I'd also noticed Ben was a toe-walker when he first started to walk. The doctor would make offhanded mention of it, but I never pursued an explanation. I knew next to nothing as far as early childhood development. John would explain it to me; he was my expert.
He was the one who'd completed a fellowship in child and adolescent psychiatry, after his general psychiatry residency.
He was the one who devoted long hours day after day to the assessment and treatment of children. No, my husband knew more than any pediatrician when it came to his own son's development. And I needed someone to explain what I was seeing in our three-year-old son. Is it a big deal? Why does everyone keep mentioning it? We were headed to a favorite restaurant. It's not like a paralyzed arm, which would be a clear indication that something was severely wrong neurologically.
This just means something may be going on. Not that something is going on. In Ben's case, I don't think there are any other deficits to be concerned about. He doesn't play with his toys like I'd expect. Have you noticed? Take that box of sticks he keeps beside him. He even has one that he looks at a lot. And he stacks his toys in a nestlike pile, then examines them. Does he have any -- I don't know -- characteristics of an autistic child? They don't have correct perceptions of their environment or the things in it.
It's not Ben. He's affectionate. He likes to play with us. He knows the difference between something that's alive -- like the dog -- and something that's not. Instead of trying to fit the pieces onto the board, Ben had become fascinated with one particular piece. Look how he makes his needs known nonverbally. John continued, "He'll climb into his high chair when he's hungry. He points to things around him. He's even a bit on the dramatic side when he's trying to talk to us with his 'ohs' and 'wows.
It's like you two are glued together. I can't get him to sit still in my lap like you do. There was an invisible bond between Ben and his father.
Although I spent the majority of time with Ben, the two of them had this silent understanding of father and son. We went inside and were greeted by the restaurant hostess. The local patrons as well as the tourists in the area favored the food there. Fried biscuits and apple butter were a famous side dish. We'd moved to the area a couple of years earlier -- it was a much smaller community than Indianapolis. The dining room boasted a large hearth and limestone chimney that rose to the ceiling.
It was a warm place, not just because of a generous fire going. It was a safe place. John and I continued to talk about how late speech ran in his family. I recalled my mother-in-law telling me that one of her daughters was a late talker. One day, the little girl was looking at a jar of pickles and uttered, "pickles" clearly and loudly. That was that. Her talking began. I prayed to God that Ben would follow a similar pattern.
In school, too, I was not what you'd consider a bright kid," John said after we placed our food order. I took a sip of water, feeling puzzled and curious. I remember being told to go outside a lot. And later, in grade school, I had a tutor and speech therapy. I think it was mostly for articulation. We continued to eat and talk, reaching a consensus that Ben would be all right. Peter was almost one and a really sweet baby.
Slept well at night. Smiled all the time. Preverbal and verbal skills right on the mark with enough understandable words to make me comfortable. We just needed to start thinking about how to get that pacifier out of his mouth. John had been asked to be a guest lecturer to the medical students. His topic: "Growth and Development. He's about as textbook as you can get. He's walking -- although a bit unsteadily -- reacts to us, and likes finger foods.
I love it when he babbles and grins like he's telling us a big joke. Have the students guess how old he is. My old teaching days kicked in, or perhaps my frustration at not teaching kicked in. Growth and development is so dry. Let them see Peter eating, cruising around, going up and down the stairs. And I added, "We'll have the tape to keep -- you don't use the video camera nearly enough.
Our date night turned into a running dialogue of the boys. But something inside me fluttered and twittered. Deep, deep down. What was going on with Ben? When I was pregnant, I'd worried constantly about having a healthy baby.
The nurses would catch me crying in bed while I was hospitalized, wondering what was wrong. The IV in my arm, filled with a cream-colored fluid, ached from the awkward position, but I didn't care because it meant my baby was getting nutrition.
And if my baby was being fed, then he'd be all right. Now, I wondered what had happened. What had gone wrong? Was Ben going to catch up? Or did it all mean something more serious? I literally shook my head to try to forget those thoughts. Everything would be okay, I thought as I reached for my third biscuit.
Our home in the country had everything we wanted. A big, blue, salt-box shaped house, a creek, a pond, seventeen acres. Lots of space and lots of privacy. As Ben grew into his third year of life, I often thought of it as a sanctuary. A place where I could keep him safe, away from neighborhoods with kids who were quicker, sharper, and more able to tease him when he couldn't keep up.
