Diagnosis: Are You KIDDING Me?

Yes, that IS the official diagnosis.  Well, maybe it’s more like my response to Jordan’s diagnosis.
After our initial visit to Children’s Mercy, which lasted about an eternity and a half and was facilitated by something like 50 billion doctors, we returned today to hear the official diagnosis from our team of medical professionals.  (I’ll digress for a moment to tell you that I’m pretty sure one of them was no older than 14, but she sure seemed like she knew what she was talking about.  Sort of like the perky female version of Doogie Howser.)
Autism was ruled out.  And let me stress that I’m pretty sure this was the ONLY thing that was ruled out.
Evidently our kid has apraxia (a speech disorder), which will require a lot of speech therapy.
He also has sensory intolerance to a certain degree, explaining his aversion to loud (or not so loud) noises.
Oh yeah, and don’t forget the anxiety disorder.  That’s what seems to be causing him to settle into a familiar routine and pull away from unfamiliar things (one of the things that made us think we might be dealing with autism).  We learned that, in fact, he enjoys being around people—he just doesn’t know what to do when he’s there.  Which is a problem.  We were all in agreement that, indeed, it would be quite frustrating to play with kids when you can’t talk to them.
Hmmm, let’s see.  I don’t have the stack of paper in front of me, but I don’t want to forget the anxious attachment disorder.  The doctor who told us about this was quick to point out that, no, this is nothing like RAD, and he won’t wake up one night and try to kill us in our sleep.  Very good news.
There’s also the constant movement of his little body.  It’s exhausting to watch him, and I’m pretty sure he has to be exhausted, too.  That would work into the impulse control portion of the diagnosis.
After the first dozen or so diagnoses, I sort of starting hearing this buzzing in my head, and the doctors’ mouths seemed to be moving in slow motion.  Huh?  I’m pretty sure the buzzing in my head was due to the overload of information I had to absorb.
“Why yes, waiter, I am ready to order.  I’ll have the anxiety with a side of apraxia, followed by a half portion of sensory intolerance.  And for dessert, I’ll have the impulse control.”
Good grief, I am going to need my own personal library to learn about all of this stuff.  No, wait!  WebMD, here I come!
But on a serious note, I’m glad we have a diagnosis for our little guy.  We can now get him all the help he needs.

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