When I finally got an answer to all questions about my child, I felt as if I'd been slapped by the diagnosis of Autism and immediately spiraled into a depression.
Even though logic tells you that this was beyond your control, not your fault – the dark side of your thoughts are more than happy to show you all the reasons why it is precisely your fault.
Blame was thrown around: genetics, too much TV, environmental assault, stress, you name it. Not so subtle suggestions from my husband and family of it being my fault, returned with fiery anger from me. And of course it comes from him... okay and me too.
My husband and I were already separated when our daughter was finally diagnosed. I was finishing college and he was getting settled into a new job. It was the middle of her school year and her father and I were counting on the professionals at the public school. We were in (and had struggled to be so) Arizona’s #1 school district after all, they would understand her and be concerned with her best interest, RIGHT? By the end of that year I began to understand that it’s easier to get reason and truth out of a used car salesman than the ‘school side’ of the table at an IEP meeting.
Don’t worry it gets better…
One day – I can remember it so well, a few months after her diagnosis, sunshine was coming through the window, a beautiful day. I was watching her play on the floor, she was a dog. I know a lot of kids play dog – but for the last while, she is only a dog, if she is awake - she is a dog, and yet this is an improvement of sorts because she will bark at me. Which is more communication than I am use to. As I was watching her, all the statements and proclamations from the professionals about the grim future from my daughter ran amok in my head “You have to understand that there is a possibility that your daughter will never improve past this point and you may need to consider placement in a home” was the one that swirled to the front the most. She is my beautiful daughter and I love her more than anyone else, I wasn’t going to keep her at a distance to protect my heart from the sadness of not having a NORMAL relationship with her.
It was then I decided, piss on them – who were they to say what was normal or not. If my daughter was a dog then damn it, we will interact as if we are dogs – better than no relationship at all. So down on the floor I go, and I bark, softly and pant a little. She regarded me with curiosity and slowly over the rest of the afternoon she became interested in me – she came over and sniffed me and licked me on the face. That was it. That was the moment when everything changed. She was engaged.
Therapies & special pre-schools had their place, but they were nothing compared to me letting her know that she was interesting to me. That if she wasn’t going to come out – then I was coming in and together we would be dogs.
Over the next years she progressed at a rapid rate. The dog communication continued – much to the chagrin of most people looking in. The dots they failed to connect was that the talking began.
As her communication improved she began calling me “Puppy Super Bear Princess” and she was “Puppy Super Bear”. I’ve always thought my special name was a badge of honor for daring to join her world and going the distance to slowly entice her out to ours.
This is how the Adventures with Puppy Super Bear began.
