It was Chol Hamoed Sukkos when my husband and I took our son to the child development unit in Children's hospital. It was the last place I wanted to be on such a beautiful day. Hopefully, I thought, this appointment won’t take too long and we'll still have time to take the children to the zoo. We were almost there. My thoughts drifted back to Yisroel. I was getting anxious. Why wasn't he talking yet? And there was something else, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. At his 14-month well child check, he appeared to be a normal, sweet, healthy little boy. He had reached all of his milestones on time. Physically, he had no delays. He smiled and giggled when we acted silly, although I did notice that he didn’t respond as quickly as his other brothers did, but I shrugged it off to the fact that we had a very busy house, I didn’t spend the same amount of time with him that I did with his other brothers, and every child is different.

"Do you have any concerns?" our pediatrician asked us in his usual fatherly tone.

"Yes," I said, "he’s not talking!"

He didn’t look too concerned. "Does he have any words?" He asked.

"No! Nothing! Not a single word."

"Well, I wouldn’t be too concerned," he answered. "He has reached the rest of his milestones on time and everything else seems to be normal. Usually if there is a problem, then crawling, walking or something else would be delayed as well and he’s right on target. He seems to be just a late bloomer. I wouldn’t worry."

Well, I hoped he was right. We both knew I was, and still am, a big worrier, so I tried my best to let his professional observation and experience reassure me, but I still left his office feeling that something was not quite right.

Five months later, I couldn’t take it any more so we found ourselves in the speech and language unit in Children's Hospital. Here, I thought, someone will finally be able to help us and explain to us why our son isn't talking yet. Then we can hopefully fix it and get him to start talking! We walked into the speech pathologist’s office. I smiled. I wanted to become quick friends with this woman who would soon tell us what the problem was and how to fix it. She responded with an indifferent and serious look.

"What is your main concern about your son?" she asked us.

"Well, he's not talking. He doesn’t say anything."

"Will he say mama or dada, or maybe something that resembles that?"

"No!" I said excitedly. She raised an eyebrow and took out a questionnaire from a large textbook as if to say, ‘well I know which information we have to go through now.’ I was relieved watching her. She really seemed to know where to look and what the problem was. Then she started asking me questions that didn’t seem to have anything to do with speech. I became confused and flustered. I found I couldn’t give her straight answers, or at least answers that seemed to be right.

"Does your son point?"

"Does your son do imaginary play?"

"Does he imitate?"

"Well, no," I explained. "Things are so crazy right now and I haven’t had a chance to sit down to teach him those things, but I'm sure he could."

Suddenly I felt like an awful mother. What kind of mother doesn’t have time for her child, so much so that now he is not doing these things? "But what does this have to do with speech?” I thought. 

"He's not talking, he's just not talking! There is nothing else wrong with my son!" I wanted to yell. But her questions were making me a little uneasy. I found myself defending him.

"Things are a little stressful right now, the kids are so close together, and his personality is very laid back. He's really happy just doing his own thing."

"Is he aware of his surroundings?"

"Sure," I said, "but he's happy being in his own world. He sees what we are doing, he watches us, but again, he's just happy doing his own thing."

Then she sat on the floor next to Sruly and brought out a few toys. She put a tea set in front of him and pretended to drink from a cup and then pretended to have a doll drink from a cup. I thought this was a little advanced for him, and that if I sat down to teach him he could probably catch on. Yisroel looked over at the cups, than turned away looking uninterested. I wasn’t even sure if he understood what she was doing.

"You see," I explained, "he's aware of his surroundings, he is just happy doing his own thing." But she started to make some notes in her book. I realized that he was supposed to imitate her and join her in her imaginary play.

"He could do it if I taught him," I told her, " I just never sat down to teach him those things." She looked up at me without smiling, waited until I was done and then finished writing. Ok, she seemed to take that into consideration.

An hour later our appointment ended. I was emotionally drained. She gave us some numbers and people to call. One was the Alliance for Infants and toddlers "to get services." The other was the number to the child development unit in Children's Hospital "to find out why he is not talking." When she said that she made it sound like something was seriously wrong. Nothing is wrong, I told myself. He is a normal, happy kid. We just have to figure out why he’s not talking and fix it. And I also need to spend more time with him.

"Who do I call first?" I asked her.

"Well, you need to contact both of them but make an appointment with Children’s as soon as possible."

So there we were on Chol Hamoed Sukkos. We were looking for signs for the child development unit, but all we saw was a plaque with the words: Autism and Developmental Disorders. Well, that’s not us, I thought. I told my husband to ask someone. He asked the first person we saw coming down the hallway.

"Go to the main elevator, up to floor two and when you walk out, make an immediate left and you'll be right there."

We walked over to the main elevator and my 3 year old happily took the job of the elevator button presser. As we were waiting for the elevator, I noticed the sign. It said, Autism, Pervasive developmental disorders and Downs Syndrome, 2nd floor.

"Is this where they are sending us?" I thought. "There is a mistake, this is not going to help us!"

