An unbelievably puzzling brain

Our child masters the iPhone effortlessly, but does not speak. On regressive autism, hidden language comprehension, and why we keep believing in his talents.

He scrolls and swipes — he knows exactly how it works. He searches and finds what he wants to see or hear on YouTube. When it is over, he effortlessly rewinds to exactly the part that holds his interest. Or he closes the app and picks something new. Give him a day and he also knows exactly how my new iPhone works: not pressing but swiping, no problem.

He knows every game on the phone and plays them effortlessly. He points without error to the right picture when a question is spoken aloud. Where is the elephant? Clarinet? Bed? Dog? Moose? Airplane? Excavator? Drum kit? Apple? All correct!

He puzzles and matches pictures together. He listens endlessly to “Itsy Bitsy Spider”.

That brain of his is an unbelievably puzzling riddle. Why can he do this with technology but not with his body? Why does he not point to pictures on paper? Why have certain skills disappeared? Why does he not speak?

He was “typical” at birth. He developed like an average child until about 18 months. Then things gradually seemed to lock up. Only what genuinely interests him can he carry out without difficulty. That phone is the ultimate proof that language comprehension is there. But it is also the only proof… And proof that does not count in official tests.

He scored exactly as we had expected. The people who tested him did everything they could to encourage him as positively as possible. In that sense, it was not a disappointment.

Still, it has been gnawing at me again these past days. Those confronting numbers set me thinking. What are we missing? How can this happen? Are we doing it right?

And so I went from nostalgically watching old videos and endlessly googling into a kind of rabbit hole. I read about metals in drinking water, vaccine injury, nutrition, unprovable theories and success stories. Searching for answers that cannot be found.

Until I had had enough. I climbed out of that stupid hole. I looked again at the place where I always find recognition. A page about autism — regressive autism fits his symptoms exactly. There I see children like him, there I find parents like me. It gives me perspective.

I stick my nose back into the wind. Because I believe in him, in his (hidden) talents, in his cheerful head and bright laugh. Diagnosis or not, it makes no difference. Even if there is only one percent more happiness to win for him: we are going for it!