Speech - A Battle Against Time

Recall Matt's first word? It was "kitty" and was uttered before the thief came in the night and stole my son's future. After the symptoms of autism set in, Matt never uttered another word - not for years. After his diagnosis, I set him up to receive speech therapy. This entailed a meeting with school officials as Matt was also to receive home-bound preschool services. At that meeting, the speech therapist informed me that he would see Matt in his office once a week.

Let's back up a minute . . .

Learning to speak has an expiration date. Time is limited. The section of the brain that gets wired for speech is fairly active - until around age 5, after which the connections for the ability to speak slows down, becoming non-existent. In other words, if he didn't learn to speak by age 5, then chances were pretty good that he would never speak. Matt was 3 years old. We had 2 years to get him to speak, TWO YEARS! To me, 2 years was right around the corner. Once a week speech therapy would not cut it - simple as that.

Let me also remind you that when Matt was diagnosed, there was still that 1:10,000 chance of autism in the population and teachers, professionals, friends, and relatives had never heard of the disorder. Matt was entering a school system that had never dealt with an autistic child. Matt was the ground-breaker, I was the force, and every child to come after would be judged by what we accomplished. I was fighting for Matt, yes, but I was also fighting for any child that would come after. Guess what? I Am a fighter.

Getting back to the story...

I politely told Mr. Speech Therapist that once a week was not enough - he needed it daily (always start with more than you will accept). He countered two - I pushed for 3. By this time voices were being raised and one of those voices was mine. You see, I could speak, and I wanted Matt to speak. And . . .he actually said, and I have to paraphrase here, that Matt didn't need speech that often because he didn't speak. Let that sink in a minute...

That got me to my feet, and slamming my hands down on the table (forcing all the other members of the committee to flinch and jump back in their seats) explained to this man the science of speech, and that his role here was to help my son achieve speech before the expiration date.

Matt received speech therapy 3 times a week.

Sorry, but the story doesn't end there. Trying to get Matt to speak was an everyday, every waking hour task. Remember, use what he likes to give him what he needs. One of my son's favorite things was water - yep, water. Water in containers, water running in streams and rivers, water from the hose, water in the tub. We must have said the word water to him thousands of times. At Matt's first speech session, the therapist (still a bit chilly from our last encounter) spent the time trying to get Matt to sit in a chair. Matt didn't sit in chairs, he sat behind them, or used them to stand on, but sit? Yea, right, let's spend our energy on behavior with the clock ticking on communication.

The therapist spent so much focus on the "getting seated" agenda that he missed Matt's first word, "wa", as he pointed to a picture on the wall with cows and a stream. He stood on the chair, tapped his finger on the stream and very clearly said "wa". I was in awe.

The therapist tuned me out when I explained what had just occurred. I went home, called the school board and fired my therapist, and requested a new one (best move EVER!). The next week, we met Debbie, his new speech therapist.

I was ready to fight again when we approached the school where Debbie worked. I found her office and she came to the door to greet us (us...). Here was a woman, wearing a dress with a flowing skirt, heeled shoes - very professional looking, and what she did next bound her to my heart forever. She kicked off her shoes and sat on the floor, getting down to Matt's level. She began giving him various toys and speaking softly only to him. How cool is that?!! I sat quietly in a chair just inside the door and watched this interaction for 20 minutes. She looked at him, trying to gain eye contact, she asked him questions and provided answers (demonstrating how to reply) and after months of visits, had gained his trust.  Matt began to speak - simple words, but words all the same. Matt was four years old.

Matt continued to see Debbie for the rest of his school years, and their bond was so tight, that when he was asked to nominate his favorite teacher for Who's Who (Honor Students get to do that), he chose Debbie. Speech Therapist do not usually get such recognition, and her genuine surprise and joy was captured for all to see in the town newspaper.

During this period, my first husband and I divorced - not unusual if you look at the statistics for divorce among couples with a disabled child. One night just days before Christmas (and 3 weeks before Matt's 5th birthday), I was sitting in the living room, tears on my face as I thought about my circumstances (a poor, poor, pitiful me day, as I like to call them), when Matt crawled into my lap, put his tiny hand on my cheek and said "mama" for the first time.

Ah, yes . . . it's the simple things that bring us joy . . .