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He’s just not autistic. Is he? He can’t be. Aggh, I just don’t know. I’ll let the doctor decide. ” I call my mom and tell her everything that has happened over the last couple of days. After I finish passionately refuting every shred of evidence that my baby has autism, I stop. There is silence. “Hello? ” I ask. ” she asks quietly, almost in a whisper. ” I open my mouth, and then close it again. ” I hang up the phone and rest my chin in my hands as I watch Clay meticulously line up his cars. 44 Chapter 7 “Hello, Leeann?

I handled everything well up until this point. As the words begin to unravel out of my mouth, my throat swells, leaving me unable to finish. Sean picks up when I trail off. They rush us back into a small room in which Clay’s tiny eight-month-old body is overwhelmed by the vast examination table. He looks limp and lifeless. The doctor enters the room looking at his clipboard. ” the ER physician asks. “No,” I reply. He examines Clay’s eyes and head. “Wait here, please,” he says, motioning us to the waiting room.

He takes it from me and throws it across the room. I unwrap the gift to reveal a farm puzzle with lights and sounds. ” He doesn’t even look over. I lean over and say to Sean, “How strange that he isn’t interested in any of the toys he got for Christmas. He doesn’t even care to see what’s inside the paper. ” I glance up at a family photo hanging on the wall. It’s from our recent family reunion in Idaho. Clay is in my arms, red-faced and screaming. His pacifier is hanging out of his mouth, and his blanket is pressed to his face.