Guest guest Posted July 11, 2009 Report Share Posted July 11, 2009 In my 32 years in this world, I've experienced many, different heartbreaks. The first was when I had to move away from my best friend when I was 9. Then there was the day my beloved dog passed away when I was 12. I'll never forget the day I found out that my college boyfriend had another girlfriend, or when I turned 24 and my medical labwork came back positive for lymphoma. More recently, the day my husband of 8 years and I decided to say goodbye. But all of these heartbreaks were simply little stings when compared to the day I realized that there was something wrong with my son. This heartbreak, above all others, was uniquely and impossibly painful. It is a pain that changed me. As a parent of a precious child, it is the joy of each ordinary moment that makes up the spectacular journey. You protect them. You nurture them. You dream for them. Then things changed. Each one of us has experienced the months of evaluations and endless questioning when our children were first recognized as having a delay or disability. It changes those perfect joys, at least for the moment, into heartbreak. It's when the quirks that made you beam and giggle suddenly become a symptom. When each little playful game was turned into a platform for observation. When the simple joy of a play date was changed into a devastating front row seat to observe how far behind your child was slipping from his/her peers. My baby. My beautiful son. Each moment was suddenly so painful. When interviewing a job candidate at work, all I could think is, will my son ever do this? Interview for a professional career? Can he ever be articulate and well spoken like the young man in my office? I ached to protect him from a future of frustration and challenges. His first evaluation at the age of 21 months came back with a ranking in at 4%. They said he was 4% of a child? Disgusted, I ripped up the evaluation and flushed it. What else could I do with that? As I greived, I found a book called The Late Talker. It led me to this group. The group led me to the research about vitamin E and fish oil therapy. This research cured my son. This group and the research posted here helped my aching heart, gave me hope, changed my life, and most importantly, my son's life. Today I enrolled my son for kindergarten. His day care providers, bewildered, shared with me that although he is the youngest, he is now the brightest, the most social, and the happiest child in his class. He was released from all three therapies; first occupational, then physical, and lastly speech. I had to wait until he was 26 months to hear him say mama. Now, at nearly five, he doesn't stop talking. Everyone understands him. He used to sign and communicate through pictures velcrowed to the fridge. Now his simply and effortlessly expresses his needs. Shows affection. Loves. He is smart and intuitive and funny and such a joy. Those that meet him for the first time now simply cannot fathom the challenge we were faced with in what seems only moments ago. Ultimately, I want to thank this group. Thank you for holding my hand through this painful and joyful journey. Thank you to and for all of your research and your drive to help others. My son was 4%...and I tore it up and said " NO " ! I am so glad I did. My best wishes to rest of the group. You are an amazing group of people and I wish you the best with your journey. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted July 12, 2009 Report Share Posted July 12, 2009 I recently started this long journey and appreciate your inspiring words. Thank you. From: Shane H. <robin.harmon@...> Subject: [ ] A beautiful day Date: Saturday, July 11, 2009, 11:19 PM In my 32 years in this world, I've experienced many, different heartbreaks. The first was when I had to move away from my best friend when I was 9. Then there was the day my beloved dog passed away when I was 12. I'll never forget the day I found out that my college boyfriend had another girlfriend, or when I turned 24 and my medical labwork came back positive for lymphoma. More recently, the day my husband of 8 years and I decided to say goodbye. But all of these heartbreaks were simply little stings when compared to the day I realized that there was something wrong with my son. This heartbreak, above all others, was uniquely and impossibly painful. It is a pain that changed me. As a parent of a precious child, it is the joy of each ordinary moment that makes up the spectacular journey. You protect them. You nurture them. You dream for them. Then things changed. Each one of us has experienced the months of evaluations and endless questioning when our children were first recognized as having a delay or disability. It changes those perfect joys, at least for the moment, into heartbreak. It's when the quirks that made you beam and giggle suddenly become a symptom. When each little playful game was turned into a platform for observation. When the simple joy of a play date was changed into a devastating front row seat to observe how far behind your child was slipping from his/her peers. My baby. My beautiful son. Each moment