The Room With No Windows

Sitting in the play room at the developmental clinic really wasn't a big deal. At least they had toys. The Audiologists office was full of cords and plugs that was impossible to keep Daniel from, and the Occupational Therapists office was terribly hot with no windows. I hate it when rooms for this have no windows, it makes our situation feel shameful. So we waited, Nora nursing in my arms and Taylor on the floor playing with Daniel, for the team of specialists to finish 'getting their ducks in a row'. They talked about our son so casually, like they do this sort of thing every day, but then again I guess they do.

The light knock on the door annoyed me. As if we weren't expecting them, or couldn't hear them walking down the corridor in hushed voices. They walked in, all 3 of them, each with some medical degree or a long list of letters behind their name. Now the room felt cramped again, why do they have to be so small.

The lady with the awful shoes talks first. "Daniel is a sweet boy". Followed by the women who didn't say much during 'play time' "He is very focused and smart". Then the women who is sitting cross legged on the floor, like its her living room, chimes in about how cute he is.

I start to tune them out, Daniel is eating something from the floor and I try to stop him while bouncing Nora on my lap, getting out the burps. On and on they go about how wonderful my son is...why? I know all this, I didn't come here to see how great Daniel is. Then I finally get the blow.

"Daniel does meet the requirements to be classified as Autistic."

Its like they punched me in the stomach, even though both Taylor and I had our suspicions. They start talking of all the positive things about Daniel, giving us websites and programs.  I don't hear any of it. The room is a little bit fuzzy now, and I want to throw up. Maybe this is why there are no windows. I just want to run out of there, get far away before I start crying. Once I do I am afraid I wont ever stop. The awful shoe lady reaches to me to take Nora so we can collect our things. I hated that. I didn't want her to hold my daughter, for that short moment this was all her fault and I wanted to slap her. Another reason for no windows. I can't breath and run out of the building.

I try and  keep it together until Taylor gets Dan buckled in the car, but tears are falling onto Noras lap as I click in her infant seat. I shut the car door, lean into my husband and in the middle of downtown Manchester I began to sob.