I envisioned losing him -- he wouldn't even be able to say his name. I bought a harness, a yellow strap with Velcro closures, so I wouldn't lose him when I shopped. On an early summer day, my parents came for a visit.
My father, an elderly Italian man, was standing across from me as I washed the dishes. My hand knocked the green pot scrubber over the counter, and it fell to the other side of the kitchen island. Ben stood next to my father, and I said to Ben, "Pick that up for me, honey.
His eye contact was good. I sensed he knew I was speaking to him. Then he stared at me again with a blank expression on his face. I could see the sadness in them, the pity for me, and the worry for Ben. I waited and Ben stood immobile. I turned to my father. Ben's face grew serious. He had this ability to sense the emotional wattage in the air. I swallowed, desperately not wanting to cry, and thanked my dad as he handed me the pot scrubber.
After the incident in front of my parents, I decided to try to engage Ben in more active play. I sat with him at the kitchen table, trying to entice him into coloring. He preferred his whale collection or his blankets around him. He loved to watch videos and would stare as the television screen played cartoons or Disney movies.
But today, I was going to be a Good Mom. I was going to make this little guy of mine start to use his hands a bit more. After all, I had kept him home long enough. Preschool beckoned. He'd be ready to start this fall, in about five months. I just wasn't sure where. I situated Ben at the table and held a crayon in my hand. I started to fill in the lines of the sailboat. I'm using a pretty shade of red.
He ran the red crayon over the paper a couple of times, and let it fall out. I leaned over and tried it again. The crayon swirled around the paper and again, his hand dropped it.
He murmured something unintelligible in his soft voice. Then he pointed with his finger dramatically, said, "Oh, wow! The empty black-and-white pages of the coloring book closed spontaneously, and I put my head in my hands and started to sob.
My fingers shook as I paged John. When he answered, I yelled, "There's something wrong, John. You know there is. I know there is. He's not catching up. He's getting farther behind. Then he said, "I have faith in him. All right? We took him to the hospital every day. Why didn't they keep him? He's got a lot going for him. He isn't autistic. Look at how much he loves us. And Peter. He's so gentle with Peter. My breathing got easier. I agreed with what he was saying.
It was all true. John's strength reached out to me. Maybe it was because of all the pain and suffering he'd seen during his training at the children's hospital. I'm not sure. He didn't like to talk about it, but he'd told me about some of the dying children he'd tried to help. Whatever it was, he was able to ease my fears, provide the stability I needed.
I trusted John. I'm worried about you. I'll call you later today, okay? I hung up the phone, got the directory, and started looking for help. I found the number of a speech and hearing clinic at a local university. A major university.
The woman listened in a careful, neutral way with "uh huhs" in all the right places. I told her about my nonverbal little boy. And added how cute he was. How well-behaved. How he made me laugh. Despite the crack in my voice, thick with stress, she didn't veer from her professionalism or invite me in emotionally. She explained that they had a preschool designed for kids who had language problems.
There was a morning and afternoon preschool program two days a week with individual therapy offered during that time. The therapy was delivered by the students and overseen by a faculty member. I tried to focus. Why don't you call me back in about four weeks and, in the meantime, I'll put him on the waiting list. There are usually cancellations. But I'll be able to tell you more then. Then they'd be making the graduate student assignments. But first, the testing.
We needed to bring him in for a complete language evaluation. I had no idea what that meant. I have another son, an infant, and we live out in the country. I licked my lips, and waited, sure she was ready to say what a shitty mother I was, and ask me why I had waited so long to get my kid checked out. Come on, I almost said. Let me have it. Say it. Refresh and try again. Open Preview See a Problem? Details if other :.
Thanks for telling us about the problem. Return to Book Page. Foli ,. Edward M. Hallowell Goodreads Author Foreword by.
A mother knows when something is wrong with her child. If the problem is physical, she takes the child to a doctor. But if the problem is a misunderstanding of her child's mind, where does she turn for help?
This is Ben's story. He was a happy, healthy boy -- a mother's dream come true. Yet by the age of three, Ben's development was significantly delayed: He couldn't mak A mother knows when something is wrong with her child.