was suddenly so painful. When interviewing a job candidate at work, all I could think is, will my son ever do this? Interview for a professional career? Can he ever be articulate and well spoken like the young man in my office? I ached to protect him from a future of frustration and challenges. His first evaluation at the age of 21 months came back with a ranking in at 4%. They said he was 4% of a child? Disgusted, I ripped up the evaluation and flushed it. What else could I do with that? As I greived, I found a book called The Late Talker. It led me to this group. The group led me to the research about vitamin E and fish oil therapy. This research cured my son. This group and the research posted here helped my aching heart, gave me hope, changed my life, and most importantly, my son's life. Today I enrolled my son for kindergarten. His day care providers, bewildered, shared with me that although he is the youngest, he is now the brightest, the most social, and the happiest child in his class. He was released from all three therapies; first occupational, then physical, and lastly speech. I had to wait until he was 26 months to hear him say mama. Now, at nearly five, he doesn't stop talking. Everyone understands him. He used to sign and communicate through pictures velcrowed to the fridge. Now his simply and effortlessly expresses his needs. Shows affection. Loves. He is smart and intuitive and funny and such a joy. Those that meet him for the first time now simply cannot fathom the challenge we were faced with in what seems only moments ago. Ultimately, I want to thank this group. Thank you for holding my hand through this painful and joyful journey. Thank you to and for all of your research and your drive to help others. My son was 4%...and I tore it up and said " NO " ! I am so glad I did. My best wishes to rest of the group. You are an amazing group of people and I wish you the best with your journey. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted July 13, 2009 Report Share Posted July 13, 2009 Heartwarming....how proud you must be! Give yourself a pat on the back for not giving up :-) Jenna (mom to Larsyn 3.3 yo w/ severe verbal apraxia, dyspraxia, hypotonia, SPD, dysmorphic facial features AND Chance almost 6 yo...who thinks he is a teenager!) Orange County, CA > > In my 32 years in this world, I've experienced many, different heartbreaks. The first was when I had to move away from my best friend when I was 9. Then there was the day my beloved dog passed away when I was 12. I'll never forget the day I found out that my college boyfriend had another girlfriend, or when I turned 24 and my medical labwork came back positive for lymphoma. More recently, the day my husband of 8 years and I decided to say goodbye. But all of these heartbreaks were simply little stings when compared to the day I realized that there was something wrong with my son. This heartbreak, above all others, was uniquely and impossibly painful. It is a pain that changed me. > > As a parent of a precious child, it is the joy of each ordinary moment that makes up the spectacular journey. You protect them. You nurture them. You dream for them. Then things changed. > > Each one of us has experienced the months of evaluations and endless questioning when our children were first recognized as having a delay or disability. It changes those perfect joys, at least for the moment, into heartbreak. It's when the quirks that made you beam and giggle suddenly become a symptom. When each little playful game was turned into a platform for observation. When the simple joy of a play date was changed into a devastating front row seat to observe how far behind your child was slipping from his/her peers. > > My baby. My beautiful son. Each moment was suddenly so painful. When interviewing a job candidate at work, all I could think is, will my son ever do this? Interview for a professional career? Can he ever be articulate and well spoken like the young man in my office? I ached to protect him from a future of frustration and challenges. His first evaluation at the age of 21 months came back with a ranking in at 4%. They said he was 4% of a child? Disgusted, I ripped up the evaluation and flushed it. What else could I do with that? > > As I greived, I found a book called The Late Talker. It led me to this group. The group led me to the research about vitamin E and fish oil therapy. This research cured my son. This group and the research posted here helped my aching heart, gave me hope, changed my life, and most importantly, my son's life. > > Today I enrolled my son for kindergarten. His day care providers, bewildered, shared with me that although he is the youngest, he is now the brightest, the most social, and the happiest child in his class. He was released from all three therapies; first occupational, then physical, and lastly speech. I had to wait until he was 26 months to hear him say mama. Now, at nearly five, he doesn't stop talking. Everyone understands him. He used to sign and communicate through pictures velcrowed to the fridge. Now his simply and effortlessly expresses his needs. Shows affection. Loves. He is smart and