EIOD. IFSP. EEC VS TABAC. PDD-NOS. ABA. CAN I HAVE ANOTHER HELPING OF ALPHABET SOUP PLEASE?

Enough with the philosophical musings. Time to pick up the thread of the narrative. I left you all hanging, waiting for the meeting with the E.I. Officer.

Once Naomi decided that Dovi was a good fit for the ABA program, the next question became: How soon would they be able to start, once I got my IFSP (individualized Family Service Plan). It turned out to be way more complicated than I had expected.

Because it was so late in the school year, Naomi was extremely occupied with end-of-the-year paperwork and meetings and setting up the kids for the summer. She didnt have any therapists available for me until the start of summer sessions, which was July 1st. When she heard we were going up to the Catskills for the summer, she was dismayed. We would be away from June 16 - August 15; summer sessions were from July 2 until August 10. This meant that Dovi would only begin his ABA program in mid-September. This was way too long to wait!

She couldn't understand why I was contemplating going away for the summer when so much time was at stake. But I had already given a deposit on our bungalow, and I wasn't going to turn everyone's lives upside down more than it already was. This wasn't fair to Chaim, to my husband, to myself, and even to Dovi. Every year I looked forward all year to spending the summer upstate, away from the hot, concrete city. The kids thrived in nature, played with sand, and spent time in the swimming pool. Staying in the city was too depressing to consider. But here I was being made to feel guilty by the very people who were supposed to help me!

AUTISM IS NOT AS 'FASCINATING' AS YOU MIGHT THINK

Some people have a natural affinity towards special needs individuals. They seem to gravitate towards them, and spend many of their waking hours doing chesed (good deeds) for special needs families, interacting with the disabled naturally, and are well-known within the special needs circles. Over the past year or two I've gotten to know several such families and I am constantly overawed by the sacrifices they make and the unconditional devotion and acceptance they portray.

I was never that type. I was not a starer or a curious questioner of disabled individuals; I treated them with respect and interest. I never felt uncomfortable around people with special needs, but I wasn't particularly involved with them.

Growing up, I knew of two types of congenital disabilities: Cerebral Palsy and Down Syndrome. Of course, there was mental retardation too, but when I was a kid, 'retarded' was a term often used as a slang word for 'crazy', 'unbelievable', 'ridiculous', kind of similar to the slang word 'sick' that is used today. "Retardo" was a derogatory name that kids would called each other. Autism wasn't on my radar.

BOOKS NOT TO READ ON AUTISM; (Alternate Title: IS ANYONE OUT THERE???)

There we go, with dual titles. I don't really like it. But this will be my very first post testing my Amazon Affiliate program, and hey, I do want someone googling "Books on autism" to maybe find me on page 20 of their search results. Ha.

So where were we? Oh yeah. After my initial interview with Naomi Whyne, I came home elated, excited, and raring to go. She had warned me that ABA was brutal at the beginning and there is a lot of crying and resistance from the child, but they have seen so many incredible success stories with children as locked-in-their-world as Dovi, and she felt he would do well in the program. All we had to do was wait for the meeting with Early Intervention.

Madame Service Coordinator, too, was impressed with what she had seen and thought it would be a good fit for Dovi. Before I made a decision, though, she had a book she wanted me to read. The title of the book was The Boy Who Loved Windows. Eager to get some clarity to shed light on what was happening to Dovi, I bought a copy on Amazon.

MY CHILD WAS DIAGNOSED WITH AUTISM. WHAT DO I DO NEXT???

Note, dear reader, that the title of this post is purely for the benefit of the google-searcher. My real title would more likely be, "THE BOTTOM HAS DROPPED OUT FROM UNDER MY FEET AND THE WORLD AS I KNOW IT HAS ENDED AND MY LIFE IS OVER AND WHAT DO I DO NOW????" But of course, no one will put that into Google Search.

Hey, you never know.

So back to that terrible, horrible, awful, unspeakable, horrific, you get the point, Sunday morning in late April when Some Lady Ph.D. told me to my face, "Your child has PDD-NOS. I recommend hours of ABA therapy," and breezed out of my life, leaving me alone to nurse my wounds, glare at little hapless Dovi with daggers of red hot resentment for ruining my life, and the first four stages of mourning to get past.

What did I do next?