Clever Magazine, Vol. VI, #1 " Coping with Autism " (www.clevermag.com)

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He Looks Normal:
on coping with Autism

by Joseph Arechavala

“He looks normal.” That’s what everybody says when I tell them my son was just diagnosed with autism. Without exception. They all say it, relatives and friends alike. Even my brother and his wife who have a son with Down’s Syndrome.

And it’s true. Alejandro does look like every other normal two year-old. He plays, he smiles, he runs around with that boundless two year-old energy that only seems to run out at the very end of the day when he finally begins rubbing his eyes in fatigue. He laughs when you tickle him or pick him up and whirl him around. He looks at you and smiles sometimes. He plays with his toys. Just like every other toddler his age.

He doesn’t talk yet. “That’s okay, a lot of kids don’t talk at two.” Everybody says that too. That’s true as well. A lot of kids don’t talk until after they’re two or even three.

But most of the time, he doesn’t look you in the eyes. He doesn’t interact. Most of the time, Alejandro exists in his own little world, playing with his toys all by himself, even in a group of kids. Ignoring you even when you talk to him loudly. He “stims”, behaviors that he repeats over and over. Waving his hands, banging hands or a toy on the coffee table, stomping around or walking on tiptoe. And he’s alone. All alone with you, sometimes no matter how hard you try to reach him.

My wife and I get upset. We ask for “nose kisses” (rubbing noses) or hugs and many times, he takes no notice of us. It’s distressing when your child’s face is right in front of you and he won’t acknowledge your presence.

He regularly doesn’t eat. The texture of foods often bothers him when he puts it in his mouth. He only just last month made it onto the bottom of the growth chart; we still give him bottles, although we don’t want to. It’s either that or watch him waste away. He’s very small for his age. It’s another effect of the autism.

We see Alejandro get frustrated when he does try to tell us what he wants and we don’t understand. We get frustrated too.

And most of our friends and family don’t really comprehend all that’s involved. Some do, some know the frustrations of dealing with the disability, navigating the bureaucracy, the lack of programs, the attempts at communication that fail.

Because autism isn't like some other disabilities. There is no set treatment. Each child needs to be addressed individually; what works for one doesn’t work for another. Try a therapy. If it works, great. If not, you have to try another thing and another, until you hopefully find something that does work.

So the stress mounts. Hoping that something will reach him, afraid that nothing will. Fear that we will never be allowed to enter that private world of his. That he’ll get worse instead of better. Torment that we did something wrong to cause this. Was it his MMR shot? Something during the pregnancy we missed? Lack of attention when he was an infant?

What will his existence be like? Will he wind up as an adult in an institution?

The future is cloudy and frightening. But we will try. Everything we can try to reach him. Because we love him. Because we know, he’s a special little boy. Because we know with God’s help, we’ll be able to stand it.

And because we can’t stop trying no matter what. Because, inside, we see our son trying to get out.