When it became obvious that my son Ian couldn’t talk, my husband and I spent a lot of time googling disabilities and taking the kid to professionals to find out the root of his problem. Did he have autism, apraxia, or was he just a pain in the ass? After much research, we learned that he has apraxia AND he’s a pain in the ass.
The next stage was to examine every member of our squirrelly family looking for some genetic source of Ian’s neurological disorder. Cousin Jeffrey has a PhD in music and is a professional cellist. Ding. Ding. Ding. Music talent is a warning sign for speech problems. Another cousin was shy. Could she be on the spectrum. Another scored in the 99th percentile for IQ. Was she hyperlexic?
At family get togethers, aunts and uncles would stay clear of me as I probed past history and diagnosed the children with rare brain tumors. The life of the party.
When things don’t go right, you look for answers. Why are so many children being diagnosed not only with Ian’s malady, but also with autism? Our local school district doesn’t have the capacity to keep up with demands for special education services.
All week, my e-mail inbox has been filled with a discussion of the connection between Thimerosal and autism. Friends with children with autism have been weighing in on both sides of this debate. For the most compelling arguments, please read this series of posts on the topic by Dr. Manhattan.
Apt. 11d 
When you say pain in the ass does Ian cry and whine alot. Does he have behavioral problems. My boyfriends son is going through some tests, the speech therapist thinks he has apraxia. Does apraxia come with some autistic tendencies?
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There’s lot of overlaps, but it’s too hard to diagnose these things over the internet. Your boyfriend should take his son to a professional.
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