I sat across from the psychiatrist, holding my wife's hand as our two-year-old son played inattentively in the background.
"The severity of your son's autism will likely prevent him from ever being independent. It is very possible that he will never speak or have friends. The comorbidity of mental retardation will compound these challenges." The psychiatrist paused and examined our expressions.
My wife clenched my hand a little tighter, but she, too, smiled because we knew firsthand that the diagnosis was meaningless:
When I was three, a psychologist told my parents the same thing about me.