intuitive and funny and such a joy. Those that meet him for the first time now simply cannot fathom the challenge we were faced with in what seems only moments ago. > > Ultimately, I want to thank this group. Thank you for holding my hand through this painful and joyful journey. Thank you to and for all of your research and your drive to help others. My son was 4%...and I tore it up and said " NO " ! I am so glad I did. My best wishes to rest of the group. You are an amazing group of people and I wish you the best with your journey. > Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest guest Posted July 14, 2009 Report Share Posted July 14, 2009 Your post has actullay brought tears to my eyes. It hit home. I am so happy for you and your son and have hope for my child.. At the same time I am jealous and wonder will my daughter (who is 3 ) move as far along as your son. Can I ask you , and I know it's been talked about alot. I do the fish oil therapy 2 pro efas to one pro epa but I have never added E. I don't know which brand or dose and when I go through older posts I get confused so I just don't add it. I was on Speak for about a week but when I saw all the negative posts I got scared. My daughter does not really seem to respond to the fish oil and I'm wondering if the E could make the difference. Can you recommed a brand and dose for a 3 yr old weighing 40lbs. She has been doing well with s/t and has many words and lot's of approximations. We are doing a 3 week intensive in Florida right now and we got to Kaufman for an intensive in Sept. Any advice on the E would be much appreciated. -------------- Original message from " Shane H. " <robin.harmon@...>: -------------- In my 32 years in this world, I've experienced many, different heartbreaks. The first was when I had to move away from my best friend when I was 9. Then there was the day my beloved dog passed away when I was 12. I'll never forget the day I found out that my college boyfriend had another girlfriend, or when I turned 24 and my medical labwork came back positive for lymphoma. More recently, the day my husband of 8 years and I decided to say goodbye. But all of these heartbreaks were simply little stings when compared to the day I realized that there was something wrong with my son. This heartbreak, above all others, was uniquely and impossibly painful. It is a pain that changed me. As a parent of a precious child, it is the joy of each ordinary moment that makes up the spectacular journey. You protect them. You nurture them. You dream for them. Then things changed. Each one of us has experienced the months of evaluations and endless questioning when our children were first recognized as having a delay or disability. It changes those perfect joys, at least for the moment, into heartbreak. It's when the quirks that made you beam and giggle suddenly become a symptom. When each little playful game was turned into a platform for observation. When the simple joy of a play date was changed into a devastating front row seat to observe how far behind your child was slipping from his/her peers. My baby. My beautiful son. Each moment was suddenly so painful. When interviewing a job candidate at work, all I could think is, will my son ever do this? Interview for a professional career? Can he ever be articulate and well spoken like the young man in my office? I ached to protect him from a future of frustration and challenges. His first evaluation at the age of 21 months came back with a ranking in at 4%. They said he was 4% of a child? Disgusted, I ripped up the evaluation and flushed it. What else could I do with that? As I greived, I found a book called The Late Talker. It led me to this group. The group led me to the research about vitamin E and fish oil therapy. This research cured my son. This group and the research posted here helped my aching heart, gave me hope, changed my life, and most importantly, my son's life. Today I enrolled my son for kindergarten. His day care providers, bewildered, shared with me that although he is the youngest, he is now the brightest, the most social, and the happiest child in his class. He was released from all three therapies; first occupational, then physical, and lastly speech. I had to wait until he was 26 months to hear him say mama. Now, at nearly five, he doesn't stop talking. Everyone understands him. He used to sign and communicate through pictures velcrowed to the fridge. Now his simply and effortlessly expresses his needs. Shows affection. Loves. He is smart and intuitive and funny and such a joy. Those that meet him for the first time now simply cannot fathom the challenge we were faced with in what seems only moments ago. Ultimately, I want to thank this group. Thank you for holding my hand through this painful and joyful journey. Thank you to and for all of your research and your drive to help others. My son was 4%...and I tore it up and said " NO " ! I am so glad I did. My best wishes to rest of the group. You are an amazing group of people and I wish you the best with your journey. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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