Twenty years ago, back when my son’s speech delay became obvious, the school district sent us to a neurologist to see if he had autism. She watched him do a couple of wooden puzzles and asked him some questions. Her answer was, “Probably not.” The whole visit lasted about 15 minutes.
Teachers confided that they held back their suspicions about autism in other children because they thought it was pointless to worry the parents. Ultimately, there was nothing to be done, they said. Then they told me to get a manicure. I suppose that should have been a warning sign.
I took my son to the pediatrician’s practice regularly. None of the doctors at that office were concerned that he couldn’t ask a “why” question, couldn’t make eye contact, and that he had taught himself to read at age three. They didn’t tell me to take him to a specialist or where to get the right therapy.
Between the ages of 2 and 5, I saw many, many professionals looking for answers about my son’s speech problems until I finally got a diagnosis. At that time, the national autism rate was 1 in 150.
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