When you find out you’re going to have a baby, your world begins to change. You try to do everything right. You start pre-natal vitamins, you eat healthy, you exercise. And above all, you pray for a healthy child.

April 10, 1999. Jacob Hunter Philip Sauvie makes his grand entrance into this world. You count his fingers and toes (good, they are all there). He appears to be a very healthy baby boy.

You can’t wait until he does all his firsts. Roll over, sit up, tooth, crawl, stand, walk, and so on. You can’t wait to play catch, kick a soccer ball around. But some of these firsts never seem seem to happen. He looks like your typical three-year-old. But something isn’t quite right…

I first took Jacob to Vanderbilt at the suggestion of the preschool that he was began attending when he was 18 months old. His teachers had noticed some behaviors that they thought should be addressed. I myself had noticed a few things at home. He would cover his ears if a noise was too loud. He started hand flapping, running in circles whenever he got excited. He had this screech or squeal that he did from birth. He also had sensory issues with tags in his clothing and socks.

Vanderbilt diagnosed him with sensory integration disorder and PDD-NOS. They suggested therapy for Jacob for his sensory issues. We started right away, but they never did explain to me what PDD-NOS meant. As far as we were concerned, he didn't get diagnosed with autism until he was seven. But in actuality, Jacob had been diagnosed with it at three.

No one prepares you for a diagnosis of Autism. Your life changes in an instant. Doctors, medication, therapy, psychologists, medication, special schools, tantrums, medication, crying yourself to sleep at night, more medication. Some make him sick. Some work. Some don’t. Some work until he outgrows them. Then you start all over again and pray for the best.

Jacob’s tantrums started out small like any other kids but then increased in size and length as he got a little older. When upset he would go to his room and throw his Thomas trains against the wall or the door. He would bang his head on the wall or the floor or any hard surface he could find. He would take his hands and hit himself in the head with his fist. He would run. Walking with him in a public place was scary because at any moment he knew how to twist his arm and drop-down if you were holding his hand and he would just take off.

When we started seeing a new therapist as he got older we were told to restrain him when he was having these tantrums so he couldn't hurt himself. There was a technique, kind of like a bear hug - but you had to completely immobilize him until he calmed down. You never knew what he was going to do from day to day when you woke up in the morning. You just prayed it was a good day.

The stress changes you in ways that can’t be put in words. It almost can’t be understood without being lived. Apologizing for his behavior becomes the norm, but then you become numb and stop noticing, or you stop apologizing when you do. You stop apologizing because he cannot control his outburts and neither can you. And you both know it. You learn to ignore the looks everyone gives him, gives you. You try not to react to the comments from the peanut gallery - well meaning or hurtful and judgmental. Eventually you do your best to tune out all the “He knows what he’s doing”s and the “It’s your fault because you’re not tough enough on him”s. On the outside, you stop caring what others think, but inside you cry for your son who cannot understand what he is doing wrong, why he can’t control himself. Frustration is all over his face, mirroring yours. You would give anything for him just to feel normal. For just one day. Just to know what it’s like. You would like others to be in his shoes - or in your shoes - just for one day. Just to know what it’s like.

Jacob moved in with his father and step mother in Texas in August of 2015. I was close to a nervous breakdown. His younger sister Anna Grace had always lived in his shadow. She needed to be the center of attention for once. Jacob needed a masculine influence in his life as he and I had never been apart. I was always the primary caregiver. His father is trying and has made some positive changes.  His stepmother is trying her best but being placed in her position is very hard as she  has no experience with working with the daily in's and out's of a child with autism and the road has been rough and is getting rougher.

Jacob has just turned 17. He has one more year in high school. His doctor has recommended he be placed into a Therapeutic Residential School which would greatly increase his chances of graduating with grades good enough to get him into college. Last year, I tried relentlessly to find one here in Tennessee that would be a good fit for him, but my nothing panned out. To make this happen, I need to hire a headhunter who specializes in finding schools for children with needs like Jacob. I’ve been lucky enough to find one. This headhunter will find the perfect school to meet Jacob’s needs: a supervised medical environment to monitor his medication and provide him with daily therapy within a community of other children like him. He has even been kind enough to waive his initial contract fee of $450. But he has informed me that a school that will provide Jacob with housing, food, medication, school, and therapy can cost between ten and twelve thousand dollars a month. Jacob is incredibly smart and desparately wants to attend college - but without a specialized school for his last year of high school - I’m afraid his dreams won’t come true.

I’m asking for help to send my son to this life-changing environment for one year. I have done everything I know of to help Jacob. But he needs more. I feel this is Jacob’s last chance, and I’m reaching out. Please help.