My Perfect Miracle

“Okay Angela, just one more push and your baby will be here,” said the nurse softly. I thought to myself, this is the last time I will be pregnant. I have two beautiful children, and everything in life has been incredible so far, my children love each other and have great friends. Reflecting on the last moments of my pregnancy, lying on a hospital bed in the Women’s and Children’s Hospital, I wanted to etch it in my mind forever so I would never forget what it feels like to carry a child. Taking a deep breath, I pushed with all my might, I was left weak, and my husband helped keep my legs down and supported me with words of encouragement and love. Tears ran down my face, and a beautiful baby boy was placed in my arms. I was looking at my third and another perfect child, ‘His name is Noah’, I said to my husband. Holding this miracle in my arms, I could sense something that wasn’t quite right. Almost as though my third child was different than my other two children. I didn’t linger on this feeling for long, as I was in the moment and in love with this precious bundle. When Noah turned three, I saw a few changes in him, yet I would simply past it off as "goodness he is only a kid".

Noah had no worries and was scared of nothing or nobody. He would climb fences and run away at any chance he got. When his sister Lucy would come into the room he would tackle her and wrap her up as tight as a teddy bear. Jake his brother would watch TV and they would tumble on the floor together. Despite this, he barley talked. A lot of the time my family and friends would say, Ang, something isn't right with Noah. No, he's only a kid I would explain. Being in childcare brought different issues to the surface. None of the children wanted to play with Noah. He was happy to play alone. Again I assured myself that that is a typical kid for you. Noah didn’t want to do his witting and was continually getting frantic and tossing his pastels and paper. I was told me that Noah was experiencing issues holding a coloured pencil. He simply doesn't like to do school work I told myself. He is okay, many kids hate school. Kindergarten came around and more difficulties were sprouting. Children thought Noah was strange and did not want to associate with him. At points, when the classroom would become boisterous, he would shake in his seat and cover his ears. Obviously I would be called about Noah’s behaviour throughout the year, and the school recommended that I take Noah to the psychological, mental illness hospital, to have him assessed for mental illness. I was dazed. What am I going to do? They can't in any way, think that I would consider leaving my valuable young boy in a mental hospital when there is nothing amiss with him, aside from him being a growing kid. He is so sweet with me, they simply don't know how to manage him.

One night, I decided I would do a little research on the computer. I typed in some things Noah was experiencing; delayed speech, many things came up, and autism was one of them. Hand fluttering, again came up autism. And finally, socially unaccepted, yet again the word autism filled my screen. I simply chose to go to various sites on autism and see what autism was portrayed or characterized to be. The rundown of characteristics of autism were nearly the same as my Noah. Since he doesn't have the greater part of the practices that are on the rundown, I figure he doesn't have it. Be that as it may, just to get everyone off my back, I will take him to a doctor just to prove them all wrong and they will at last see what I see, an impeccable little boy.

The day to visit the doctors came around in the blink of an eye, and my husband, Noah, and I made a trip to Abbots Psychologist Hypnotherapist, on Grange road, to get Noah checked out. I knew the Doctors were all going to tell me, ‘you're simply overcompensating and he is just a typical youngster.’We finally reach the door, brown and dull like all the others, but I can already see people inside. ‘Well here we are,’ my husband says to me with a nervous smile on his face. Doctors and nurses surround Noah’s check-up bed, attaching IV’s, heart monitors and all types of cords to him. An old TV hangs from the ceiling, and there is no decoration, just a limp curtain that covers the window from the carpark. In the wake of talking with the Doctors, and when the examinations were done on Noah, they sat my husband and I down, and said, ‘Your child has autism.’ Despite the fact that I heard what they said, I was shocked, making it almost impossible to talk or make inquiries. I simply continued sitting, waiting for them to bounce up and say April Fools, we tricked you, however that didn't occur. Rather they were clarifying different details, however, all I continued hearing was your child has a mental illness, your child has autism. I was not prepared for what was being said to me. I thought to myself, my life will never be the same, Noah’s life will never be the life I wished for him.

Things are going to change from this point on. What did I do wrong in my pregnancy? It's my blame, I don't know how, yet it must be something I did since I was the one that gave birth to him.I wanted to crawl in bed, and cover my head and forget the world. I visited doctors for the next few days, and they all told me my perfect son had the mental illness, autism. I was told by my friends to accept it and continue with my life, but this I couldn’t do that easily. I researched cures for autism, but came to see there is no cure, I could take him to therapy to help him with basic skills like holding a pencil, and controlling his feelings, however I will need to help Noah to make friends and work with others. Noah is always going to be an autistic boy.After days of thinking, I came to the realisation that my son, Noah Blight, will never be a typical boy, but he will always be my boy. Noah has taught me tolerance, love, acceptance, bliss and, the greater part of all, modesty. Just as my other kids have.Noah looks at thigs differently than others do. I had a decision to make, I could sit back and feel frustrated about myself and Noah, or I could stand up and accomplish something, to help other people, simply like me, or my son.Noah is 16 years old, he can’t tie his shoes, he takes everything literally, and his handwriting is terrible. I wouldn’t change a thing. Noah may never drive a vehicle, or go to formal, or even get married, but I consider him as my perfect miracle. Each day brings new difficulties and new challenges, however I value each day I have with my son. I have had friends and people I know tell me how sad and sorry they are for me, I ask why? I was given a special gift, my son.