He enjoys the bucket swings as if it were his first ride, every time. 

Truth be told, he never takes ANYTHING for granted.  He hands out kisses and hugs as if they were going out of style. He loves us almost as if he knew that tomorrow isn't guaranteed. 
Emilio, at almost 4 years old, is brighter than any dean's list or GPA could ever measure.  He is PERFECTLY IMPERFECT.  Just like everyone else.

Strangers and their Accidental Lessons

The past few days have been very emotional for me.  Especially yesterday. 

Watching Jr Seau's mother during the press conference yesterday broke my heart.  Shattered it.  Not because I knew him personally.  Not because I am a die hard Chargers fan.  But because, like me, she is a mother, and to watch a mother's plea to God to take her not her son was and still is incredibly and profoundly devastating.

Tuesday morning Emilio had another neurology appointment.  They met with us for about an hour.  They adjusted his seizure medication, the dosage changes as he grows, because it is based on his weight.  And they observed him, watched what he did, asked him to perform some simple tasks such as feed a tiny toy baby with a bottle, stack some blocks, sign some words, they asked questions, and we received a new diagnosis.  ADHD.  The words on the paper stood out as big and as bold as they do right above.  And again, my heart ached.  One more roadblock.  One more obstacle.

When typical kids go for a routine check up at their pediatrician's office they get stickers and lollipops and high fives.  But it seems like just the opposite happens at a neurology appointment.  Instead of the "wow you're growing so fast!" or "look how smart you are!"  type of comments made by a normal pediatrician you get sighs and arm crossed doctors who analyze and observe your child's every birthmark.  Their every move is being closely followed to try and decipher what your child is doing, if its appropriate for their age and try to label them with a new disability if it's not. Each time we've been to see our neurologist we walk away deflated and stressed, with a new diagnosis and a new prescription to fill.  More poison that'll "make him better". 

And if we decline?  We're told that we're impairing him from learning and growing. That the neurologist isn't upset with us, he's "upset at the situation" as he sits there huffing with his arms crossed.
 

But the evil little Vietnamese doctor is highly intelligent.  We trust him.  He knows his stuff.  On top of being our neurologist, he's also the director of the autism department at Children's Hospital.  So we try not to question his opinion too often.  But sometimes somethings are not negotiable.  Aaaand then the guilt trip begins.

Yesterday was a bittersweet day.  In the lobby of Emilio's physical therapy office I was approached by a woman with a small boy named William.  She began asking me questions about Emilio's autism and his epilepsy.  She said that her son, William who's also 3, also has epilepsy.  She shared with me that he was born two months early and weighed only two pounds at birth.  He also has cerebral palsy, mental retardation, lung disease, and was just diagnosed with autism a week ago.  I knew at that very moment that this was no coincidental or accidental meeting. 

I asked her "so how are you taking it?" and her answer BLEW ME AWAY.  She said "you know, I knew he was different.  I knew he was special, I don't need anyone to tell me that.  So they could go on labeling him whatever which way so that he could get the services that he needs but it makes no difference to me.  I'm still going to love him no matter what."

In my head, as she is saying this, I think oh my God!  It's taken me MONTHS to come to terms with all of this.  And she was just diagnosed last week!!!  Every time we go to a neurologist appointment and come out with a new diagnosis I crash emotionally.  I sob, I get depressed, break into a million pieces.  And it takes a lot of effort on my part to recollect myself to where I'm able to function again.  That's usually a 24 to 48 hour turn around time because I am a mother after all and I have children to take care of so my pity party is over before curfew.  I kind of like that about me, I don't hold grudges, I forget things easily, and I get over it quick.  Its sort of a coping mechanism I think. 

But this lady at the physical therapy's office completely had me floored at the amazing strength she exhibited, being faced with so many different disabilities, her son being so young, and...she also told me that when she had William, her husband walked away from their family.  He did not want a special needs child and just decided it was too much for him.  William is her 3rd child.  She was left alone to fight this by herself, with 3 kids that depend solely on her. 

And here I am complaining about a four letter acronym that in the grand scheme of things, doesn't really make a difference.  It doesn't change the child I have.  It doesn't make him any worse or any less adorable.  I'm not minimizing my feelings, I still get frustrated, I still get irritated, I still feel blue once in a while.  But we will adapt.  I will get over it and move on.  Because I am a mother, after all. 

And as mothers we all have our own cross to bear.  We all have our own battles, our own obstacles and roadblocks.  For some it means having to raise your children on your own because their dad isn't present, either by choice (because he's a loser) or because of uncontrolled circumstances.  For others its not being able to conceive at all, or suffering multiple miscarriages.  And for some it's having to bury their own child before their time, like Mrs. Seau.  None of us leave this earth unscathed.

But as women we are built Ford tough...only tougher. More like an old Chevy truck, the kind your grandpa used to drive.  The kind that was super dependable and never let you down.

God doesn't give you what you can't handle.

