Nine years ago today our sweet little boy (who was 3 at the time) was diagnosed with Autism. I remember everything about that day in that bright and cold office.
We knew the diagnosis was coming. All the warning signs had been displayed for months in bright pink lettering. Although the words from the gray-haired doc of "Autistic" were no suprise, I found myself broken-hearted and in shock anyway.
Whenever I find myself in an emotionally overwhelming situation I have the habit of trying to be funny or clever. I asked the doc if she was meaning to say that my Noah was "Artistic" and she had simply mixed up the words.
What followed was a very long awkward pause that was filled with blank stares and a couple hand-squeezes from my wife who was seated next to me. Eventually the doctor just moved and started explaining what the treatment plan should be.
I never moved on.