Orville Redenbacher's Bonkersville Institute

Today we met with our pediatric developmental neurologist.  Remember our school psychologist, Qui Gon Jinn? The coolness factor has dropped considerably. Our neurologist is Orville Redenbacher.
I met with him for a one-on-one appointment last week, and I was impressed by both his extensive research in the field, and his awesome St. Patrick's Day bow tie.  Not every guy can rock that look in June.

But today was an appointment for Little Dude.  Of course, I had to cart in the whole crew with me, because my only Texan friend is out of town, mostly likely to escape my extreme neediness. 

So there we are in all our glory. The Pork Lo Maniac is doing a finger thing that looks like she's warming up to play the piano. The Peanut Butter Kid is telling her life story to the hapless receptionist. Little Dude is playing with two stacked Duplo blocks and making the loudest "sshhhhhhhhhhhhh" noise ever (this is sound that Anakin's Jedi Starfighter makes, apparently). Cookie is curled into an awkward ball, hands over her ears, trying to read. I'm so hopped up on a combination of coffee and city traffic that I'm literally shaking.  We're the picture of normalcy.

There is nothing quite like having all your children on display for a developmental neurologist to make you feel like a complete fraud as a mom.  I know we're all weird, and I could just read the doctor's thoughts: If this family isn't headed straight to Bonkersville Insitute, then my name isn't Orville Redenbacher. 

This normal weirdness of our family is why we didn't realize until recently that there was anything at all Aspergerish cooking.  When you live in Crazy Town, all kinds of things seem perfectly normal.  (Note: Also, normal things seem bonkers.  While Dr. Redenbacher was checking Little Dude's reflexes, Little Dude exclaimed, "well, this is just crazy!  He's hitting me with a hammer!")

I mention to Dr. Redenbacher that the more I read about Asperger's Syndrome, the more I notice quirks in the rest of us.  Is that what's meant by the "broader autistic phenotype?"  Dr. Redenbacher explained: "Sometimes, a kid can have Asperger's, and no one else in the family has any unusual behaviors.  We just don't know where it comes from.  In other cases, the Aspie kid is just the tallest mountain in a very large mountain range."  Then he smiled kindly and offered me some kettle corn.

Dr. Redenbacher ran through some more tests, and clearly indicated to me that Qui Gon Jinn's initial Asperger-ish diagnosis was wrong.  "Not ish.  Just is."  That's some awesome bedside manner you've got there, Orville.  Can I have some more popcorn?

The trip to the doctor's wrapped up with a lollipop and a surprise blood draw, which is not how it goes in any of the Berenstain Bears books, so obviously Little Dude became an enraged, hissing possum was somewhat displeased.  A child who experiences sunblock application as stressful is going to have a hard time with having several teaspoons of blood removed from his body.  I was so stressed by the situation that I forgot to ask what the blood draw was even looking for.  Lead? Autism antibodies?  Midichlorians*?  I have no idea.

The doctor also said that Little Dude will need an MRI, to check for a brain anomaly that some Aspies have.  An MRI machine is a brightly-lit, claustrophobia-inducing coffin that produces the tranquil sounds of metal banging against metal, right next to your clamped-in head.  After our experience with today's bloodwork, I'm going go out on a limb here and suggest that sliding my child into such a contraption might not go very well.  Going forward, I'm going to have to insist that both Little Dude and I be totally schnockered up on sedatives if we're going to even discuss an MRI.

* My apologies for yet another Star Wars reference.  On the other hand, if you're one of my readers that actually has Asperger's, you're welcome.