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My wonderful hubby declared there would be no more children.

As I came out of my sleep deprived haze, I began noticing some health concerns with our 3 year old. I had grown up with siblings who had asthma and was sure I was recognizing the same symptoms in my child. The pediatrician did not agree. Six months and a very serious attack later, we finally had a diagnosis of asthma and began seeing a pediatric allergist. For the next four years, we lived on nebulizer treatments, daily medications and lots of doctor visits. This encompassed the time when Kate would be starting school. As the time drew near, I knew we could not send her to school. She was sick with upper respiratory infections at least once a month without being exposed to other children's germs. In school, she would have missed more days than she attended. So we began home schooling. About this time I began to question our pediatrician about Kate's development. My three year old was talking circles around my six year old. The pediatrician assured us that some kids are quiet and some are talkers. They were both perfectly normal and I was being a paranoid mother. If Kate had any problems they were due to her asthma and/or the drugs she was taking for it. Eventually we changed pediatricians, and were told the same thing when I approached the subject.

Finally in 1995, Jim was offered a wonderful job in Missouri. Everything about the job and move had God's fingerprints on it. So we packed up and moved to St. Louis. We loved the job, the city, and having four seasons.

Two months after we moved, we were running out of one of Kate's daily medications. I called our new pediatrician and asked for a refill. The doctor told me that they were no longer prescribing theophylline for asthma. I was frantic. "You don't understand, my daughter needs to breathe!" She wouldn't budge but offered to send us to another pediatric allergist to find a new medication. In the mean time, I began stretching out the medication, giving her one dose instead of two per day. Then I gave it to her every other day. Then one day the pills ran out, and Kate had no problems breathing. Apparently, Kate was allergic to something in Houston and not in St. Louis. I was thrilled.

A full year went by. Kate was no longer having asthma trouble other than occasional activity induced attacks, and she was no longer on daily meds. No more excuses. I went back to the pediatrician and approached the subject one more time. "I think my child might have a learning disability. I'm a teacher by training and I've been home schooling her since day one. These are the symptoms I am seeing."

And our wonderful pediatrician agreed! She had been an elementary teacher before going back to medical school and recognized the problem. She became our most aggressive advocate. She set up appointments with a developmental pediatrician and made sure our insurance would cover everything.

One month after Kate's 9th birthday, we sat across the table from the developmental pediatrician, a diagnostician, a pediatric neurologist and listened to their diagnosis. Nothing could have prepared us for that moment. Reality hadn't really changed, but our awareness of it had.

I managed to get my children home and occupied. Then I found a corner and began to cry. When Jim came home from work, we cried together. I cried for hours, then intermittently for days, then daily for weeks.

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