Rounding Home: A Memoir of Love, Betrayal, Heartbreak, and Hope with an Intimate Look into Raising a Child with Severe Autism

by Sarah Swindell

  At first I thought he was talking about the new landscapers working at the house, but when he turned on the TV, I knew it was far from that.

  Suddenly, nothing mattered anymore, especially something as frivolous as a baseball game or a World Series title. America held its collective breath for a long time, as we tried to figure out how something so horrific could happen, and how on earth were we supposed to go on living life as if it hadn’t. After about a month, the country slowly started getting back to normal, whatever that was going to look like. The new normal included baseball. People were hungry for the return of America’s favorite pastime. It was like we wanted to hold America as high up as possible for the world to see—we were not broken, and we would show what our country stood for.

  The New York Yankees and the Arizona Diamondbacks played in the World Series one month after the attacks. We easily won the first two out of seven games at home, and were going to New York to play baseball, as the Twin Towers were still smoldering and the city was still grieving. To try and describe what it was like to ride the team bus to the field for Game 3 is almost impossible and certainly a chill-bump-worthy moment. The wives, significant others and family members rode together in several charter buses to Yankee Stadium. My brothers, who were as awestruck as I was, had flown in to join me. I left the children at home with my mom and Maria for fear there would be another attack, as President George W. Bush would be throwing out the first pitch, and rumors were flying. I almost didn’t go to New York myself, but I knew this might be the last chance for Greg to be in a World Series, and I wouldn’t miss this dream come true. But the decision to go and leave the kids at home scared me, and I struggled with it as I rode the bus in. Many of the wives struggled with the same thoughts about their own children, but we tried to put it out of our minds as best we could to focus on the excitement around us.

  I don’t recall how many police cars and motorcycles escorted our bus to Yankee Stadium from our Manhattan hotel, but there were a lot. People on the streets lined up, cheering with homemade signs. There was an undeniable feeling that even though we were competing against each other, we were one big family.

  When President George W. Bush slowly and confidently walked to the mound, the stadium roared with applause. There was no holding back the tears. Everyone cried at the sight of our brave President, clearly risking his own life by being in the most vulnerable position a man could be in so soon after we were attacked. There was not a dry eye in the stadium as the National Anthem played; even the players were wiping away tears. So much emotion filled that stadium that you could almost taste it.

  Sitting in the stands for those three games felt like a dream, with an energy that can never be duplicated. For Game 5, the last of the three games we played in New York, my brothers and I sat way at the top of Yankee Stadium because there was an overflow of tickets needed in the family section. We volunteered to take the seats up on top along with a few other Diamondback families, thinking a little superstitiously that it may bring some luck after losing two straight games. We were surrounded by Yankees fans who playfully, yet loudly, let us know we were in their territory, and we loved it. We could literally feel the stadium rock from side to side from the fans jumping up and down with each hit our pitcher gave up.

  Our games in New York didn’t go quite as planned, and all three were lost in heartbreaking finishes. Since we had won the first two at home, it was time for the best out of seven to be finished back in Arizona. Greg had pitched a couple of times by this point, and his outings went perfectly. To see him on the mound, living the dream he’d had since he was a little boy, was incredible and such an honor to share with him. Even though I felt physically ill with nerves watching him on the field, there is nothing sexier than watching your husband pitch in the World Series. Then again, he made my heart pound just entering a room.

  I will never forget the look on his face when he stepped onto the mound in Yankee Stadium. He stood there with a tiny smile and a look of pure amazement as he soaked in all that was happening around him. It was as if he never wanted that moment to end. It was the moment almost every little boy dreams of.

  They won Game 6 at home in a blowout. Game 7, the final game, was the next evening, and the energy at Bank One Ballpark was almost mystical. White rally towels filled the stadium as fans vigorously twirled them to the sound of thumping music. Fighter jets whizzed by the opened-roofed stadium just before the first pitch, as chills covered my entire body. I will never forget that moment. The whole city of Phoenix felt like one giant family. I don’t think Greg slept a wink the night before Game 7. Knowing the end of his career was probably coming soon, this career highlight could not have come at a better time, or with better teammates than the ones who filled the 2001 roster.

