I got a call yesterday afternoon from Cooper’s school. It was a man asking me about our experience with Fraser. He said he didn’t have any specific questions and would like if I just spoke freely about our experiences. I told him an overview of our story and that we loved Fraser. It has changed our lives. He was the sweetest man and said he was at a loss for words at the love we have Cooper. He then went onto tell me that his autistic nephew is 11 and nonverbal, but communicates with an iPad and is doing wonderfully.
And my stomach dropped.
I immediately wanted to get off the phone with him. I was actually sitting in the parking lot at Fraser and I felt like I was suffocating. I wanted to get my kid and leave. But, I couldn’t get him off the damn phone. He was being so nice and I knew if I said anything I was going to start crying so I quickly mumbled that I had to go.
I grabbed Cooper quickly and left.
And I called my husband. And I immediately burst into ugly tears. I act so tough. I act like I don’t care that Cooper doesn’t talk. I act like I accept that he ‘may’ never talk. But that is a load of bullshit. I do care. I choked out the story about the 11 year old nonverbal boy who uses the iPad.
I am a monster. I don’t want that. I don’t want a nonverbal 11 year old. I didn’t even really think that was a possibility. I’ve never really accepted that Cooper might NEVER talk. Like, never, ever. It’s so heavy that I can’t even process it all at once. I have to break it into time frames. Like, elementary age, teenager, adult, etc. And then I’ll be gone. Who will take care of him when I cam gone?
So, as you can imagine, I spent the evening pretty low.
And then this morning we had an appointment with a pediatric ear specialist for Cooper’s chronic ear infections. And he brought me right back up to the land of the living. Or, at least if I was normal it would have. He wants us to go to a pediatric neurologist to get an MRI of Cooper’s brain. His exact words were, “After spending 20 minutes with Cooper I don’t understand why he isn’t talking. His vocals are great. His eye contact and socialization are great. And most importantly, he understands everything we are saying. Let’s make sure we aren’t missing anything and hopefully get this kid talking.”
First, what an amazing doctor. Second, let’s slow down on the bi-polar express please. I can’t handle the ride anymore. One day I’m up and then next I’m down. It’s exhausting. Wouldn’t it be easier to just not hope anymore?
I left there and went right to meet with Cooper’s therapist. She gushed at how well he is doing and thriving. I know I should be happy. But here is the deal. Yes, Cooper is thriving in this setting. But this isn’t a real life setting. Real life isn’t going for a walk every few minutes when life get’s stressful. Or playing with squish toys.
I know I blogged about this before. I know I need to be thankful for the strides that he has made. But sometimes they aren’t enough.
I snapped Jamie when I got to work. I really am sorry that I am heartbroken. I just can’t help it anymore.