John Hussman: Mapping the Molecular Pathway of Autism

At this point, some background is probably a good thing. Just over two years after my son JP was born, he was diagnosed with autism. That's shorthand, of course, because as any autism parent knows, the period between feeling that something is wrong and the time we accept a diagnosis involves such an endless parade of doctors, therapists and other professionals that it might as well include floats, Disney characters and a marching band. As the son of two physicians, having "jumped the track" from medicine in college, I decided that there was something inherently wrong with a world where parents were essentially told "Sorry, but your child has autism. We don't know what causes it, so we have very little advice to offer, except for early intervention - good luck with the cost of that - and a few medications. There are some charlatans and snake-oil salesmen down the street you might look into. And thanks for stopping by."

My breath grew heavier as years of memories shot through my mind, all the tiny victories that other parents so easily take for granted. The giggle he lets out when his attempt at a whole sentence is understood. Rocking back and forth smiling when he types a new idea independently. I leaned my elbows onto the edge of the desk and stared at all the papers and scribbles scattered about. The pencil drawing in front of me seemed more and more real. I remembered the sight of him bundled up in his crib, before we knew, and caught myself whispering out loud - "his brain... his brain.. my baby." My back teeth locked together as wave of heat raced up my face and my steady breath broke into random heaving. I pressed my palms against my jaw, and as my fingers covered my eyes, sixteen years of tears poured into them.