  It was a close game through eight innings, but it was not looking good going into the ninth. We were a few runs behind, and the Yankees’ best closer, Mariano Rivera, was on the mound. Just as all the wives had started talking about what a great year it had been and how the boys should still be so proud, there was a sudden shift in the game.

  Just when we thought it was all over, a bloop single by Luis Gonzalez into shallow center sent the winning run home, and the stadium erupted in pandemonium. Only a few short minutes had passed between anticipating a loss, to jumping around frantically, hugging everyone and crying with joy that they had won! Fans were embracing and kissing complete strangers. There probably was not a dry eye in the whole state of Arizona.

  Wives and family members rushed down the stands, trying not to fall over one another to get on the field. I have never seen more grown men crying than I did once I got down there. When I finally found him, he wept as we hugged tighter than we ever had. His life’s dream had finally come true, after almost seventeen years in the big leagues. I was honored to be right beside him, sharing his incredible moment. To this day, it is one of the most epic World Series comebacks in baseball history, when the Diamondbacks came back to win it all and beat Mariano Rivera. We beat the New York Yankees!

  A few days later we were riding on top of fire trucks through downtown Phoenix in the biggest ticker tape parade I had ever seen—another top lifetime moment I will never forget. Seeing the complete awe in my children’s faces as we rode through downtown, confetti falling all around us, was pure magic. Their wide eyes seeing all the fans in the streets cheering and clapping for us is something they will never forget.

  Not long after the parade, the entire team, staff and their significant others were flown to Washington, D.C., to meet President Bush in the White House. Walking the long white corridor of the White House to shake the hand of our President was the perfect ending to an already unbelievable dream.

  The kids were suddenly stars at school, now that their dad was part of the World Series Champion Team.

  “Mom! Someone wanted my autograph today!” Hayley exclaimed as she ran in the door one day after school.

  Brenna and Sophia basked in all their new popularity as well. While kids at school already thought they were cool because their dad was a pro baseball player, this launched them all into a whole new stratosphere of coolness, and they loved it. I did have a nagging sting of sadness about it, though. Dawson wasn’t aware of all the excitement since he was still just a baby. He was sick with a terrible ear infection on the day of the parade, and we thought it would be best to not bring him. I knew we could rely on videos and pictures when he was old enough, and he would be so proud of his dad. Maybe that would even be Dawson one day, living the same dream as a pitcher in the big leagues, just like his daddy.

  Winning the 2001 World Series was an almost eerie finale to our Wonder Years. We didn’t realize at the time just how drastically our lives were about to change, how much our marriage would be tested, and how our family would never be the same again.

  CHAPTER 8

  AFTER THE EXCITEMENT OF THE World Series win had settled down, we happily got back to normal. We were all anxious to have Dad home for a relaxing three-
month off-season. The girls were happy and healthy, but Dawson struggled with ear infection after ear infection. He was almost a year old and had been on one antibiotic after another. The medications just couldn’t seem to knock out the ear infections and nagging upper respiratory issue he was having. Other than being sick a lot, he was a happy boy and hitting most of his milestones after his rocky start at life.

  In early February, Greg left for spring training, just after Dawson’s first birthday. Saying goodbye was always difficult, as it marked the beginning of single parenthood for me once again. We always had a tearful farewell, and as always, Greg gave me a beautifully written card and Valentine’s Day gift before he left. It was getting harder and harder to travel with four children, so we rarely made the trip to Tucson during the six weeks of spring training anymore, which made the goodbyes even more emotional.

  I was starting to get a bit concerned that Dawson was not even close to walking, and he started crawling later than normal. His pediatrician told us that since he was six weeks early, it was not unusual. He was a chunky kid, and I wondered if his extra weight was holding him back, so I resolved to be more patient and less worried.

