The Prodigy's Cousin Read Free Page A

dropped,” Lucie recalled.
    The pathologist issued Alex an urgent referral for an appointment with a developmental pediatrician.Two months later, Alex was diagnosed with autism. He was only eighteen months old—young for such a diagnosis—but it wasn’t even a close call. Alex checked nearly every box.
    â€œWe were devastated,” Lucie recalled. “I was trying to be functional because I had a sixteen-month-old and a newborn. I was sleep deprived and trying to cope, but I was mourning the loss of everything I expected of my child. He may never speak; he may never show affection, go to school, make friends, get married, take care of himself, or have a job.”
    Getting help for Alex would be no easy task. The waiting list for publicly funded intensive behavioral therapy was roughly a hundredpeople long. It was a nonstarter: don’t hold your breath, Lucie was advised; don’t count on it.
    Lucie was scrappy. She had worked her way through college; afterward, five or six banks refused to lend her money for medical school, but Lucie kept filling out loan applications until she found a taker. She was trained in psychology and medicine, and Mike was an engineer. They could handle this. Lucie and Mike signed Alex up for speech therapy and occupational therapy while they waited for a spot in the behavioral therapy program. In the meantime, Lucie, who is meticulously organized, read everything she could find on autism intervention. She investigated evidence-based therapy, joined autism support groups, participated in workshops, and attended a three-day international autism conference.
    She was intent on language. At every opportunity, she looked Alex in the face and enunciated words as clearly as she could, repeating them several times.
    She got nowhere.
    She worked on gestures. She tried to teach Alex to point to things he wanted, often while holding a colicky baby in her arms. When that didn’t work, she tried following his gaze to see if she could figure out whether he was looking at a particular drink or toy, silently indicating his desires.
    She got nowhere.
    When Alex had another assessment a few months after his diagnosis, he was still yet to babble, let alone produce his first word. During the appointment, Alex paced the room and stared at the lights on the ceiling. He danced on his toes. He lay down on the floor and watched the wheels on a toy truck roll back and forth. He opened and closed cabinet doors. When someone stopped him from opening the cabinet doors, he cried and banged his head against the wall. His adaptive functioning, a measure meant to reflect a child’s communication, daily living skills, socialization, and motor skills, was at thesecond percentile, indicating that Alex, who was a few months shy of two, functioned at the level of a ten-month-old.
    Lucie threw out her parenting books. Alex wasn’t meeting any of the developmental milestones. He wasn’t even on the scale anymore. The parenting tips the books provided for children Alex’s age didn’t apply. Reading them was just too depressing.
    She did, eventually, have one breakthrough. At one of Alex’s speech therapy sessions, Lucie had learned about the Picture Exchange Communication System (PECS). The idea was to put together a collection of pictures that someone who was nonverbal could use to indicate his needs. Lucie created a binder with dozens of pictures of food, milk, and toys and began slowly, painstakingly, introducing Alex to it.
    Alex learned to find the right card and lay it on the table when he wanted something. After he mastered that step, Lucie taught him to put the card in her hand instead of on the table. She continued upping the ante until Alex learned to look her in the eyes when he handed her the card and then, finally, to cross the room to give Lucie the card.
    It was a success. If Alex was thirsty, at least he could toss Lucie a picture of milk. But it was also demoralizing.