We have an official diagnosis.
Even though I went to the first appointment armed with occupational therapy records, school records and his personal history, I didn't want to hear it. I don't dispute the diagnosis, but I don't like hearing the a-word.
Next year, it will just be autism. Another a-word.
Now we start the doctors appointments and therapies that come with the diagnosis. So far, so good, but we are only in week two.
It's no wonder moms of children with autism are showing signs of post-traumatic stress disorder.