Note to new readers: This post is part of my 30 Days of Writing Practice. I am allowing blocks of 10, 20 or 30 minutes of my day solely to putting my swirling thoughts on paper. No going back to edit which will only serve to stop the stream of consciousness. My writing buddy Kat and I, we call it writing from the heart. Please read my introduction for the full story.
Oh I have a very astute feedback today. Which tells me that this friend of mine is paying attention to my writings. Let’s call her Venus. Venus is a headturner. I know because I walk beside her and I notice this. My friend? She seems oblivious to the admiring looks. Venus tells me that my Day 15 and Day 1 are about the same things. Bravo, my darling. That is why I used the term “stretch” as if I am resting between rounds. So I repeat and rinse (term grabbed from Wruddy).
Today is #ThrowbackThursday, an Instagram hashtag. It’s a blast from the past.
Since Day 1, I have been pushing back the time when I have to write about Miguel’s diagnosis. To be honest with you, I cannot remember anything. I cannot remember how I felt, what went on in my heart and head. I thought of checking my old Yahoo Outbox, but I do not find an old email. I am positive that I have written about it. It looks like I will have to dig deep and remember. Now. On this blank page. So dive deep…
It was late 2001, when Kuya Migo was 3 and Gab was 2. Migo was a very quiet boy, delayed in speech. We have been told that boys’ speech delays are quite normal, that there’s nothing wrong with it. Hence, it didn’t bother us that at 3 years old, Miguel still has not uttered his first complete sentence. It was all babbling and a handful of single words. He has not learned to call us mum/dad or papa/mama. He had a penchant for lining up things around the apartment. Small cars, shoes, lego blocks. We thought that very cute. Gab didn’t necessarily do the same. Migo would often cry for no reason, a tantrum. We could not use the hand dryer at the shops or the vacuum cleaner/blender at home. He had to be removed from the room when Dad was vacuuming. It seemed to hurt his ear. Same was true with the blender. Since he was our first born we thought none of it.
One day, Gab was browsing a Target catalogue and uttered, “I want a Thomas the Tank Engine”. A simple yet complete sentence. Ariel and I exchanged a look. Here was Gab talking coherently. Migo’s younger brother has overtaken him in a speech milestone. I wasted no time, and saw our family doctor. She immediately hooked me up with Dr Wilkinson, the shire’s pediatrician. Dr Wilkinson was not a warm doctor, she was very businesslike. In hindsight, I think you needed to be quite firm in your demeanor when dishing out the bad news to distressed mums. She tested Migo straight away. And I saw with the way Migo responsed that something was awfully wrong. We must have gone back to see her a few weeks later to get the proper documented results. Migo, my little darling, was diagnosed with autism. I remember looking at this medical report with a list of available services for his condition. I must have immediately frozen all emotions at this stage. I have a knack (or is it a gift?) for blocking out painful memories. I cannot recall how I felt. So let’s use the word empty. I don’t remember crying at all. I don’t think I ever did. But I know something inside me died. A certain kind of light. I just went into auto pilot. Went home. Never even remembered how I broke the news to Ariel. It’s all blank to me.