Yet by the age of three, Ben's development was significantly delayed: He couldn't make sense of the simplest phrases, and he still hadn't started talking.
When Karen Foli finally took her son, Ben, to a speech and hearing clinic, she was told that he was "probably retarded and perhaps autistic. Trusting her "mother's intuition," Karen set out on a journey to learn the truth about her son's condition A person with auditory processing disorder receives jumbled and distorted sounds. But the ability to hear is usually normal. Even though it affects millions of Americans, APD can be difficult to diagnose and challenging to treat.
Through years of research, and personal interviews, Karen Foli learned everything she needed to know about APD in order to help her son achieve the greatest gift of all: communication. Like Sound Through Water is her story -- winning, inspiring, and true.
Get A Copy. Paperback , pages. Published July 22nd by Atria Books first published March 7th More Details Original Title. Other Editions 6. Friend Reviews. To see what your friends thought of this book, please sign up. To ask other readers questions about Like Sound Through Water , please sign up. Be the first to ask a question about Like Sound Through Water.
Lists with This Book. Community Reviews. Showing Average rating 3. Rating details. More filters. Sort order. Aug 26, Iamshadow rated it it was ok Shelves: autobiography , nonfiction. I really wanted to like this one, because there are very few books on the market about APD. However, Foli's writing style annoyed me, and I didn't feel like I knew much about her son at all by the end, though the book was supposedly about him, too. Sep 25, Nicole rated it really liked it. When my then teenager was diagnosed with CAPD Central Auditory Processing Disorder I began to do extensive research of my own as she was only the second diagnosed case in middle school.
A few others could have have wrongly diagnosed with ADD as it mimicked, but cannot be helped with medication. The audiologist who diagnosed my child recommended this book as one resource. It was good information for resources to access. Unfortunately in my case even though I fought and fought to get my child tested because I knew something wasn't right , it took from pre-school until 7th grade to finally diagnose correctly.
I have recommended this book to other parents who have had their children diagnosed with ADD and still feel something isn't right. As the author proves, a mothers intuition is usually right.
Nov 16, Tahani Al Saadi rated it really liked it Shelves: owned-book. Like Sound Through Water has become one of my favorite novels. I've been live with Ben's family, I felt his mom tears, worries, and her hope. I think this novel is essential for all parents even if they did not, or hopefully may not face this disorder. It will help them to understand how their children might be struggling without obvious symptoms.
Also, educated parents will deal with these situations in an appropriate way more than unaware parents.
I rate this novel as 4 because the happenings Like Sound Through Water has become one of my favorite novels. I rate this novel as 4 because the happenings were moving slowly, but I might think that because I knew about this disorder, so I felt just Frustrated.
I highly recommend this novel. Feb 26, Anne rated it liked it Shelves: education. While not the "wealth of information" as billed by the Library Journal, this book would be a good starting place for anyone wanting to learn more about APD. Written for the viewpoint of a mother, it is a pointed reminder to teachers and practitioners about the power, and sometimes wounding nature, of their words and judgements.
Beyond that, I found Foli's repeated descriptions of her personal misery monotonous and annoying. The resources listed at the end of the book are a valuable for those wan While not the "wealth of information" as billed by the Library Journal, this book would be a good starting place for anyone wanting to learn more about APD. The resources listed at the end of the book are a valuable for those wanting to learn more. Apr 25, Johanna rated it it was amazing.
An excellent resource! Aug 21, Ravena rated it it was amazing Shelves: neuro-nerd. This is a strikingly honest chronicle of a woman's search to find out what was "wrong" with her son. This is an inspiring book for anyone, but I'd say it's a must read for families that have children with any type of learning disorder.
Apr 03, Heather rated it it was amazing. I immediately felt a kinship with the author! I am going through a lot of the same issues in my home with my daughter! Excellent read!! Jul 31, Ernest Adewoyin rated it it was amazing. I seriously almost hated this book.
I found Mrs Karen J. Well, it's not easy being a woman feeling insecure about her child and no one there to answer. But she'd taken her husband too much for granted. I love how the book ended and now everything was leading to this point. It's a book on APD that explains it all. It's a fun book to read. One thing I've learnt is that hard work and persistence and a passion to see something happen I guess the fortune teller was right!
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