The story of Dr. Cristina Terrado's discovery her son was autistic -
He was my first and he was my pride. He loved to laugh even with strangers. And though I never really made a fuss over what month/age he can make goo goo sounds or take his first steps, he has his own idiosyncrasies, any mom would notice. After his 3rd month he was throwing up his milk more often than he can feed. My pediatrician says it is just colic.
When he is riding in the car he loves to watch on the window which my would say,mom said he has takaw mata.
He loves to munch on sky flakes (saltines crackers) even when he starts choking on them.
And I never noticed him look in my eye or say mama/mom or point at things. And at 2yrs four months I knew something was wrong when still he only has animal names he can utter correctly. So we made an appointment with the developmental pediatrician. Along the way, I knew at the back of my mind, being in the profession, it was autism. Yes the developmental pediatrician confirmed it after about 30 or 45 mins allowing him to play and talking to him. Typical of me I never reacted or maybe it just did not sink in just yet.
Next day his father who at that time was already out of our lives, came to visit. I told him he has autism and this time I started to cry. He was completely clueless as to what it is and told me “why do you cry, he will grow out of it.” And here started our journey with autism spectrum disorder.
When he is riding in the car he loves to watch on the window which my would say,mom said he has takaw mata.
He loves to munch on sky flakes (saltines crackers) even when he starts choking on them.
And I never noticed him look in my eye or say mama/mom or point at things. And at 2yrs four months I knew something was wrong when still he only has animal names he can utter correctly. So we made an appointment with the developmental pediatrician. Along the way, I knew at the back of my mind, being in the profession, it was autism. Yes the developmental pediatrician confirmed it after about 30 or 45 mins allowing him to play and talking to him. Typical of me I never reacted or maybe it just did not sink in just yet.
Next day his father who at that time was already out of our lives, came to visit. I told him he has autism and this time I started to cry. He was completely clueless as to what it is and told me “why do you cry, he will grow out of it.” And here started our journey with autism spectrum disorder.
He was diagnosed on a December, he started therapy in March. Still thinking yes he will grow out of this. Symptoms of denial. It was altogether a rough and bumpy ride.
I was raising two young boys virtually on my own. Both very precocious, climbing all over, messing up toys and furniture, refusing to eat what is being served, insisting on what they want or what they see fit for their young minds.
i was a nonconformist who is definitely an out of the box idealist, at the same time I learn from all that drops on my head or in front of me. My faith kept me steadfast to what i believe would be the best for my boys. With very traditional parents who fear anything and everything that might befall their grandchildren, at some point in time the clash of ideals would explode.
A gregarious, outspoken, and very talkative person handed a child who cannot say his name or say what he wants or even allow eye contact. There was plenty of screaming, frustrations, and fighting just to be sane in a day. He would just run off in his own, eat only what he knows(spring rolls at that time) and all I know to make him remember is face the wall or remove from him what he loved.
I remember one morning he was off to school, already in his uniform and ran off outside the village gate. I did what I knew how at the time, told him in an angry tone he is not going anywhere, he is to stay at home so he remembers not to run off on his own. I heard my mother telling me that I was a harsh mom, and that I did not know how to take care of my boys. It was not how they taught us to be.
There was a time I made him face the wall for what I cannot remember. And he asked if he can go make pee. I knew it was one of his manipulative strategies. My father heard him and told him to go make pee. I told him to stay on the wall. And it was me and my father butting it out with disciplining an autistic child.
One day skipped work, squeezed in grocery shopping and ran home, my father meeting me on my way up the stairs screaming at me “you are an irresponsible parent!” There was no caregiver, he wanted to play in the shower, he slipped and had a huge bump on his head. I put some ice compress on his bump while I languish at the pain of being called irresponsible. It was a pain that stuck in me like a knife, every now and then being skewered inside every time they see anything and everything that is not in accordance with what they know is right in raising a child.
Even the one person who I thought would understand or even at least know how it is, called me in denial. It was another clash or maybe sibling rivalry or professional rivalry. That I do not know any better with the rehabilitation of my son. That he has to be in an institution, and that he has to be at his age doing these things or that. She was comparing my son with a friend of hers who has a son with autism is doing this and that progress. That she has consulted with experts and know what autism is. She has no idea what she was talking about. She was only a doctor. I am a doctor and a mother raising a son.
I remember one morning he was off to school, already in his uniform and ran off outside the village gate. I did what I knew how at the time, told him in an angry tone he is not going anywhere, he is to stay at home so he remembers not to run off on his own. I heard my mother telling me that I was a harsh mom, and that I did not know how to take care of my boys. It was not how they taught us to be.
There was a time I made him face the wall for what I cannot remember. And he asked if he can go make pee. I knew it was one of his manipulative strategies. My father heard him and told him to go make pee. I told him to stay on the wall. And it was me and my father butting it out with disciplining an autistic child.
One day skipped work, squeezed in grocery shopping and ran home, my father meeting me on my way up the stairs screaming at me “you are an irresponsible parent!” There was no caregiver, he wanted to play in the shower, he slipped and had a huge bump on his head. I put some ice compress on his bump while I languish at the pain of being called irresponsible. It was a pain that stuck in me like a knife, every now and then being skewered inside every time they see anything and everything that is not in accordance with what they know is right in raising a child.
Even the one person who I thought would understand or even at least know how it is, called me in denial. It was another clash or maybe sibling rivalry or professional rivalry. That I do not know any better with the rehabilitation of my son. That he has to be in an institution, and that he has to be at his age doing these things or that. She was comparing my son with a friend of hers who has a son with autism is doing this and that progress. That she has consulted with experts and know what autism is. She has no idea what she was talking about. She was only a doctor. I am a doctor and a mother raising a son.
