The Simple Way to Start the GF/CF Diet

Ahh…the sweet smell of baby powder, pink clothes, rattles, dolls and did I mention the screaming? Eight months of colic. “Does she ever stop crying?” my husband asked. Lucky for him, he did not get the first four hours of the day – thank goodness my son was in school – only myself and the neighborhood had to endure the morning screaming fi ts which stopped as abruptly as they started.

Hold her? Cuddle Her? Rock Her? Adore Her? Not a chance on this planet – I was considering a move to Mars – maybe no one would hear her scream.

Both devastation and relief came with her diagnoses of Autism. For the first three years of her life, I thought that I had to be the worst parent in the world. After having my fi rst child, a boy, who hit his milestones on time or early, how could I have given birth to this sweet little girl who seemed to be so miserable most of the time? I used to watch parents struggle with children screaming in the malls, kicking in the grocery cart and playing in their strollers. Now, I was the parent of one of “those” kids…and it was not fun to be on this side of the fence.

In 1998, I wrote an article for a local moms group entitled, “Apologies from the Perfect Parent.” I used to think all those parents with the misbehaving kids just did not know how to parent their kids. After all, my son could go anywhere or do anything. Was I sorry for ever thinking that way. Now it was my daughter people were staring at and making comments under their breath. When her diagnoses of PDD-NOS came into play, there was a part of me that was slightly relieved. I guess I was not such an awful parent after all. But Autism? Tears streamed down my face. My baby girl had Autism. How was I supposed to feel, what was I supposed to do? I waited 7 years between my children and had three miscarriages during those years. How could this long awaited child, my little girl, MY child have Autism?

The Child Evaluation Center in Louisville was where she received her diagnoses. Her team of evaluators included a medical doctor, a psychologist, a social worker, an occupational therapist, and a physical therapist. After four hours of interviews and evaluations and a 17 page single-spaced typed report, their fi ndings were relayed to us. “It is our impression Victoria presents with a Pervasive developmental Disorder, manifesting as communication impairments with social communication deficits, diminished imaginative play skills with some repetitive behaviors and desire to be consistent with the diagnoses of the autistic disorder.”

In a nutshell, they considered her high functioning – but what exactly did that mean? The team piled high in front of us articles, reference materials, suggestions on how to educate her and a sea of other information. What could they really tell us about her future? Absolutely nothing. Did she have cognitive impairment? Maybe, maybe not. Would she be mainstreamed in her education? The team recommended a jump-start preschool program to see how she would do. They suggested social stories, social training, intensive behavioral intervention, Picture Exchange Communication System, model play, encourage participation in play, facilitate responsiveness to language, and provide occupational therapy. Okay, anyone speak Greek? I had absolutely no idea what any of this meant. I was a marketing manager who had just retired three years previous, to be a stay at home mom. Now they were talking about things I had never heard of.

I felt as if we were stepping out onto a LIFE® game board. Would we roll the dice and make it past the dreaded space you did not want to land on or would we in fact roll those snake eyes and end up paying the price. Before her diagnoses, colic was a major issue and a visit to my pediatrician suggested that it might be her formula causing the colic. So we began the formula roulette. After attempting every formula on the market, we finally settled on some predigested formula (who predigested it, I really cannot say I wanted to know).