2. Checking in with the Pediatrician. HELP ME!

As a mother, sometimes you just know something is off. You feel it in your heart, in your gut—there’s no mistaking it. That’s how it was with Maverick. From the very beginning, I could tell that he wasn’t developing in the same way as other children. But despite my concerns, I found myself in a constant battle to be heard, to get the help I knew he needed. What should have been a straightforward process felt more like an uphill struggle.

One of the most frustrating parts of this journey was the M-Chat screening, which I had to repeat three times over eight months. Each time, I begged for assistance and referrals, but the results were the same—Maverick didn’t score well on any of the screenings. As a mother, I had to sit through those appointments, watching the pediatrician go through the motions, seeing Maverick’s behavior that I knew wasn’t typical, but still being told that everything was “fine.”

I don’t blame the pediatrician for putting Maverick in the same box as other children his age—he’s trained to see the developmental stages that most kids follow. But as a mom, it was deeply frustrating to feel like I was advocating for my son and facing resistance every step of the way. It was clear that Maverick wasn’t giving eye contact, wasn’t responding to his name, and was showing repetitive behaviors like pacing and hand-flapping. He was also making this long vowel sound, a drawn-out “Eeeeeeeee,” that didn’t seem like a typical sound a toddler would make.

How could this not raise a red flag? How could these signs not be enough to at least look closer, to ask deeper questions? I kept wondering if it was the vaccines. Could something have happened when Maverick had that nasty reaction to his shots? I don’t want to start pushing blame onto anything, but as a mom, you can’t help but wonder. Every article I read, and every resource I looked at, kept pointing to autism. But no one seemed to be ready to say it out loud.

One of the most confusing and concerning things that happened during this time was Maverick’s hearing exam. He failed his very first test, and I remember reading how different sound frequencies can trigger various parts of the brain. I wondered if this could be why he failed—was it because of his unique brain processing things differently? He passed the second hearing screening, but the lingering questions about why he had failed the first one remained. Was it the specific octaves of the notes? Was there a developmental aspect at play here? Why couldn’t we figure it out?

It was exhausting. It felt like I was on repeat, going over the same concerns, asking for help over and over again, but no one was listening. I kept thinking that if we could intervene early, we would have a better chance of helping Maverick, of supporting him in the right way. But it seemed like the harder I tried to push for that early help, the more barriers were thrown up.

Finally, after months of pleading, I was given two referrals during Maverick’s 18-month checkup. The first referral was for speech therapy, and the second was for a developmental pediatrician. The doctor ordered another hearing test to ensure Maverick’s hearing was functioning properly. At last, it felt like we were making some progress, but there was still a lingering frustration that it had taken this long.

I knew from my research that seeing a developmental pediatrician would be key to getting somewhere. So, I called around, determined to get an appointment, to start the real process of understanding what was going on with Maverick. The TIBS center close to us was quick to get us in for a speech therapy evaluation, but when I called ten different pediatricians within a two-hour radius, I was told the same thing—there were long waiting lists, and we’d be lucky if we could get in within the next year. Three places put me on a waiting list, and the timeframe for seeing anyone was well over a year.

That was devastating. After everything we had been through, after all the waiting, the pushing, and the advocating, we were now faced with a year-long wait for the very answers we needed. How much longer could we wait to understand what we were dealing with, especially when I knew deep down what the problem was? I didn’t need the diagnosis for myself—I knew Maverick was struggling, but I needed it for everyone else around us.

I’ve always known that no two children are alike, and I never wanted to compare Maverick to anyone else. But when you’re raising a neurodivergent child, the box you’re placed in becomes wider. The path to understanding becomes harder, and the fight for support becomes that much more complex. But as a mother, I knew this wasn’t the end of the road. This was only the beginning.

I was ready for the long battle that lay ahead. I was determined to keep pushing, to keep advocating for my son, no matter how difficult it became. Because Maverick deserved the chance to get the help he needed, and I wasn’t going to stop until I made sure he did.