My son with autism got lost at the mall thrice, me crying the first time, second I was calm enough to know who to warn and what to do and where to find him. Third time it was just a breeze. He also went biking off on his own. The first time around the downtown area of the city where we lived. He was caught by a poso (public safety officer) halfway across the city proper. He was good at remembering roads, his usual route. And he was so shrewd as to getting thru the guards at the gate of the village.
Once he went biking on his own and one guard who saw him leave the gate told me he got out. I asked the guard why he did not stop him. He reasoned "I don’t have my gun with me." To this I almost fell to the ground laughing. This time he did not take his usual route downtown. Called the poso office to watch out for him . An hour later nothing still. So I drove around his usual haunts. Nothing. Two hours my sister was calling precincts to the next two towns in case they see a boy on his bike with the description of the clothes he was wearing.
I was calm and composed believing if I break down I would be no use to him. In my mind I was praying, Lord just keep him safe from anyone who wishes him harm. I was not scared of him getting hurt, I know he is being watched over. I was scared somebody who would see him as a beautiful boy might keep him or even ask for ransom.
And I knew when it gets dark, he knew it was time to eat chicken, and then take a bath, and then go to sleep. Three or four hours later a tricycle stopped in our front gate, his bike on the back carriage and he stepped out saying “mommy it’s nighttime, let’s go to sleep." I allowed my parents to do the talking to the men who brought him home. And I allowed my fears to rush thru my tears. He was already in the border of the third town away from us.
He was wanting to go to Enchanted Kingdom. He took the same route we usually take when we go to Enchanted Kingdom. The men who caught him said he can only say krystaville when asked where he is from. And they searched where that place was, in a city about 20kms away.
Once he went biking on his own and one guard who saw him leave the gate told me he got out. I asked the guard why he did not stop him. He reasoned "I don’t have my gun with me." To this I almost fell to the ground laughing. This time he did not take his usual route downtown. Called the poso office to watch out for him . An hour later nothing still. So I drove around his usual haunts. Nothing. Two hours my sister was calling precincts to the next two towns in case they see a boy on his bike with the description of the clothes he was wearing.
I was calm and composed believing if I break down I would be no use to him. In my mind I was praying, Lord just keep him safe from anyone who wishes him harm. I was not scared of him getting hurt, I know he is being watched over. I was scared somebody who would see him as a beautiful boy might keep him or even ask for ransom.
And I knew when it gets dark, he knew it was time to eat chicken, and then take a bath, and then go to sleep. Three or four hours later a tricycle stopped in our front gate, his bike on the back carriage and he stepped out saying “mommy it’s nighttime, let’s go to sleep." I allowed my parents to do the talking to the men who brought him home. And I allowed my fears to rush thru my tears. He was already in the border of the third town away from us.
He was wanting to go to Enchanted Kingdom. He took the same route we usually take when we go to Enchanted Kingdom. The men who caught him said he can only say krystaville when asked where he is from. And they searched where that place was, in a city about 20kms away.
When he was older , because I trained my boys to enjoy a jeepney and or a tricycle ride, he decided to take one on his own. because classes have been called off for three days then, he got bored. After his bath, he put on his uniform. I was off to work then. My sis was home and saw him out on the lawn thinking he would not leave the premises. Wrong! Apparently, he walked out to the back gate where he knew there was no guard at the gate.
Took the way out of the connecting subdivision and out to the main road. He took the jeep. The driver thinking he was a regular kid who knew where he was off to took him in. When the driver realized he did not get off anywhere along the route or paid his fare, he asked him the usual questions in tagalog.
Because he was near the poso office, the driver dropped him off there. The poso officers had to figure out how they can make him talk or answer their question. One persistent poso went on to investigate. He traced where my son got on the jeep and took him there. It was where tricycles were parked at the connecting subdivisions. And there he found his way to back our gate. And so goes the fabled jeepney ride.
Took the way out of the connecting subdivision and out to the main road. He took the jeep. The driver thinking he was a regular kid who knew where he was off to took him in. When the driver realized he did not get off anywhere along the route or paid his fare, he asked him the usual questions in tagalog.
Because he was near the poso office, the driver dropped him off there. The poso officers had to figure out how they can make him talk or answer their question. One persistent poso went on to investigate. He traced where my son got on the jeep and took him there. It was where tricycles were parked at the connecting subdivisions. And there he found his way to back our gate. And so goes the fabled jeepney ride.
Every time he went off on his own I knew an angel was with him for he too was an angel.
Life has mellowed so much as he grew older. He is now 12 years old and is capable of engaging one in a simple conversation of all things he is interested in. And he is a work in progress every single day, in every aspect in his life. I will live my life a million times over with him to show how pure and beautiful a person like him is. I will live my life a million times over to tell everyone of people like him.
And i will live a million lives over believing he has every chance to make it in this world like every child is. Quoting Bill Parrish on his definition of love…”Multiply it by infinity, and take it to the depth of forever, and you will still have barely a glimpse of what I'm talking about.” I love you my Mardave.
And i will live a million lives over believing he has every chance to make it in this world like every child is. Quoting Bill Parrish on his definition of love…”Multiply it by infinity, and take it to the depth of forever, and you will still have barely a glimpse of what I'm talking about.” I love you my Mardave.
- Dr. Terrado welcomes your comments and questions about autism or medical and dental tourism - all comments will be moderated. If your questions are of a personal nature - feel free to contact her at: dr.christina.boardcertified@gmail.com
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