What receiving the diagnosis can feel like?

You bring home this child from the hospital who has all ten fingers and all ten toes and you count your blessings that you have a healthy baby and look forward to your life ahead. We did exactly that. Over the first two years we loved and adored our son. He was a gift to our lives and I fell madly, deeply in love with him. At 20 months of age, we moved from MO to CA for my husband's job. We drove over the course of a weekend to CA and upon waking up on our first morning in CA, our son developed a pretty bad case of diahrrea. A trip to urgent care got us some medication for him and within a week he was back to normal. Those first 4 months were crazy and anything but typical as I worked feverishly to get us all unpacked and moved in to our rental home. My son didn't need constant attention which I was thankful for with what all I had to get done. At the end of that 4 months, we celebrated our son's second birthday with a few new friends I'd met through bunco and playgroup. Around that time, my son started to grow more and more distant. By 2 1/2 when we went in for his 2 year visit (delayed because the urgent care had done a physical, yet they failed to ask developmental questions, and we were told we'd have to wait or insurance wouldn't pay because of the checkup/physical aspect of that urgent care visit) I had grown increasingly worried about his speech not being as far along as I thought it should be by then. I was given a referral to see a speech pathologist and went for an evaluation a month later. By this time it had also grown increasingly difficult to get my son's attention when calling his name. We knew his hearing was fine because he would turn to low volume noises but yet we had to scream his name to get him to respond at times. Anyhow, the speech pathologist advised she thought there were some sensory issues and that we should have him further evaluated by the regional center...though she would continue to do speech therapy with him. That was the end of May. I called and completed an extensive phone interview with regional center and a date for an in-home evaluation was set for late July. That in-home evaluation was tough to watch as many of the tests they tried to do with him were unsuccessful and at the end of it, that was when I heard the words for the first time..."It isn't official but we're so sure we are going to go ahead and start services....we believe your son has autism." Holding his 6 week old younger brother in my lap, I started to tear up as I muttered something back...I think I said okay but honestly don't know for sure. Being postpardum and already dealing with hot flashes and nausea from having the baby, i think I muttered something like okay and teared up. Shortly after I ended up being hospitalized for more intense nausea and vomiting. During July and August I was hospitalized a total of 3 times (5 days a piece) because I became so depleted. (Thanks to my mother-in-law for coming back out to care for the kids when I couldn't so Mike could work and keep his job.) I know the stress of the diagnosis made the problem critically worse...but am thankful I was in the hospital as they discovered a pulmonary embolism that could have killed me. In August, the first play therapist started coming twice a week to our home. I missed the first session, maybe two as I was completing my last of 3 hospital stays but thankfully was better once and for all when in week 9 post pardum I awoke and the nausea was suddenly gone. Funny, that is the time when they say your hormones officially reset from pregnancy. Although I attribute divine intervention thanks to the youth minister and associate who visited me at the request of a friend and prayed with me...to helping me turn the corner as well. I went home to work to begin learning what this whole "my son has autism" thing meant and get back to my new baby I'd missed so much time with. Still emotionally a mess, I did end up seeing a therapist at one point, though exactly when is a blur. I do remember having a few days where I balled up in the bottom of my shower and sobbed uncontrollably. I suddenly felt unqualified to be my "autistic" son's mother. That my children would be better off without me or almost wishing they'd be taken from me because I couldn't handle all this. I didn't know how to help a child with autism. I'd hit rock bottom. We went September first to see the regional center psychologist for the "official" evaluation and diagnosis and the misery of completing page after page of a questionaire where most of my answers indicated "no my son can't/won't/isn't doing that" further beat me down. The psychologist ended up giving us a diagnosis of mild to moderate autism. We finished the visit and walked to our car where we got the kids in there car seats and sat down to leave and I lost it. I cried and cried and thought "how are we ever going to be happy", "how are we ever going to have a normal life and get to do all the things "normal" families do?"....with visions of soccer/baseball games in my head. Life felt over. It felt so unfair. I was a complete wreck....I remember my husband being silent a lot and I'm sure he said something but I can't recall what now. We went home (by then they switched our son's therapy provider and increased his sessions to 5 days a week)....and over the course of the next six months, I saw my therapist, watched my son's in home therapy sessions from another room (thanks to a small camera with a long, long cable hooked up to the tv in my bedroom) and learned in baby steps how to work with him. Whatever they did during session, i practiced with him later. We also endured a second evaluation by the school district as in October, when he turned three, he would also start in the school's special ed pre-school. Hating not knowing what he was experiencing all day every day, fearing the lost off control too....I also felt relieved for the break from autism for 3 hours a day during the week. Also at this time, I really struggled being around friends with typical kids, though I did it but I felt angry, thought why us and not them, and hid resentment for their not really knowing how hard we had it and that their kids turned out okay, but not mine. Slowly as I learned how to work with him, got used to the new life with the therapy and loss of some privacy, got used to his starting school, I developed some skills and some confidenct that would help me move forward.