Many people tell me "I'm lucky" my son recovered from autism. So few do.
I understand why others think that. I sometimes think that, given that such a small but growing number of children emerge from the enigma of being socially isolated, never able to find joy and compassion in life.
But you have no idea how autism reordered the dynamics of my life and my family's. The experience left me broke, and my marriage failed.
When I learned of Leo's diagnosis, I jumped feet first into helping him as if trapped on the balcony of a burning building. I gave up my writing career, my income, my friends, my daily routine, just about everything to redirect my son's course of development. Understanding how to help him, learning what to do and then advocating for his rights was grueling, demanding and rigorous.
I'm deeply saddened that my family — my mother, father and brother — never called to say, "Jayne, how are you doing? What can I do to help?" Family supports are critical during times of crisis. My family never understood the graveity of the disorder like I did.
While I got my son back, it came at great sacrifice. I have no regrets, but I wouldn't want to do it again. I crusade on behalf of early intervention, because it saves lives. In many ways, helping parents recover from the blow of the diagnosis and start immediate early intervention for their child is a rescue mission. I hope that you will join me in forwarding the link to my story, which appears in the Tuesday, Nov. 18, 2008, edition of The Washington Post, to other families clinging to hope that their child will one day say, "I love you."