  His pediatrician suggested physical therapy after he turned fifteen months to get the ball rolling for his walking. I remember being almost embarrassed at the thought of physical therapy, connecting it to kids with real disabilities. I had visions of kids in wheelchairs and walkers. He was just chubby and a little behind, not disabled!

  It started to seem like Dawson was sick all the time. He was having diarrhea constantly, in addition to the ear infections and respiratory problems. At his well-baby checkup shortly before he turned fifteen months, it was time for a round of shots. He was still on antibiotics from his previous ear infection, and I was concerned that he might not be well enough to handle the round of vaccinations. I was anxious to ask the doctor about it.

  The possible connection between vaccines and autism was just starting to be a serious topic among new moms, and I immediately thought about all the whispers going around about this very touchy topic. I had always been pro-vaccine. I believed a parent who didn’t follow the strict guidelines and recommendations of their pediatrician was being irresponsible. Just a few days earlier, my neighbor Janice and I were chatting in the driveway with our babies in tow, when she told me she was going to delay her son’s shots for a while, just to be safe. At the time, I wasn’t in the mood to get into a vaccine debate while standing in the scorching Arizona heat, so I listened patiently for a while, not really absorbing what she said.

  “I hear what you’re saying, my friend. But just think if everyone stopped vaccinating, wouldn’t we all be in worse trouble?” I asked, wiping the thin layer of sweat that was forming on my forehead.

  “I’m not saying that I won’t get him vaccinated, I just want to do it at a slower pace. It feels like too many at once, if you really think about it,” Janice explained.

  As I stood waiting in the doctor’s office, with a very fussy Dawson on my hip, that conversation crept into my head. Could she be right? This strange and wise voice inside me, the one I have now learned NEVER to ignore, whispered in my ear: stop, stop!

  That voice said, “Do not sign that consent, take your baby home and wait.” I didn’t listen.

  Instead, I looked the nurse in the eye and asked if she was sure it was okay to give Dawson the round of shots after he had been sick for so long. She assured me all was fine since he did not have a fever, and his ears and chest were clear.

  I thought, What do I know? I am not a doctor, I didn’t go to medical school, I haven’t read the latest medical journals. Surely they would never give anything to a baby that could cause harm.

  As I signed the form, I felt a feeling of panic run through my body, and I silently prayed that I was doing the right thing. I quickly convinced myself that I was a good mother for listening to the nurse and that I was protecting my son from all the deadly diseases apparently floating all over Arizona that would surely kill him if I didn’t. The nurse told me to just give him Tylenol when we got home if he seemed fussy, and she sent us on our way.

  The next morning when I went into Dawson’s room to get him from his crib, I noticed a small amount of vomit on his mattress. He was getting sick yet again. My first thought was that the ear infection had come back. I honestly didn’t even consider it might be a reaction from the vaccine. I am not sure if it was because I was busy getting the girls ready for school, or if I had subconsciously stuffed the possibility way down deep inside. Dawson was just getting sick again, it was nothing more than that, I thought, as I tended to the girls.

  I was set to leave town two days later to meet up with Greg. Trying to go anywhere for more than a day with four young children at home requires endless lists, instructions for my mom, carpool arrangements, and should be considered an Olympic sport, gold-medal-worthy. Sometimes it felt like it wasn’t even worth going, considering all the prep work it involved.

  I actually counted the minutes until I was able to sit alone on an airplane, with a good book and a plastic cup filled with all the wine it would hold: paradise, a much-needed quiet respite. I was a tired mama in dire need of a break, and alone time with the husband I missed so much was just what I needed. Any fear that something might be going on with Dawson slowly subsided during the hectic few days before I left. But as soon as I took a breath and settled into my seat, my thoughts immediately went straight to him.

  When I returned a few days later, I was anxious to see the kids. I was rested and ready to be a mom again. I put my bags down and immediately went into the playroom, where Dawson was quietly and intently sitting on the floor watching a movie.

