A Blog About Sanity

I am still sane.

I just want to put that out there. My family's kind of going through our own special little crisis, and I'm most of the time kind of freaked out and tired. But something I'm not? Depressed.

I'm calling B today; it's been about a month and a half since I've seen her. I'm not going because I feel like I'll fall to pieces if I don't, but it will be good for me to debrief the past several weeks. It's good to visit the doctor for checkups every now and then, you know? Especially when you're in a situation that could get you real sick real fast.

The situation as it stands is thus: we're home from our little vacay, and I'm diving in. I called 3 different facilities today--two childrens' hospitals and an autism treatment center--to find out what we need to do to get William tested. One of the hospitals and the treatment center said they wouldn't test him until he's 3. There's only one problem with that. He's 2. And I hesitated with this for a little bit, but you know what? If my kid has autism, I want help and treatment now. Not next year. I know of 18-month-old children being treated for autism. If they can be diagnosed, so can William. If they want to test him again next year to make sure the diagnosis is accurate, I don't care. They can test him every week until he turns 18 for all I care. Just gimme that diagnosis and a treatment plan. What matters is that we're given the tools to help him lead a healthy, functional life as early as possible. I don't give a crap about the need for doctors to cover their naked buttcheeks. Not at the expense of my kid, anyway.

One of the hospitals, surprisingly enough, heard his age and what I had to say, and said, "Okay, let's get some information and we can set up an appointment." I had to slow them down. So I'm playing a little bit 'o phone tag with the pediatrician and one of the nurses at PMCH (as the eager hospital shall be called). Once we get all questions answered and referrals in place, we'll have a spot on my planner, somewhere, that says "William's ASD test." ASD, by the way, is Autism Spectrum Disorder, for those of you who weren't aware. It's cool. Don't feel like an idiot for not knowing that; most of the receptionists I spoke with today didn't know, either.

You know I hope that this is not what's wrong with my child. I do think that having this diagnosis would be incredibly helpful (in the way of getting the help we need with him) and even validating. I don't want it. But I kind of do. It's weird and sick, and I wish I knew how to explain that very, very strange nervousness.

It's been six months since I've started this blog, and I've gone from being empowered to embarrassed to a prisoner of my own mind all the way to desperate, anxious, indecisive, and self-deprecating...and then all the way up to the most important person in the world.

Well, I'm not. I know that. But as an advocate for my son, I'd say I'm worth something.

I like it. This being-sane thing has its perks.