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.



The number one question I get...

Most of the time we don't get very many questions.  Some people either just stare or assume something is 'different' when they see Emilio.  I don't necessarily blame them.  I mean, I'm always keeping an eye out for kids that are like him when we're out.  My husband and I have sort of developed an ASD (autism spectrum disorder) radar since being diagnosed.  With the numbers growing so rapidly we're finding kids like him almost every time we're out.  Either a kid that laughs out of sync at the movies, to a kid that walks on his toes at the park, not to mention the visits at our doctor's office. 

There's many little things Emilio does that separates him from the bunch when we're out and about.  He 'runs' funny, which really isn't a run but more of a super fast paced walk on his toes.  You know that quote made famous by Ali?  "Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee?"  That's Emilio.  When he runs it's like a butterfly, his little hands flap and his legs are like watching someone run on stilts.  Very stiff knees.  And the sting like a bee part, well that's because he has a bad habit of hitting people.  That's another thing that makes him stand out.  He hates to see people cry.  His reaction is either to cry himself, or hit them.  It's one or the other and you never know which one it's going to be.  We're working on helping him be more compassionate.  It's one of the many things we're working on.  Bending his knees when he runs is another.  Everything that should come naturally to a person has to be learned through some kind of therapy for Emilio.  And you'd think he'd complain!  But he never does! 

He never complains because Emilio is what they call "non verbal".  One of the many side effects to being autistic.  Emilio has a vocabulary of about 8 words.  And each of those words took a LOT of work for him to learn.  He can say Mama, Papa, Nana, Tata, wow, agua, ball, ice, and he is currently working on "casa" and "leche".  He used to be able to say my sister's nickname, Tita, for a WHOLE DAY!  But since his seizure in April of last year he hasn't been able to say it.  You can tell he struggles so much with vocabulary.  Not just the mechanics of it, but also associating what's what. 

There's many books at the public library, along with DVDs that teach sign language and I've rented them ALL.  For Emilio it's much easier to learn to sign than it is to learn to speak and it has given him a voice!  He has learned about 15 or more words in sign.  He knows the basic colors, foods, and signs that go with songs like "The Itsy Bitsy Spider" and "If You're Happy and You Know it".  It has been a total game changer for our whole family.  All of us are so much less stressed because half of the time we no longer have to play the guessing game trying to figure out why he's having a meltdown.  He's able to tell us if he wants more chocolate milk or if he wants you to show him the pictures in a book, or if he wants to play.  All through the magic of SIGN!  I say half the time we don't have to play the guessing game, but the other half we still do.  And if you don't guess within like 12 seconds, Emilio will turn into The Hulk.  Really.  He gets angry fast and that's a side you don't want to see!

I guess I would get angry too if I couldn't tell people when I was hurt, if I'm hungry, if I'm sleepy, if something is bothering me.  It must suck to not be able to say LISTEN!  Leave me alone!  I'm tired!  My stomach hurts!  Or whatever was on my mind. 

Which brings me to my final point.  The number one question people ask is "do you ever think he's going to talk?"  I get that one ALL the time.  The truth is I DON'T know if he's ever going talk.  Initially, that's all I could think about when we first received the diagnosis.  Will he ever talk?  Will he ever learn how to ride a bike?  Will he ever read and write?  Do math?  Have a girlfriend?  Get married?  Live on his own?  What will happen to Emilio if something were to happen to ME?! 

All these questions have the potential to spiral you into a dark abyss if you give them too much time.  What IF's can ruin any kind of peace you're trying to achieve.  They rob your sleep, they make you dizzy during your waking moments, it's not a happy place.  SO, I just don't think about that anymore.  I've learned to LIVE IN THE NOW.  Like, RIGHT NOW this minute, this second.  I take joy in whatever he achieves TODAY.  Things like helping me to load the dryer, put socks in the laundry basket, stack 4 blocks on top of each other, turn on a light switch, place a sticker on his own hand, pee in the toilet, wash his own hands, allow me to brush his teeth.  I celebrate these things DAILY.  That action, living in THIS moment, has brought me so much more calm and peace than any other single action in my life.  At first I thought, easier said than done...and it is!  It IS easier said than done.  But nothing worth having comes easy. 

So enjoy it while it lasts.

Ripping the bandaid off, aka the most difficult thing to talk about.

Ok.  Taking a few deep breaths as I think about all the people who will read this either immediately or in the near future and trying to gain the courage to say it out loud (type, say...same difference).  Here goes...

