Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Accepting Asperger's


Enjoyed a beautiful brunch with my Bible Study friends.


My tummy twisted in knots and my knees knocked as I plopped down on the doctor's sofa.  We exchanged pleasantries and exchanged book recommendations.  Finally, she cleared her throat.  I know you want the test results, she announced.  Did I ever.  I moved to the front of my seat and eagerly gazed into her eyes.


"After an extensive amount of testing he's official diagnosis comes back as Asperger's," she said.


 As I calmly listened to her explain percentiles and dissect test results, a peace washed over me.  I can't explain it really.  I suppose I felt like I finally landed at a place of acceptance.  Years back, when a swim teacher first referred to my son as an "autistic child" I greeted her words with a mixture of terror and shock.  And a few months after that, when the school district threw out the "Asperger's" word, I spiraled into hysterics.  The truth was words like "autism" and "Asperger's" were foreign to me.  The limited knowledge I had of those terms conjured up scary images and lifetime challenges.


The next couple of years were spent learning about those words, living those terms, accepting those labels.  What I learned was Asperger's doesn't define a child, but helps explain them just a little bit.


He has Asperger's and that's OK.  


I wouldn't want him any other way.











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