Autism Speaks, Community, In Their Own Words, How She Became My Teacher

I began planning her life before she was even born. We would go prom dress shopping together. She would share stories of the boys who came in and out of her life. Eventually, we would go wedding dress shopping and I'd cry when she would put “the one” on. She was going to be my best friend, just as my mom is mine, and I was going to teach her everything I knew. Little did I know, she had her own plans and she would become my teacher.

There wasn't a doctor around when she decided to join us. My regular doctor was stuck on the highway as we were having the biggest blizzard of the year. Nurses were running frantically to get someone to help deliver this baby. A resident ran into the room with a contagious urgency. Eighteen minutes total and she was here. Brooke Elizabeth, all 7 pounds 4 ounces of perfection.

She completed our American dream. We now had a son and a daughter and everything seemed just right! Brooke was growing so quickly. I was enjoying having my little girl. Every day was dress up with sweet pink dresses adorned in lace and bows, patent leather shoes with frilly socks, headbands and barrettes! Her beautiful golden brown hair was growing in nicely. Her large honey-brown, almond-shaped eyes were always smiling and greeting you. Her skin was like ivory and sprinkled with a mask of freckles made just for kissing. Her words were so wispy and deep, almost in a Demi Moore tone. I remember hearing her say “day-doo” instead of thank-you and it was adorable to us! Everything seemed to be going well.

Around 18 months old we started to notice Brooke's speech relapsing. Her vocabulary wasn't improving, and in fact, she had almost stopped talking all together. We would have periods where things seemed right on target and then in an instant, she'd be gone. It was like she was short circuiting. The temper tantrums started soon after. It became a game of roulette to figure out what would set her off. She started to bang her head violently off of the floor until her nose would bleed. She began pulling her hair out in chunks until she had small bald spots. The tiniest drop of water on her clothes would cause her huge anxiety attacks and she'd scratch at herself and try to rip her clothes off like an untamed animal. Almost all eye contact stopped and I was slowly losing my baby.

My initial reaction was to the call the doctor. He told me I was inconsistent and that I needed to isolate her from everyone and everything when this happened again. We tried this for a while but the fits only got worse and there never seemed a rhyme or reason as to why. I scheduled another appointment; he told me that it was terrible twos approaching and that I should stop comparing her behavior to that of my older child. It didn't matter what I did or where I turned, every road was coming up a dead end. No one would listen to me.

All I knew is that my little baby needed help. The powerless feelings I would get when she would start to attack herself, the overwhelming emotions that we would both go through just to get through the day, were taking their toll on us. I wanted to find her help but no one wanted to hear me. Brooke's smiles were replaced with hand gestures and noises. Her delicate eyes seemed so lost and vacant. I was on a mission to get answers and I was determined not to stop until I did!

Brooke was being seen at a children's hospital for some other health issues that she was born with. I decided to call their pediatric department for a new doctor referral. On our first visit with this new doctor everything seemed to click. He was able to witness one of Brooke's fits in the exam room. Brooke wanted her dad in the room and when he left, she started to mercilessly bang her head off of the door. Although I was embarrassed, overwhelmed, and exhausted, I was relieved that someone finally could see what our life was like. That was the first day we heard the word that would change the rest of our lives. “I believe your daughter has autism,” he said.

With a paralyzing exhale the room stood still. There were no noises. There were no people, no sounds, no movement, no anything. My heart raced, as breathing became challenging. My shoulders fell in synchronization with my head. We finally had a direction, an answer.

The next few months consisted of a parade of appointments and tiring assessments. Each specialist was continually telling me their conclusion about Brooke. They would make predictions about her school life, her social life, her adult life, her whole future. OUR whole future! The things they would say would vary. Some would tell me she could be as successful as Bill Gates. Sometimes, we would hear she would be a recluse with a grim prognosis. It was heartbreaking to listen to them talk about her so matter-of-factly. It wasn't their lives they were changing or their dreams they were crushing.

Something inside me died the day we got the diagnosis. Everything I thought I had and wanted was taken away. Each dream I carefully constructed was erased. My perspective on everything changed and things that seemed so stressful were suddenly minute. I felt like my world was ending, but little did I know it was just beginning.

With weekly therapy and guidance on how to live our new life, we were gradually moving forward. Brooke slowly began to use her language skills again and was making great strides. She's almost twelve years old now and every day she teaches me something new. All of my planning was useless. There was no preparation for the education Brooke would provide me with. Her understanding, humanity, tenderheartedness, and empathetic outlook towards life have been eye opening. I've learned to embrace the person Brooke is and will become, instead of the person I envisioned – quirks and all! Most importantly, I've learned that my dreams didn't really die that day, they just changed.