So in the last blog I mentioned that soon after Emilio had his first seizure he was enrolled in the Early Start program where I had to load him on to this huge bus and send him off to our neighborhood elementary school twice a week for special ed.  At that time the only diagnosis he had received was for epilepsy.

Soon I would discover, through his school and from home evaluations that the Regional Center did once every few months, that he also had "global developmental delays".  A developmental delay is any significant lag in a child's physical, cognitive, behavioral, emotional, or social development, in comparison with norms. That means that he was delayed in every aspect of his development, speech both expressive and receptive, gross and fine motor skills were painfully slow to develop, at this point he still wasn't crawling but by the time he was 12 months old he had finally figured out how to sit unassisted. And he still hadn't spoken a word.  Not even a "kind of" word that sounded like a word.  No baby babbling, no pointing, he never responded to his name, I'm not even sure he KNEW his name.  Not mama or papa or anything.  I was somewhat concerned that he was deaf, but those tests came back normal.  At 20 months of age, after Emilio had been enrolled in the program for almost a year, his coordinators called me in for a meeting at the school.  What I thought was going to be a progress meeting to tell me how he was doing and what to expect next.  But really, nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to hear. 

When you're sending your baby off to a new school before they're even able to talk, as a mother you make sure you know every one's stats, phone number, extension, natural hair color, weight, height, etc etc...So needless to say, we were on a first name basis.  The two women and I sat down on these mini plastic blue chairs, the kind you would expect a preschool to have, and they started by saying what a pleasure Emilio is to work with and how engaged he is with the music and how cute he is.  I nodded and said thank you.  Yes, he is cute and he loves music, LOVES music!  All he has to do is listen to one song one time and he'll hum it for you for days after. 

Then they looked at me and said that they wanted Emilio to be taken in to the Regional Center headquarters and meet with their psychologist to be evaluated for autism and/or mental retardation.  My throat closed up.  I began to feel my palms sweat.  Did I hear them right?  Had I known this was going to be THAT KIND of meeting I would have asked my husband to come along with me.  Maybe he could keep the room from spinning right about then.  My eyes welled up with a flood of tears.  I told them that I had suspected he'd be autistic for a while.  Ever since he began to miss all the milestones my other boys had met right around his age.  But m-m-m-m...I couldn't even say the word.  Such a BIG word with so many definitions, none of which described Emilio. That word, to this day, scratches at my vocal cords like a jagged knife.  Its the single, most hardest thing I've ever had to face.  To say that my son is "mentally retarded".  How?  How did this happen?!  How did this FUCKEN HAPPEN?!

Valentines Day, 2011

My husband and I took Emilio to his appointment at the Regional Center to meet with the psychologist.  We were there for four hours.  Puzzle after puzzle, pretend play, pushing ducks with sticks, pegs and holes, colored bears and baby toys.  Test after test.  The psychologist and the service coordinator walked out the door after an extensive battery of tests and came back about 20 minutes later.  We were very nervous.  Afraid of the results of his performance.  We were in the same room the entire time, we saw how he didn't know how to put the puzzle piece in it's corresponding cut out.  He couldn't push the stupid duck off the table with a stick, but so what?  Since when did that measure anything?  But I think I was just in shock really. 

The psychologist said Emilio scored in the mild mental retardation category.  There it was again. That fucken word.  Quit saying that!  He's not fucken retarded. Retarded is someone with Downs Syndrome.  Retarded people look different, you could tell there's something 'different' when you see someone retarded.  Emilio looked like everyone else!  He's cute, he's funny, he's loving and happy!  Wow.  That's the day I woke up.  Everything I thought I knew was 'different' from that point forward.

'Retarded' took on a new meaning for me soon after.  At first, still trying to cope, I tried to think about it as just a learning disability.  To put in in perspective 15% of Americans have a learning disability.  Being able to say Emilio has a learning disability was waaaaaay easier to say than 'the word'.  It's more socially acceptable, people don't ask too many questions, etc.  But unfortunately those two terms aren't interchangeable.  They mean two different things.  A learning disability means basically that one might struggle academically.  Skills of listening, speaking, reading, writing, and/or mathematics may be negatively affected.  As opposed to someone with MR.  Mental retardation is a disability characterized by significant limitations both in intellectual functioning and in adaptive behavior as expressed in conceptual, social, and practical adaptive skills. Emilio has and will continue to learn new things, he's just doing so at a much slower pace than his peers do. 

