Dear valued readers, thanks for tuning into my next episode! A quick recap: I took my nonverbal son, Luke, to the Marcus Center in Atlanta, an organization that diagnoses autism, when he was three years old. After a thorough evaluation, the doctors determined that my son had PDD, or Pervasive Developmental Disorder. I jumped out of my chair and screamed that my son didn’t have autism; he had a medical condition. I vowed then and there that I would drag him to the end of the Earth if I had to, to find out what it really was.
And thus I embarked into the lurid world of autism.
Since the small town that we lived in didn’t have the resources to deal with an autistic child, I searched several states for a school that could accommodate his special needs. I settled on a school in Brentwood, Tennessee called High Hopes. Luke and I got an apartment nearby, living there during the week, then making the trek home on the weekends.
The school had an amazing staff which included speech therapists, behavioral specialists as well as a wonderful occupational therapist, whom I credit with putting Luke on the road to recovery.
We had been at the school about a month when Sarah, his occupational therapist, a timid girl in her early twenties with a gentle smile, commented that Luke tugged at his ears a lot, and that he sniffled and sneezed throughout the day. I explained to her that he was under a doctor’s care for chronic ear infections, and that the doctor had him on continuous antibiotics.
“Have you ever had Luke tested for allergies?” Sarah asked me.
“His pediatrician doesn’t believe in allergies,” I replied. “He said that if they can’t be measured then they aren’t real.”
“There’s an allergy doctor in Towson, Maryland who specializes in children with autism. His name is Dr. Richard Layton.” She glanced over at Luke, who was lying on the floor, staring at wooden trains that he had lined up in a row, oblivious to the bevy of activity around him. “I really think Luke doesn’t hear very well,” she added.
“Well, the doctors placed tubes in his ears and said his hearing is normal,” I said.
“It won’t hurt to go see this doctor,” she said.
I took Luke home and looked up Dr. Layton on the Internet. I called his office, was happy with what I was told, and made our appointment and bought our plane tickets.
My husband gave me a hard time about taking his son to see “every snake oil salesman out there,” and we fought long into the night. He finally threw up his hands and said, “Do what you want; you always do, anyway.”
Dr. Layton, a kind man with wavy white hair and a twinkle in his eyes, examined Luke’s ears and proclaimed that they were full of fluid. “He hasn’t been able to hear a word you say,” he said. “The sound waves bounce off the fluid in his ears.”
“But the doctors said his hearing was normal,” I said.
“That’s because they had just placed the tubes in his ears, and the tubes were still patent. His tubes are completely clogged now. I’m going to start him on some ear drops, and that should clear the fluid so that he can start hearing.”
Hope surged inside of me, making me giddy with anticipation. “Do you really think he’ll start talking then?” I asked in a breathy voice.
“Give it six weeks,” the doctor advised, “then I think he’ll start saying his first words.”
I clutched Luke to my chest and skipped out of the doctor’s office on a cloud of dreams.
Lo and behold…the doctor’s words rang true. Within six weeks Luke said “Mama.”
The day Luke said “Daddy,” my husband broke into a rare smile. “I’ll never doubt you again!” he cried. “Do whatever you need to do.”
The words started coming for Luke, but the behavior issues escalated until he was out of control. And that, my dear friends, is a discussion for another day!
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*hugs* Scarlett
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