Inspired by the tales about three different days of diagnoses in Autism Out Loud, I’ve been trying to recollect our own, the day London was diagnosed with Autism.

Before the day, actually much earlier in that preschool year of 2017-2018, London’s teacher expressed concern about London’s behavior. London rarely shared information with other kiddos and did not have appropriate interactions with them, but engaged a lot with adults. London was “flagged” for further evaluation. No parent likes hearing that at a parent/teacher conference. When I heard it, I shut down for the rest of the conference, not able to focus on the teacher’s words, only able to worry, worry, worry.

After that it was a long wait until we were able to even get London assessed…for what? I didn’t know. But, I wrote on April 5, 2018, “We met with Emerge (the company we used for the assessment) today. They are going to spend some time with you in June and give us parenting tips later on.” I mean, I had no clue what was coming. London is a preemie, we were told from the start that delays in movement and speaking are quite common. London did have some delays, but she was speaking a ton and moving a lot, albeit clumsily, but she was only 4 and growing so fast. At the time, I thought after all of this we would get some magical parenting tips and any issues regarding London would be resolved with time and a few new strategies. It was a cute thought.

London had two, 2-hour assessments. The first wasn’t until June 26th. The second in July. I attended neither, having already sat through one assessment with Denver Public Schools when London was three—that assessment having concluded that London did not need extra support.

August 2, 2018, we get the diagnosis, Autism Level I. I knew so little about ASD at the time. I was so confused, thinking, but wait, she can’t have autism, she can speak. Kate was also a bit confused, but not as much me. We nodded our heads as the doctor further explained the diagnosis and handed us some basic information about ASD. We could use Emerge’s therapists or seek help elsewhere.

The short journal entry for the day reads: You received a diagnosis of motor coordination disorder today and a very mild case of autism. Emerge did not see any cognitive delay or speech impairment. Actually, your speech and vocab tested equivalent to a kid aged 5 yrs, 7 months, a year older than your actual age.

My ignorance truly shines in the use of “very mild case of autism.” I think that makes it sound like London rolled around in a patch of poison ivy and everything will clear up after a few months or, at worst, some years.

As Kate and I read more about ASD, we had enough doubt about the diagnosis that we did entertain a reevaluation elsewhere, but we never did it on account of eventually seeing that Emerge was onto something, it would take months to get seen somewhere else, and another assessment would cost another $1500 at least.

But that first night home after the diagnosis I remember thinking, somewhat naively—let’s call it premature optimism—that this does not change anything. I had no idea then how much it would, but I think in terms of my love for London, that did not dwindle a bit. In fact, my love, and, unfortunately, my worry for her, which had been locked in at a very elevated state since she was born three months early, grew in huge strides that day.

To have an answer was a blessing and a curse. It was a paradigm shift and not the first one we had in London’s young life. Just like after her extraordinary birth, we had to move forward, again with life’s reminder that we are never in control.