Persona Non Grata

Tonight, I declare war.

Rarely do I take on the mantra of "warrior mama;" I'm a pacifist by nature. I don't like conflict, or anger, or drama. But sometimes, one has to don the armor, pick up the sword, and go to effin' town.

A terrifying article came out today, discussing the new autism criteria for the DSM. In it was the following blurb:

The changes would narrow the diagnosis so much that it could effectively end the autism surge, said Dr. Fred R. Volkmar, director of the Child Study Center at the Yale School of Medicine and an author of the new analysis of the proposal. “We would nip it in the bud.”

To Dr. Fred R. Volkmar: You're a doctor. You've studied books, and some kids. Congrats. If you show up with cancer one day, I pray that no one looks at you and says Why, Dr. Volkmar - you don't have cancer any more. You see, we've ended the cancer epidemic. We just changed the name. And because you don't have cancer now, you don't need treatment now.

I'm pretty sure you'd flip your wig.

Welcome to my world tonight.

***

I'd recently reached a plateau of worry for my son. I could look around, safely on top of my anxiety, and see the forest for the trees. I could see all his progress, and realize that I had also made my own progress.

Measured.

Sustainable.

I could breathe.

And then this happens. You threaten my child's future with your glib words? Because that's what you're doing. His future, and the future of roughly 1 in every 100 children. And their families.

You're causing mothers to cry tears of fear and despair, tears that they hadn't shed in a long, long time.

And as anyone who's experienced measured, sustainable progress knows - as any autism parent knows - regression hurts twice as badly when you have a long stretch of awesome. My son is more than 299.0, more than you, or Aetna, or BCBS, or anyone can describe with five numbers, one decimal, and a small list of criteria.

I won't cede my peace to you, sir. Some man who crunches numbers smugly in the pocket of insurance companies, under the guise of Yale. I hope the Yale mantle makes you feel smart, because you look like a moron tonight. And I don't give my dreams away without a good battle, sir.

You see, I've got big dreams for my boy. Ones that you don't get to take away.

This is war.

And you're persona non grata.