Overture

My son's pediatrician in the Philippines was obviously choosing her words.  In June to September 2008 my son and I stayed in the Philippines and during that time we were seeing her original pediatrician regularly for his vaccines and whenever he has health issues. In this particular visit, she was inquiring about my son's tendency to cry aloud while waiting for our turn in her clinic's crowded reception area.  It had been a month since we came back from Thailand and she was wondering if his behavior was occurring only in her small clinic or elsewhere.  She asked if my son had acquired new friends in our neighborhood.  She also asked if he already learned to talk.  We discussed during our previous visit my son's delayed speech, and she recommended to use only Tagalog or English when communicating with him, in case the reason for the delay was due to the confusion from hearing different languages.  Although she was smiling
the whole time, I knew that she was withholding something. 

There were many information that I was withholding from her.  A month before we left Thailand, I began noticing changes in my son's behavior.  The few words that he could speak totally disappeared.  His tantrums worsened both in intensity and frequency.  A few weeks after we returned to the Philippines, he started to rock his body while standing and hurt himself when he was upset.  In the mall, he would pull me to where he wanted to go and without warning he would lie on the floor, dragging me with him.  At home, or in anybody else's house, he would switch off the TV if it did not show his favorite animated videos, and the lights.  He would cry aloud for no obvious reason.  

My wife and I have known her long before we got married.  She was my son's first pediatrician, and she guided us through my son's G6PD deficiency.  I could sense that she was looking in my face for the readiness to hear her concern.  I was looking in her face for the assurance that all my worries were baseless.  I did not find any.

I decided to end our agony and blurted out:  "Is my son autistic?"

Her eyes lit up.  "Let me refer you to a developmental pediatrician."