First day of school!

Breaking the news to my family and friends was really difficult.  The first person I told was my sister.  We spent most of the time crying on the phone.  She lives in the same town as I do, but I just couldn't face anyone just yet.  It was too hard.  I didn't want anyone to take pity on us.  I didn't want Emilio to be treated differently.  To be handicapped by his diagnosis.  I needed to sort this all out so that he could have as normal a childhood as possible. 

I went to therapy for a few months, the main thing I wanted to be able to work on was acceptance.  I wanted to be able to say 'the word' without my voice breaking and my eyes filling up with tears.  I knew that if I was able to say it, I'd be that much closer to accepting it.  14 months later here I am writing this blog.  I've got to be honest and say that yes, it still hurts me to say the word.  It still stings my throat.  I cringe when people use it to put down others, to use it as a synonym to 'stupid' or 'dumb'.  It's no different than calling someone a 'faggot' or calling a Mexican a 'spic' or 'wetback'.  It's RUDE, it's IGNORANT, it's HATEFUL, it's WRONG.

Emilio is NOT stupid.  Emilio is NOT dumb.  He's loving, he's bright, he's caring, he's HILARIOUS!  He doesn't judge, he's not superficial, he's the epitome of unconditional LOVE.  He's a son, a brother, a grandson, a nephew. 

He is by far the MOST STRONGEST person I know.

He has the heart of a lion.

He's opened my eyes to a whole new world of crazy.  And it's been a hell of a ride!  I can say with all certainty that the diagnosis does not define Emilio.  It just explains some of his quirks. 

So that was it.  That was my bandaid.

Where's Your Shoe?!

So, you might be wondering why the name of this blog is "Where's Your Shoe?!"  I'll get to that on the next blog. Today...we'll start at the beginning.


I'm a 31 year old mother of 3 beautiful bouncy boys and this is the story of my youngest, Emilio.
Emilio is the sweetest, cutest little 3 year old ever!  My 3rd son, which was supposed to be my girl but I guess "God had other plans" :)
I was absolutely certain he was going to be a girl. My cravings were different, all I wanted was sweets, sweets, sweets!  I remember drinking the honey right out of the plastic bear and having Pop Tarts for breakfast.  This was not typical for me or any of my pregnancies.  So I knew that this time, this pregnancy was definitely different.  A girl, for sure! 

Five months into my pregnancy we went in to get a routine ultrasound, but this one was special.  This one they'd be able to tell the sex of the baby!!!  I was so excited and full of pee (not a good combination).  Minutes after they began I could see two glowing little lumps on the screen.  I looked at my husband, then back at the monitor and asked "those are balls aren't they?"  She replied with a simple "yes, they are". There I had it.  The surprise of a lifetime. My motherly instincts had failed me for the first time, ever.  It was a boy, and boy did that sting.  But only for about 3 days.  I guess I had just let myself get all worked up and excited over picking tutus and patent leather shoes.  But the reality of it is, I love boys.  Boys are absolutely amazing.  I love Lego's and dirt and frogs and Marvel comics and I am soooo glad that I don't have to pretend to be anything princess-y.

Anyways, back to Emilio.  Two days after he was born, we still didn't have a name.  So we decided on Emilio. His great-grandfather's name and his dad's middle name, and it's a decision I'd regret since!

No one could pronounce Emilio! I should have named him Adam or Abraham. Easy to pronounce in English and Spanish, something that's very important to our Mexican-American culture. But a day late and a dollar short I suppose.

Having Emilio home felt so...right.  He was the perfect addition to our family.  The boys bonded with him right away.  There was no jealousy from either of his two older brothers.  I guess they were so used to the idea of a new baby that by the time the stork dropped him off they were just excited to meet him.

Benny and Diego are truly the best big brothers on the planet. They do anything and everything for their little brother, no matter how mean he could be sometimes :)

Emilio was a quiet baby.  He hardly ever cried and when he did, you could barely hear him.  It was almost as if he was too lazy to really cry.  I didn't mind it at all.  Benny, the middle one, had suffered from colic as an infant and I would spend hours on end trying to soothe and comfort him to no avail.  Switching formulas, bouncing him, rocking him, rubbing his tummy, giving him teas and rice water, tablets and drops. Nothing helped!  Until one day he just finally grew out of it.  It was actually a relief to have such a quiet baby.  I thought I had paid my dues and was finally being blessed with an "easy baby".  But around five months I began to notice that Emilio was more than just a quiet baby.  He really struggled to sit on his own.  His back didn't have much strength, even if you held him by his hips he would flop to either side if he weren't completely being held and supported.  At five months is when he had learned to roll over, which is kind of late when compared to my other two sons.  At his six month baby check up I brought my concerns to his pediatrician.  He told me that I was just comparing him to my other sons, that all kids develop differently, and that I should just relax a little.  So I did.

