Despite the progress my daughter has made, let alone the countless appointments with therapists, I learned last Friday that Elizabeth is classed as being on the severe end of the spectrum and that she would mostly likely being attending the Special School full-time when she begins Prep (and here was me tossing up between two local Catholic Schools a few months ago). When I look at my daughter I don’t see a severely disabled child. I see a happy little girl that perhaps views the world a little differently from others. But this diagnoses, which can change again in six months time, made me sit back and really observe my daughter as an outsider would. When strangers bend down to greet her, Elizabeth usually turns away as if nobody is there. And when she does deign to greet someone it is usually with a little hand flap and excited squeal. Her play is limited to banging blocks together and jumping on the bed, although she does love being outside with the wind in her face. Her motor skills are such that she can’t ride a bike or use a spoon, nor dress herself (although she does really try). I also tend to avoid mainstream playgroups as the children can be quite cruel, and the parents, well what can I say about them? Just this afternoon a young neighbour made an innocent comment on how weird Elizabeth was, which really reminded me off some of the stories in ‘Chicken Soup For the Soul: Children with Special Needs’. I must have read this book at least five times and I cry every-time. It should be compulsory reading in all secondary schools. I patiently explained to the boy that Elizabeth has autism and that he should perhaps ask his teacher about it the next day. After this, as I was cutting out flashcards to be laminated I started crying, the first time in many months. But the tears quickly dried up and I got on with it, for what else can I do?
