by Roxan Finnell

Created on: April 30, 2008   Last Updated: August 04, 2009

I know other mothers cried when they got the news, but I didn't. It never occurred to me to be sad or upset. It was like, "Ok, my child is Autistic, now what?" Maybe it was because I knew something was not right from the moment we brought her home from the hospital. She was perfect, too perfect, with unblemished skin and a face that reminded people of a china doll. Delicate fingers that were so thin it took two of them to match the size of most other babies fingers. She weighed over eight pounds, but she was tiny. She had no baby fat to speak of, and even as much as she ate, there was never much gain.

At the age of 6 months she spoke. When she turned 1 year she didn't. There was no eye contact, no recognition, no response. She was happy in her own world, and would only let me in because I was her provider.

I dealt with criticism from others. I was told I was a bad mother because I did things that were outside of the norm of parenting. I propped bottles because it was the only way she would eat. I set her high chair behind everyone at holiday functions. not because I wanted her to be separate from other, but because I knew the presence of others would upset her. She ate solids far sooner than most babies, and it wasn't until I received her diagnosis that I knew it was because of issues with texture.

Do I know what caused her condition? I have my suspicions, but I'm told it can't be that way. My labor and delivery was, for lack of a better word, and to give you some understanding of the severity, violent. She suffered bradycardia several times during labor, was a vacuum extraction, and had to be turned from a transverse lie position by a physician while still in the womb. Could any of these things have made a impact? I can only suspect they did.

Autism forever changes. You settle into one pattern of behavior and it ceases abruptly, only to be replaced by another. One day she is twisting her hair until it begins to break off at the roots. Another day she is taking yarn, putting it into a plastic bag, and sleeping with it like a stuffed animal. Obsession is a major part of her life. Hours upon hours spent looking for four leaf clovers, doing things in a pattern. If she thinks something should be done a certain way, then that is the only way she will do it.

At 19 she is off all medication, much to the Doctor's chagrin. We made the decision together, and while she has begun a pattern of self stimming, by way of picking at and chewing on the collars of her tee shirts, we are taking a wait and see approach about starting medication again. For now she is doing fine, working and making plans to attend college. She has surpassed my expectations for her, and while she will always be autistic, I know she will be all right.

If I look back on my own childhood I see the evidence of my own possible diagnosis of Autism. I spun, , I had issues with textures (especially foods), and I felt better being alone. My mother said I was antisocial. I wanted things done in a certain way at all times. I still do. I have to read the last page of books like an obsession that I can't keep myself from. I collected odd things and kept them with me even at the risk of ridicule. I would even chance to say my uncanny skills in the kitchen (some would say I was born with it) from the time I was five years old could be a result of it. Who knows and who can say?

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