Here he is at eight months, the following doctor's appointment.  As you could see he's leaning a little because he still can't support his own weight to sit by himself. 

The fact that he still couldn't sit unassisted at eight months was a huge concern for me. At this check up he still wasn't able to crawl, nor was he even attempting to grab on to furniture to pull himself up, nor was he pointing at anything, he was still very quiet, except at night...he never sleeps through the night, and he didn't respond to his name...the list goes on. He was missing milestone after milestone.  But he made good eye contact and even smiled at people.  I guess that was enough to keep the doctor's happy because they didn't seem concerned at all.   I was just another mother quick to worry. 

A week after his first birthday Emilio caught the flu.  One of the many benefits of having two older sticky, smelly brothers.  But as they got better with a little IBU and a warm bath, Emilio got worse.  I laid him down after giving him a bath and instantly his condition worsened.  His eyes rolled and bounced to the back of his head, his limbs became limp and cold, and his lips turned blue.  Having never seen this before I yelled to my husband, he rushed over and tried to rub his sternum to get a reaction.  But there was none.  His body was completely limp, like a doll. We rushed towards the Children's Hospital and carried him into the ER.  They took him from my arms and put a tube down his tiny throat.  Loaded him full of anti convulsants

This picture was taken shortly before his first seizure.  Adorable, isn't he?

We went his entire first year believing he had "febrile seizures" which is defined as:

Febrile seizures are convulsions brought on by a fever in infants or small children. During a febrile seizure, a child often loses consciousness and shakes, moving limbs on both sides of the body. Less commonly, the child becomes rigid or has twitches in only a portion of the body, such as an arm or a leg, or on the right or the left side only. Most febrile seizures last a minute or two, although some can be as brief as a few seconds while others last for more than 15 minutes.
The majority of children with febrile seizures have rectal temperatures greater than 102 degrees Fahrenheit. Most febrile seizures occur during the first day of a child's fever. Children prone to febrile seizures are not considered to have epilepsy, since epilepsy is characterized by recurrent seizures that are not triggered by fever.

One of the many things I've learned on this journey is that we are all capable of having a seizure.  Everyones threshold is different.  Things such as high fevers, an injury to the head, extreme stress, lack of sleep, alcohol and drug abuse, as well as family history can all contribute to having a seizure or seizures.  Turns out Emilio's threshold is very low.  The seizure in June of '09 was just the first of many.  He's had 3 severe seizures, the longest lasting 50 minutes, non stop.  He's had countless little ones, usually lasting between 10 seconds up to a minute each.
We discovered after his 2nd severe seizure in April of 2011 that it was no longer febrile seizures.  The neurologist said Emilio was epileptic. He would need to be on an anti epileptic medication until further notice.  I was very, very sad. VERY sad.  But after seeing him have two really horrible, scary seizures I didn't so much care that he was being placed on meds...as long as he didn't get any more of those debilitating seizures I was willing to try anything.  So we started him on twice daily Keppra.
His eyes were a little crazy when he first began the medication.  It seemed to get him a little dizzy at first.  He would bump into things and had trouble focusing.  But after the first two weeks the side effects went away.

I was asked to follow up with my pediatrician a few days after being seen in the ER the first time in '09.  The pediatrician which shall remain nameless unless you look up my review on Yelp! (insert angry emoticon here)...I had learned to distrust the guy by then. Follow up? For what?  Just so I could get swept under the rug like all the other times?!  A seizure is what it took to finally be heard.

Upon reading Emilio's chart and recent ER visit, he referred us to the San Diego Regional Center. 
And soon after that, I'd have to be loading up my tiny, fragile, voiceless little baby onto a big yellow bus for a special ed class twice per week which included music, art, playtime...they called it the "Early Start Program".  An early intervention program is what it is.

And even though I've met a biiiig group of kids, all with different types of disabilities, all beautiful in their own way, I've never met anyone else like Emilio.  He is as unique as an 1943 Lincoln Penny formed in bronze.  Looks just like all the other ones, but to me he's worth millions.