Myles Dula The Inspiration for Myles-A-Part: Our Story
When my son Myles was diagnosed with autism, the developmental pediatrician suggested that I grieve everything I had thought motherhood would be because that would not be our path. I was devestated and depressed. My son had gone from being a bright, open sponge of a toddler, to a withdrawn child who rarely looked anyone in the eyes and exhibited odd, repetitive behaviors, making it difficult to connect with him in any meaningful way. And he had lost all of his words. Those beautiful syllables I had lived for had gone. And every day, I felt I was losing another piece of him. And a piece of myself.
As if this process wasn't painful enough, I realized that the therapies my son needed to get better were not covered by insurance, and that government assistance was sparse. Myles was diagnosed on a Thursday afternon in the summer of 2003. That following Monday, my husband lost his job. At a time when we had less money than ever, we needed it more than ever to get our son the help he needed. I don't think you have to be a parent to imagine how frustrating it is to know there is help for your child, but that you cannot afford it. And to know that the earlier you intervene, the better their chance for a normal life, whatever that is anymore. As we turned over every stone we could find, looking for funding; not to research, or to find a cure, but direct aid to families facing this uphill battle, we were dismayed to see just how little there was. We encountered families almost daily in our journey who faced the same battles.
I won't detail here the heated conversations I've had with unwitting insurance representatives about why Autism should be covered. I won't bore you about the mounds of paper work we complete for waivers and Medicaid benefits that have ultimately failed us. I will instead skip to the part where I got sick and tired of begging for scraps for my son, to the part where I got righteously indignant on the behalf of all families struggling the way we were, and decided to do something about it. I established the Myles-A-Part Foundation. The name does not indicate distance. It instead indicates that I believe our family experienced this because God knew we would be burdened not just to see our son helped, but others as well. And his story is now part of a solution for other families. As we raise money to assist families, and ultimately see the progress these children will make, we will be a part of their success. Their stories will become ours.
When my son Myles was diagnosed with autism, the developmental pediatrician suggested that I grieve everything I had thought motherhood would be because that would not be our path. I was devestated and depressed. My son had gone from being a bright, open sponge of a toddler, to a withdrawn child who rarely looked anyone in the eyes and exhibited odd, repetitive behaviors, making it difficult to connect with him in any meaningful way. And he had lost all of his words. Those beautiful syllables I had lived for had gone. And every day, I felt I was losing another piece of him. And a piece of myself. 