At this moment, I feel like I could just cry. And today, crying would be a celebration. I know that sounds really odd, but it will all make so much sense in a few minutes.

I had been warned about applying for services for Nick through Valley Mountain Regional Center (VMRC). Everyone who works with Nick and is in the mental/behavioral health field has told me that I would meet with a lot of resistance in the application process because of the budget cuts to the program through the years, and that the application would probably be denied, that I would have to fight through appealing. That it would be important to apply before Nick turns 18 as the disability has to have an onset during childhood. I began working on all of this a year and a half ago.

Let’s go back to a year and a half ago. Nick was assigned a case manager through a private clinic here in town. She did her intake for services for Nick, and wondered why he wasn’t a client of VMRC. She began gathering data on Nick and preparing the referral. After a year, she finally sent the referral in. Not because she forgot, or some other dumb reason, but because she was using that time to gather enough data to make a solid referral. She knew the fight for services that we have before us.

A few months ago I received a letter from VMRC stating they were going to be looking at the referral to determine an Intake interview. Last week I spoke to the intake worker for the first time over the phone and honestly, I felt like I was being attacked for wanting services for Nick. As you can imagine, this really stressed me out. It was hard to sleep, most of the time my mind was filled with thinking about Nick not getting the services that he really needs. During the past couple of years he has lost services through county mental health because they believed their services were not the most appropriate for him. They told me to go to VMRC, but didn’t help. Case closed. I was ready to have Nick denied through VMRC. I was dreading today. The intake interview was today.

My stomach felt twisted up in knots. I didn’t bother trying to eat anything, but I did manage my morning mocha. I photocopied documents, organized the papers I knew she would ask for, and straighted up the house. Then as the appointment time came around, I set Sydney up with her paints to keep her busy.

There were countless questions. She asked me to remember things from when he was a baby. Nearly 17 years ago and this brain is a little foggy on some of those details. I tried to remember all of those little details that didn’t seem to matter so much at the time. He was my first child. To me, he was normal, happy and healthy and I had nothing to compare him to until I had Sydney 12 years later. But now, looking back. Yeah, there are differences. Big differences. Even at 5, Sydney is able to do more for herself than Nick can do at nearly 17.

For an hour and fifteen minutes I answered questions. Then Nick came home. He didn’t even acknowledge her. He was mad about something one of the other kids said to him on the bus. Apparently the other kid was insulting me. He walked right past her like she wasn’t here and was halfway up the stairs when I asked him if he was even going to say hello. He never turned around, never looked at her, but said hello and asked if he could go upstairs now. He wanted his video games. I told him fine, but that he would need to come down in a little while for his intake assessment. Only one word came out of his mouth. Why? I told him because he needs to.

Another hour of questions. There were questions about everything from development, friendships, social skills, academics and how he interacts within the community. I asked the worker if she wanted me to have Nick come down. No, she said. My heart sank. The first thought in my mind was that he didn’t meet the criteria to progress past the intake. Then she said something that made me just want to cry.

Nick more than meets the criteria for intake. She saw all she needed to see of Nick’s behaviors and how he reacts to other’s in his environment. She is placing the referral for him to see a doctor who specializes in Asperger’s and Autism. It may be a couple of months before we are contacted and we will be sent to one of three possible doctor’s. San José, Sacramento, or Stockton.

I want to cry! I feel like a weight has been lifted off of my chest, like I can breath again. Tonight there is hope that Nick will be well cared for when I am no longer able to care for him. That he can get the help that he needs to just do the same things that you and I take for granted. Job training, maybe a job and even an assisted living arrangement so that he can be a bit more independent.

Half of the battle is over now. The other half will be after the doctor’s appointment when they review the data and determine whether or not he is eligible for services. Part of me doesn’t think he will. That’s the part of me who see’s hope for him rising above all challenges and be able to be like everyone else. The other part of me thinks he will be eligible. That’s the part of me that is slowly realizing that every year Nick seems more childlike, more introverted, more withdrawn than his peers. It used to be that I never could see what Nick couldn’t do, I never told him that he couldn’t achieve his dreams, but as he gets older, I need to make sure there is someone there who will help him with all the things he will need help with, including paying bills and preparing food.