  “Dawsie! Mommy is back!” I cheerfully exclaimed.

  His back was to me, and while he turned to the sound of my voice, his face was a complete blank, as if he had no idea who I was. The first thing that came to my mind was that maybe I was gone too long and he momentarily forgot about me. I could not imagine that being gone for only three days could make my baby forget about me. I picked him up to snuggle and suddenly had a chilling feeling that something was not right. What was it? Maybe he was just still not feeling well.

  “Mom?” I asked, “has everything been okay with Dawson? Has he been acting like he might be getting sick again?”

  “Not that I have noticed, sweetie, but I have been a little busy with those active girls of yours since the minute you left!” she said with a little laugh. “But he has been a little off, now that I think about it. Maybe he is getting more teeth.”

  A few days later we were back at the pediatrician’s office because, sure enough, he did get sick again. We were now going on two months straight of antibiotics—antibiotics that just never seemed to relieve his ear infections or respiratory issues. The bowel issues continued as well, but I figured it was from all the medicine wreaking havoc on his GI tract. But he just wasn’t himself, he wasn’t Dawson. Something was wrong.

  I told the doctor how he wasn’t interested in his surroundings anymore. He was fixated on certain toys and would sit and spin the wheels on toy cars or anything that would spin. It was like he was locked in his own little world when he was doing those things, and nothing could distract him. He was completely entranced by The Wiggles, a colorful group of Australian men who sang catchy songs. He would flap his hands wildly while staring at the television, as if in a trance.

  Then the tantrums started, in full force and over things that were not easily noticeable. He would scream in a state of almost panic if we took a left turn in the car, or when we would go into a store while in his stroller at the mall. I told all of this to the doctor; but by far, the most worrisome thing was that Dawson had lost the few words he had been saying.

  “I’m sure everything is fine, Sarah,” the doctor said casually. “I bet he’s just the classic youngest boy with three older sisters that do ALL the talking for him.”

  As much as I wanted that to be true, I just was not buying it.


  The doctor suggested that we have him evaluated by a specialist to see if we could come up with a reason for the sudden change in his personality. The appointment was made, but there was quite a long wait to get in, and it made me anxious to wait so long. I was ready to try whatever medication or treatment was needed to get our baby boy back to the way he was. It even crossed my mind that perhaps he had lost some hearing from all the ear infections, and I made a mental note to schedule a hearing test. It seemed like that would be an easy fix. I called my mom to fill her in on everything that was going on and told her how nervous I was about the upcoming appointment.

  Then my mom said it. “Do you think he might have autism?”

  I immediately, loudly and defensively said,“NO WAY!!” He was perfectly fine a month ago, other than being sick a lot. Kids don’t just become autistic out of nowhere. But her comment haunted me and I couldn’t shake it.

  That evening, after all the kids were tucked in bed and Greg was at the ballpark, I looked up “Symptoms of Autism” on the computer. I stared at the screen for what seemed like an eternity as tears welled up in my eyes. This could not be true! Dawson had almost every single symptom listed.

  August 28th, 2002, is a date etched in my brain for all eternity. What happened that day lives in my mind like a distant memory, but when I choose to go there, it’s as if it just happened. Just the day before, we had celebrated Hayley’s thirteenth birthday, in full Swindell fashion, by reserving the entire indoor pool at Bank One Ballpark. All her friends were there, it was huge and over the top. We didn’t have the faintest idea that this day, full of laughter and celebration, would be the last for a long time to come. It would be our last day as a “normal” family.

  I still vividly remember the smell in the doctor’s waiting room, it was like the waiting room of an institution. We had never been to this doctor before, and her office did not look anything like a standard pediatrician’s office. I distinctly remember flashing to a scene from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and I quickly tried to shake it off. I told myself that it was just a very cold and sterile doctor’s office. I knew instinctively that I hated it.