Evaluations, Observations, Diagnosis

My daughter is beautiful.  My daughter is brilliant.  Sometimes she is a princess.  Sometimes she is not.

My uncle watched her during our trip to Arizona last April.  "Someone dropped the ball," he said.  We came home, and I watched.  Carefully.  I didn't know what I was looking for, or what I would find.  Slowly, the pieces fit together.

On a trip to meet Grayson's new pediatrician, he mentioned that he wanted to send a speech therapist to our home to evaluate him.  I was not concerned, but they came.  The attention shifted to Claire.  She screamed when this woman entered our home.  She spent her time playing alone, as she does most days.  Questions were asked.  Answers were given.  Appointments were made.

For the last month, I've shuttled Claire twice a week to the local primary school for evaluation, allowing time once a week for a home observation.  I've moved appointments, grocery shopped later than I liked and got dinner on the table at a slightly later hour than I usually do, while the knot in my stomach tightened and loosened with each passing day.

And then it came.  Result Day Thursday.  January 26th.  Answers.

We sat down at a long table in a conference room surrounded by her evaluation team.  Findings were shared.  And then the diagnosis.  Autism Spectrum Disorder.  I wasn't sure what to do with it.  It jumped around my brain for a bit, trying to find it's place.

The diagnosis is really not much of a surprise to me.  Throughout the month, as I watched her, I knew.  She barely speaks, and when she does it's one word or a repeat of the TV, the iPad, my own words.  She has fleeting eye contact and detests physical contact that isn't initiated by herself.  She prefers her diaper to clothing.  She prefers to play alone and direct her direction of play over playing with other children.  Routine is a must and she become upset when it's shaken.  While Grayson is friendly, curious and outgoing, Claire is reserved.  Strangers say hello and she screams.  Family say hello, and she screams.  Frustration in her runs deep and tantrums are fierce and long.

My uncle explained the diagnosis as a big umbrella that she falls under.  From here, we need to make an appointment with Minneapolis Children's Hospital.  We need to find her services.  She needs help, and we are going to embrace her every step of the way, frustration and all.  We'll get there, one step at a time.