Disabled

In order to help build an informational foundation for Andrew as he moves forward in public education, his educational team has (with my approval) been putting him through a battery of tests. He's been tested for speech (needs help), OT (needs help), and most recently, intelligence.


I don't know why this one's results caught me off guard, but it did, and not only did the results catch me off guard, but they kind of brought back the early days of his diagnosis of autism...and not in a good way.


Andrew was classified as Intellectually Disabled. He scored quite poorly on almost everything. And not just poorly...he scored in the <1 percentile in many of them. Reading what this meant for Andrew was not the problem. The accommodations suggested were things we've been doing with Andrew his whole life...simplified vocabulary, one-two step directions, visual cues, modeling. But the "intellectually disabled" label...that threw me. No, actually, it pushed me down on to my knees and then sat on me. I should be good at this by now. I should know that a series of tests with scripted questions given by a stranger cannot possibly sum up who my Andrew is. I know that labels are meant to help explain the why's. And yet, for a brief time, it did sum up who he was, and I hurt. I hurt for Andrew. I hurt for what his future became with those two words. It was explained to me that this is a good thing...it will open him up for so many more community services when he finishes with school. It will provide a good record so that he can qualify for assistance throughout his life. But, selfishly, I don't want him to have to qualify for those things in order to be more independent. I want him to reach a point where he can do anything he wants without needing assistance. And not because I mind providing that assistance, or trying to find it. I kind of feel like that's my job as a mom anyway, and just becomes a little more intense having children with autism. I just want him to be able to achieve anything any other person could Shortly after (actually, about five minutes later), I ran into another mom of a beautiful boy with autism. I said everything I was feeling, and she reminded me of what I already knew, and what I've told so many other moms with special needs children...This paper changes nothing. It does not make Andrew any different than he was before the testing results were shared with me. And it cannot POSSIBLY say who Andrew is. No testing can do that. And certainly, no testing can predict what he will do in his life, and how much he will grow. I know. I KNOW. I KNOW.

It is the season for giving thanks. It is not the season for despair.

Andrew is different. But Andrew is not less.

Andrew is silly. Andrew is loving. Andrew is affectionate. Andrew will work hard for praise. Andrew wants to do the right thing. Andrew wants others to do the right thing. Andrew hurts for others. Andrew loves his family. Andrew is a wonderful big brother. Andrew is a wonderful little brother. Andrew is sensitive. Andrew says inappropriate things from movies sometimes. Andrew says perfectly appropriate things from movies sometimes.

Andrew is a good speller. Andrew has terrible handwriting. Andrew is a great runner. Andrew loves to play. Andrew cannot sit still. Andrew claims people poke him when they don't. Andrew laughs at things other people can't see. Andrew can now explain what he's laughing at, and 10 times out of 10 it is a scene from a movie he is seeing in his head.

Andrew still eats a very limited number of things. Andrew eats more variety than he used to. Andrew has friends. Andrew's friends still are trying to figure him out. Andrew loves the computer. Andrew doesn't love to write because it is painful to his hands. Andrew is getting therapy for his handwriting. Andrew has a hard time in Art. Andrew can have a hard time in music. Andrew loves to sing. Andrew does not love for others to watch him sing.

Andrew has to work much, much harder than most kids at following very basic social and academic rules.

Andrew gets tired of trying. Andrew keeps trying anyway.

Andrew is beautiful. Andrew has my big teeth. Andrew has his daddy's big lips.

Andrew is a gift from God. Andrew inspires me daily.

My world is better for having Andrew as a son.

Thank you, dear Lord, for Andrew.

I don't know his future, but I know that You have it in Your hands.

You made him as he is.



"For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful, I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be."

Psalm 139:13-16