Cooper's Challenge

Story ID:	1685
Written by:	Betty (BJ) Roan
Story type:	Family History
Writers Conference:	$500 2007 Family Memories Writing Project
Location:	Jackson TN USA
Year:	2007

Author's note: This essay was written with my daughter's input from her perspective.

Something was wrong with Cooper. No one else saw it, but I did. He was only two months old, but he didn’t gaze into my eyes as his sister had. I couldn’t feel that bond forming between us. If you’re a mother, you know which bond I’m talking about. It’s the bond between newborn and mother, shaped during the intimate moments of breast feeding. Where was that connection I had felt with my daughter? In my heart, I knew something was wrong, but as any parent would do, I urged my mind to come up with plausible explanations for Cooper’s odd behavior, and I did.

As the months passed, I noticed Cooper didn’t respond when I called his name, but he could hear loud noises which confirmed he wasn’t deaf. I convinced myself he was just being naughty, using the selective hearing technique his older sister used, when she would rather play than clean her room.

Evidence that Cooper was different continued to mount. He loved to open and close doors, all doors, continuously, never tiring of the activity. He repeated words he heard on TV, but couldn’t ask for his favorite toy, or a drink of juice. Cooper’s incessant crying soon advanced into full blown tantrums. His tantrums screamed out his frustration. He was frustrated because he couldn’t tell me what he wanted or needed, and I couldn’t understand. Finally, it became impossible to overlook the mountain of evidence before me. Something was definitely wrong with Cooper.

I voiced my fears to my husband and family, but no one believed me. As I had before them, they made excuses for his behavior. “You’re comparing him to his older sister,” they would say, and then add, “Everyone knows girls mature faster than boys.” They thought I was overreacting. I was on my own. It was up to me to help Cooper.

I searched the internet and kept finding similarities with a condition known as autism. Convinced he needed professional help; I took Cooper to his pediatrician and voiced my fears. The doctor didn’t seem concerned, yet he referred me to the Kiwanis Center for Child Development. I hoped they would tell me Cooper was fine, but instead of calming my fears, they recommended further testing. Cooper was referred to Vanderbilt University. There would be no quick diagnosis, no immediate end to my anxiety; it took months before I was able to get an appointment.

While waiting for the results from hours of testing, my husband and I convinced ourselves we would be able to cope with a confirmed diagnosis of autism. But even though we thought we were prepared for the worst, we were stunned when the doctor gently spoke the words aloud, “Your son is autistic.” No longer able to control the tears, I cried all the way home. Our hopes and dreams for our eighteen month old son, had been dashed. What kind of life would he have as an adult? What would happen to him when we, his parents, were gone? I was inconsolable, devastated. My husband drove home in silence.

We pulled into the garage. I dried my tears and stepped inside the house. There he was, our son. My heart melted when Cooper ran toward me, smiling and holding out his arms to be picked up. Nothing had changed, he was still the same child he had been a few hours before. The child who needed his parents, the child we still loved with all our hearts.

Looking at Cooper, I realized I had been given a blessing. As his mother, I would have the pleasure of helping this child grow into the man he could become. With help, he could lead a happy, productive life. It would take a lot of hard work on my part, and helping hands, not only from my husband, but from a network of friends and family. With a support structure, there was hope for this boy’s future. I had the resources; now all I had to do was stop feeling sorry for myself and get to work.

Cooper is four now. He has come a long way from that child who screamed out in frustration because he wasn’t able to communicate. The tantrums occur less and less often, he gets dressed and puts on his shoes without assistance. He can ask for his favorite food or a drink of water. He is even potty trained. He sometimes interacts with other children, instead of always going off to be alone. I often see him playing with toy cars, making the engine noises, and moving them along the pretend highway, normal play, not just opening and closing the doors as he once did.

As a family, we have helped Cooper meet his challenges head on, and he has conquered many. As he grows older, new challenges will emerge. He will meet people who do not understand his limitations and who treat him badly because of them. But we are surrounding him with love, and are working hard to prepare him for whatever comes his way.

Living with an autistic child is teaching his older sister, Emily, and now younger brother, Aaron, to be more tolerant of those less fortunate. Unlike some, they will not laugh and point at a child who looks and acts differently or who is wheelchair bound. Cooper is teaching them patience, understanding, and the art of unconditional love.

Yes, there is still something different about Cooper, but when I look at him today, I no longer see an autistic child. I see one of my three children, my son, and I feel proud that I was chosen to be his mother.