A “special” child

It’s hard to know where to start with something like this. I want to tell my and my family’s story, plus I want to make it interesting for someone who comes across this page, but I also don’t believe I need to tell EVERYTHING about my life up to this point (it would take too long anyway. I’m 41 years old, for goodness sakes).

Since I want to kind of focus on a lot of the challenges my wife and I face with raising our three diverse children, I’ll start with the child that is our focus for oh, around 80-90% of our day: Colin.

Colin’s life started in a very rough way. True to his form, though, he proved himself to be a real fighter. He was born to a biological mother who was a prostitute, and I believe, hooked on drugs. Colin was put into the foster care system after a CPS worker found him, at five weeks old, in an apartment with no electricity (it was June, in Dallas, TX). His bio-mom rarely changed his diaper despite neighbors giving the young woman free diapers, and when he would cry because he was hungry, she would stuff peanut butter in his mouth to make him stop. This was despite the fact that the same neighbors who gave her diapers, also gave her formula. She just refused to take care of him, and left him in a car seat with no cover or padding.

So, at five weeks old, a severely malnourished, but seemingly happy, Colin (then known as Jessie-father unknown, by the way), was delivered to me and my first wife, Wendy. Soon after, Colin’s bio-mom was never seen, or heard from, again.

We noticed fairly early on that Colin was having some developmental delays. He did not sit up unassisted until he was almost a year old. He would not, or could not, sit up to drink a bottle. In fact, feeding issues dogged Colin for the first few years of his life because as a newborn, he learned that if something solid was in his mouth (like the peanut butter his bio-mom stuffed in his mouth), then he better not swallow it because he could choke to death. He was smart (and a survivor) even then.

So, with the help some wonderful therapists from Early Childhood Intervention (ECI), and another group called Therapy 2000, Colin was hitting most of his developmental goals by the age of 2. Even then, he showed a great talent for memorization by mastering matching games and putting together puzzles that were designed for older kids. I remember asking his therapists and doctors (mainly because of his receptive speech delays) if they thought he could be autistic, but they answered they didn’t think so because a) he was pretty verbal (in fact, he rarely stopped talking), and b) he did not do the stimming so many people associate with autism.

To her credit, one of my good friends, Amy (a school psychologist) said she thought he might be autistic and tried to push me to get him tested. By that time, though, I was dealing with the death of my first wife (more on that later), and I decided that I would listen to Colin’s doctors and therapists. Besides, who wants to hear their child is autistic, especially while in the grips of depression and grief?

Not long after I met Sara, she really started pushing me to get Colin more testing (he had already been diagnosed with pretty severe ADHD). We ended up taking him to a Developmental Pediatrician who confirmed the autism diagnosis in August of 2010. It was a pretty big blow at the time. All of a sudden I started picturing all of my hopes and dreams for Colin (baseball star, academic excellence, grand children) going down the drain. It really hit me like a ton of bricks, despite it being something I already knew in the back of my mind anyway.

The truth of the matter is that none of those things were lost, and the diagnosis of autism did not change who Colin is as a child. He is still the lovable, goofy, smart, sensitive, frustrating, kid he has always been (and always will be).

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