Yesterday, my wife and I took our oldest son to Harley Street in search of a definitive answer to a question that has remained unresolved for nearly a decade. After two hours of gruelling questions, the diagnosis was uneqivocal: Asperger's syndrome. Suddenly, everything fell into place.
In many ways I feel relieved. My son will now hopefully get the help he needs and my wife and I will no longer be blamed for his problems. However, I feel sad that so many years have been wasted. I wish that I'd been more assertive with the succession of professionals who implied that my wife and I were neurotic parents, making a fuss over nothing.
Perhaps my son could have been spared a lot of unnecessary suffering.
This morning we walked to Landport Bottom, where the town is celebrating the 750th anniversary of the Battle of Lewes. It may not look terribly exciting, but the events that took place here changed the course of history:
In many ways I feel relieved. My son will now hopefully get the help he needs and my wife and I will no longer be blamed for his problems. However, I feel sad that so many years have been wasted. I wish that I'd been more assertive with the succession of professionals who implied that my wife and I were neurotic parents, making a fuss over nothing.
Perhaps my son could have been spared a lot of unnecessary suffering.
This morning we walked to Landport Bottom, where the town is celebrating the 750th anniversary of the Battle of Lewes. It may not look terribly exciting, but the events that took place here changed the course of history:
My older son stayed at home. His younger brother staged a silent protest, refusing to take his hood down and I wondered what we must look like. Occasionally, people would greet us with a breathy "Hi! How are you? What have you been up to?" We smiled back and said "Oh, nothing much..."
I watched some children dancing around a Maypole and tried to imagine either of my sons taking part in a group activity:
I watched some children dancing around a Maypole and tried to imagine either of my sons taking part in a group activity:
The field was surrounded by stalls. Children were laughing at a Punch and Judy show, whilst mothers in medieval costume were preparing some craft activities. Everyone seemed to be inhabiting a different, happier world to us and I felt as if I was passing through like a ghost.
But of course this was nonsense. I looked around me again and saw a woman with a life-threatening illness, a friend whose mother had just been diagnosed with Alzheimer's and a neighbour whose husband had recently left her for another woman. Beneath the surface, most of us are struggling in one way or another, smiling for the camera.
The happy world of perfect families only exists in Ladybird books. And sometimes even Ladybird lets us down.