We stepped out of the elevator and found we were following the signs for "Autism, and PDD." I didn’t know then what PDD was, but I did know that our son did not have autism and this was not the right place for us. Thirty minutes later, I was finally settled with Yisroel in a small office waiting for the psychologist. This is not where we need to be, I thought. This is a waste of time. Maybe we were just using this office for space. I'm sure they realize we are not using this office for autism. Our son definitely does not have that!

There was a knock on the door and the psychologist walked in. She smiled. I smiled back, a little tense. "So," she said, " I see you have your hands full. A three and a half year old, a two year old and this little guy, and another one on the way I see. How far along are you?"

"About 5 months," I said.

We made some small talk about my family and the kids. This calmed me down a little. I felt she was getting a good picture of what was going on in our home, and there were finally some questions I could give straight answers to, questions I understood that definitely seemed relevant.  Then we started talking about Yisroel and our concerns for him. I was beginning to think that maybe I had more than just one concern for him. The next hour and 15 minutes was very much like our appointment with the speech pathologist, but more intense. At the end of our appointment she asked me a question, which made me realize that we were just wasting our time. "Have you ever thought your son has autism?"

"What? No!" I answered firmly. "I do not think our son has autism."

She smiled, wrote down a few things in her notes, than looked up at me and said, "I think your son has autism."

"Well, I don’t." I said as coolly as I could.

I was surprised, angry and hurt. Surprised at her diagnosis and her bluntness. Angry at her for thinking of such a thing and hurt that we had been sent there in the first place. She gave me a packet of information. She started talking about the agencies, websites and support groups that were in the packet, but I let it go in one ear and out the other. I waited until she finished speaking.

When she left, I asked the nurse what other pediatric psychologists were in the office. I wanted another opinion. I looked at the list. There were five others.  Surely I could find one who really knew her stuff.

A month later, I was back in the office with a different psychologist. Right away I was comfortable with her. She was gentle and sensitive and listened with a genuine smile about all I had to say, our concerns, how we found our way to her office, what brought us there... Yisroel slept through the whole thing. At one point I tried to wake him but he was hysterical and completely beside himself.

"Is he usually like this?" she asked.

"Oh, no. Not at all," I exclaimed. "He is really a very happy child. This isn’t normal at all." I managed to get him back to sleep. We looked at each other and suddenly I felt so helpless, so vulnerable. She looked at me carefully, and seemed to be choosing her words carefully.

"Well," she said. "Let me show you some things to look out for and come back after that baby is born for another evaluation. He is sleeping, so we can’t do that much right now. Then quietly she asked me, "Are you afraid of a diagnosis?"

Suddenly I felt all of the tension, frustration and anger that I was fighting so hard to keep locked up just fall all around me. It was all I could do to hold back the tears. She dropped the subject quickly and said, ever so gently, "Well, how about you come back after the baby is born."

I realize now that she was 100% sure that our son had autism, but she also saw that I needed to come to terms with it slowly, and for this, I love her.

The last few months of my pregnancy I slowly started to realize that our son might possibly have autism. I cried myself to sleep almost every night. Our therapists from the Alliance for Infants and Toddlers were great. They would gently point out how there were some similarities between Yisroel and some other little children they worked with who do have autism. This I accepted, but just the fact that he had some similarities.

Our OT, speech and developmental therapists were so great. They would encourage me, celebrate Yisroel's strengths and progress and gently point out the similarities in some of his developmental delays with other children with autism. I started asking for books they could recommend for me to read. This was probably the best thing I could have done for myself. They recommended three great books, which became my source of encouragement, hope and support.

When I was by myself and alone, I cried a lot, but I knew how to quickly pull myself together. I couldn’t show my friends or family that there was anything of real concern here. I would also still try to tell myself that our son may have some similarities with other children with autism, but that still did not mean that he also had autism.

At first, I would talk with one other woman in the community who also had a son with autism. She gave me so much valuable advice. She was my pillar of support and my shoulder to cry on. Now, however, I didn’t want to have anything to do with her, out of fear that if I did associate with her, then that would mean that our son did indeed have autism too. So I made sure not to have anything to do with her. Suddenly I found myself with only our therapists to talk to. I felt so alone.

In February I gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl, and three weeks later my husband was back in the Child Development Unit with our little Yisroel. When they came back, I took one look at my husband’s face, and I knew.

Through a torrent of tears, I tried to protest: "But did you tell her this new milestone? And what about that new milestone? And what about the therapy working so well?"

He had. I could fight no more. I knew. I understood.  We were starting on a new and unfamiliar path and I was scared. So scared.

Our special little Yisroel had autism.

If you are the mother, caretaker or friend of a child like Yisroel, and want to share your experience, knowledge and tips, which have worked for you, send in your entry to Spirit! Magazine 48 Scotland Hill Road, Chestnut Ridge, NY 10977. Fax: 845-425-7853 email to editor@spiritmag.org.

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