Panic

"It's okay. We're okay. They are going to be okay."

When the diagnosises of Autism started pouring in during December '09 and January '10. I was overwhelmed...and scared, so fucking afraid. Was our life, our dreams over as we knew them? Every marker I saw filled me anxiety. The conversations with psychiatrists about their potential and struggles, scrapping money together to get them to next great specialist. Choosing to pay co-pays over buying food, fainting because I skipped one too many days of eating. Thinking the worst thing that could ever happen after all this was my husband losing his job. God couldn't be so cruel.

And then he did.

My hair started falling out from the stress. We depleted our savings, I kept making doctors appointments. Handsome started rocking. He was diagnosed in April 2010. Seventy-three specialists in all.

I couldn't sleep.

The nightmares were horrific. Everyone died except me and I was helpless. The fear that I couldn't control anything was overwhelming. I walked through the house continuously while everyone slept. I checked their pulses and listened to them breathe. I couldn't sleep for more than 15 minutes at a time. My body was in agony. I was exhausted.

I had chest pains.

I laid in a hospital bed listening to the doctors discuss my heart. It could be a heart attack or a panic attack. My history of heart failure during the triplet pregnancy was chaining me to that bed. I fell asleep and the doctors saw me have a nightmare. They asked me what made me so afraid.

"My life."

I went home many hours later. The CEO was screaming, Bugabuga was leaning against the couch because she didn't have the strength needed to stand without getting tired. The Baby was repeating a tv show verbatium. Handsome was laying inert in his swing, just like a newborn except he was 15 months old.

He needed help.

Early Intervention said that he didn't have enough delays. They refused to give him therapy. I cried. The state worker filling out the paperwork said that I wanted him to be autistic. I understood the meaning of rage. I pray about her often. I don't pray for her soul. I pray one day she understands.

We sued the NYC Early Intervention Program.

Handsome was re-evaluated. The reports said "Borderline mental intellect." I'll never forgive that state worker for making me get another evaluation; for making me see those words. It haunted me. I was so afraid of the unknown. I began to get anxious going outside. I was terrified when I was separated from the kids and my husband.

We won.

He was given full therapy.

We found our rythm. The girls prospered. Handsome made a complete turnaround and no longer has a cognitive delay. We keep trucking'.

I got a job. My hair stopped falling out in clumps. I started sleeping a couple hours at a time.

My husband worked with Handsome tirelessly while I toiled away. A year passed. It's time to find the right elementary school. It's time to get the label of Autism removed, they made enough progress.

"I still think the diagnosis stands."

I numbly listened to the neuro. The diagnosis still stands."Integrated classrooms. High functioning."

The diagnosis still stands.

I started to mourn the dreams that were on hold in my mind. I stopped sleeping again. The nightmares started again.

My poor hair.

The NYC Department of Education can't promise that the girls will be in the same school. "They have to be fair."

As we search for a spot for three autistics while most others search for one, I'm struck by the lack of help, the lack of caring for us as a family.

The lack of fairness.

As we run into wall after wall, my sleep diminishes and I feel the razor focus of a mother bear fighting to save her children's life. I'm not tired. I'm not hungry.

I will fight to the bitter end.

I'm terrified.

A lesson learned- Our search for the perfect Kindergarten

It's time to look for a school for the girls. They are scheduled to start kindergarten in September. Right now, Baby is by herself at a prestigious private school that has an integrated program. I think the hype is overblown and honestly, I think she would have learned more at Bugabuga and the CEO's school but this was her chance to be normal. And we needed that, so we jumped at the opportunity.

We walked in to the little nursery school and were met by the social worker. Her smile was fake and her ego was palatable.

"We only have one spot available. I know when we spoke, an hour ago, we had two spots but someone else took one." She shrugged like she was cute and charming.

"How is that possible? You told me that we had the first appointment."

If you're looking for a spot for all of your children, we will not accommodate you. If you can't accept that, we'll cancel the appointment. Pick one to be evaluated, only one."

I looked helplessly at my husband. OH my God! She was making us choose which one was higher functioning. I hated her in the instant and two years later, I still seethe when I think of her. The Baby was exceptional of course and was accepted. We sent her on her merry way and any time we have any contact with the social worker, I deferred to my husband. He takes her calls. He is their primary contact. I can barely speak to her without wanting to vomit.

My handsome was accepted there too but they wouldn't bring him in until after the Baby graduated. It was like that school had a one child limit for our family in particular.

We let the spot go and Handsome started school with Bugabuga and the CEO early, like we wanted. He is excelling.

Each morning we put the three of them on the bus and Baby sadly sits and waits for her bus. Come hell, or high water that won't happen to her in September. Even if we have to sue the New York City Department of Education, they will be together.