He just goes blissfully along.

The doctor said it Tuesday.

“Your son is autistic.”

Oh, and “he has Failure to Thrive syndrome as well.”

I expected it. It came from a doctor who exclusively specializes in Autistic Spectrum Disorder.

Our next step will be to head to the Kennedy Krieger Institute in Baltimore. I’m simply not comfortable with a diagnosis of autism coming from a specialist who deals only with autistic children. I asked said specialist if indeed he cared for any children whom were given a dual diagnosis of T21 plus autism. He does not.

There is just too much crossover in behavioral characteristics. We need to iron out the intersections and apply therapy appropriately. Needless to say, I need to take Elliot to a physician who handles a multitude of dual diagnosis cases, and one particular specialist practices at the Institute in Maryland.

While our visit will have to be delayed until the spring of 2009 due to financial constraints, I will not put it off any further than that. Masses of individuals are telling me to just blow it all off and go with the flow. I cannot follow that recommendation as I am better prepared for the future when given definitive answers…as definitive as one can get when dealing with a spectrum disorder, or perhaps lack there of. In the meantime, the Institute has forwarded a 30-page questionnaire regarding Wee E’s behavioral characteristics, his medical health history and the like. I’d rather send a video!

Well, he does not eat solid food. The local physician noted that we’d HAVE to head to Omaha to attend regular sessions at the feeding clinic. The “failure to thrive” you know.

Okay.

He also noted that we more than likely would have to employ the use of a feeding tube at night, restraining Elliot, as we force the liquid down.

No.

I don’t buy that and I will not further traumatize Elliot with the use of restraining measures simply so he takes 6 bottles of Pediasure per day. I WILL take him to additional therapy sessions and he WILL eat, but I will not restrain him in his crib at night with a tube shoved down his mouth to do it.

In the interim, Elliot is just Elliot. Happy as pie.

Elliot does not feel my heartache. He did not see his sister’s tears when the physician said “autism.” Nora associates this term with the young lad in her classroom that bangs his head in anguish and cries for his momma whenever someone approaches. She did not need to hear the physician’s words, but I could not find a sitter. Even Isaac sees it. He pats me when I cry. But…

Elliot is just Elliot. I tell myself that is what matters. My child is happy. He still loves his bath. He still stares at the Christmas tree and smiles and approaches to pull the ornaments off, laughing all the way. He still loves our white Persian cat and giggles when she paws at him. And, he still adores his red hair brush, probably forever playing with it (or something similar) in his special way. It makes him happy. I make him happy. His siblings and father make him happy. Life makes him happy. No matter what the harebrained piece of paper says, my Wee E will embrace life, because he is delighted to be here. That’s what is of utmost importance. My angel baby is happy. And…the descriptive paragraph found at the top of my blog will forever apply.