I don't think there's much else that USED to get me more upset than hearing those words.  "God doesn't give you what you can't handle".  To an ASD mom like myself, that translated into 'better you than me'. But by far my most favorite thing anyone has said is "having a child with autism is a privilege".  I can guarantee the person who said that has only met an autistic kid in passing but has never actually had the "pleasure" to know one.  And it's true what they say, if you know ONE person with autism, you know ONE person with autism.  They are all so different!  None of them have the same personalities, the same abilities (or disabilities), the same characteristics, that's why it's called a spectrum! 

In my case, Emilio has classic/moderate autism.  Initially he was diagnosed as having PDD-NOS (Pervasive Developmental Delay-Not Otherwise Specified) because he is very friendly, makes great eye contact, and interacts pretty well with familiar adults.  However he is non verbal, he flaps his hands, often walks on his toes, has a gait walk, spins things, doesn't play appropriately with toys, doesn't demonstrate imaginative play, is obsessive with water, acts compulsively, NEVER sleeps through the night, has ZERO stranger danger and will WILLINGLY go with anyone, anywhere, has no fear of deep water, has no fear of anything really including moving cars, spiders, dogs...etc, etc. (to the mother that said that having a child with autism is a privilege, look at all the amazing things autism causes!)

The VERY first thing that comes out of someones mouth when I tell them Emilio has autism is "wow, I couldn't tell.  But he's so cute!"  And the same thought always comes in my head.  What were  you expecting?  Or what did you think an autistic kid looked like? 

I know people mean well, and honestly I just don't think they know enough about autism to have what I consider a "proper" reaction.  I do it myself sometimes.  Last month at Emilio's physical therapy, a woman came in with the most beautiful baby girl who had Downs Syndrome.  I said "oh my gosh she is so beautiful!  If I ever have a daughter I'd want her to look just like that!".  Then once the words escaped my mouth I thought !FACEPALM!  What did I mean by that?  That I want my imaginary future daughter to have Downs Syndrome?  And I know the mother caught my blunder because she said "Oh (big pause) um, thank you".

Lesson learned:  keep it simple, stupid.  A genuine "wow she's cute!" would have sufficed in that situation. 

I know some of you might think, well now you're over thinking it.  Perhaps I am.  But since being given a "special needs" child I am now more AWARE.  It's that awakening I talked about on my second blog entry you can read here. 

I am now much more aware of the underdog.  I am a thousand times more compassionate.  I'm a BILLION times more patient.  And all because "God doesn't give you what you can't handle".

Now the only thing that comes to mind when someone says that to me is "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."  2 Cor 12:9.

My aim in this blog was not to get all religious and bible-y.  But aside from therapy and friends that lend a good ear and an outside looking in perspective, accepting autism can be accredited to my spiritual connection to The Creator.  The combination of the three have helped IMMENSELY.  Being able to talk about it in such an open fashion was goal numero uno.  So thank you for allowing me to accomplish that.  Goal number two was to help someone else, perhaps somoeone that was recently diagnosed.  I somehow think that if I could help just ONE person though my experience then maybe a little bit of the hurt would subside. If I could raise awareness, educate one person, make someone slightly more compassionate towards special needs kids, maybe some of this weight would be lifted.  I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

In Support of Autism Awareness Month

I wanted to share some information with you fine people, in case you're wondering what are some signs or symptoms your child, or a child you might know may have autism.

These are a few things you might want to look out for:

Social skills

• Fails to respond to his or her name
• Has poor eye contact
• Appears not to hear you at times
• Resists cuddling and holding
• Appears unaware of others' feelings
• Seems to prefer playing alone — retreats into his or her "own world"

Language

• Starts talking later than age 2, and has other developmental delays by 30 months
• Loses previously acquired ability to say words or sentences
• Doesn't make eye contact when making requests
• Speaks with an abnormal tone or rhythm — may use a singsong voice or robot-like speech
• Can't start a conversation or keep one going
• May repeat words or phrases verbatim, but doesn't understand how to use them

Behavior

• Performs repetitive movements, such as rocking, spinning or hand-flapping
• Develops specific routines or rituals
• Becomes disturbed at the slightest change in routines or rituals
• Moves constantly
• May be fascinated by parts of an object, such as the spinning wheels of a toy car
• May be unusually sensitive to light, sound and touch and yet oblivious to pain

 Children with autism usually show some signs of delayed development by 18 months. If you suspect that your child may have autism, discuss your concerns with your doctor. The earlier treatment

begins, the more effective it will be.

Your doctor may recommend further developmental tests if your child:

• Doesn't babble or coo by 12 months
• Doesn't gesture — such as point or wave — by 12 months
• Doesn't say single words by 16 months
• Doesn't say two-word phrases by 24 months
• Loses previously acquired language or social skills at any age

Because I have two boys who are older than Emilio, I knew right away when something wasn't right.  The BEST piece of advice I could offer is to TRUST YOUR INSTINCTS.  They will seldom FAIL YOU! 

Feel free to pass along this message to any friend who might need it.  I once met a mother who didn't seek treatment for her 8 year old son, she said she was in denial and couldn't come to terms with her only son being autistic.  Sad.  But true.