This is a story I should've written down a few years ago, because it is one that I never want to forget. It is my favorite Christmas miracle.

My first ever clinical experience in grad school was at our in-house preschool autism therapy program. Each group had 5 grad student clinicians and 5 kids, so we would each be assigned to one. The supervisor showed us pictures and described each kid. They all seemed super cute and wonderful, until the last--I will call him J--who, to be honest, was not that cute and sounded the most severe. He was diagnosed with autism and apraxia of speech, did not speak, and used an iPad and picture icons for communication. My supervisor said she would give extra help to whoever had him. But one by one, my classmates chose each of the other kids, and only J was left.

On the first day of our group, each of the kids arrived, super cute, as in their pictures. J arrived last, and he was the cutest of them all. Foreal. And his mom was so sweet and excited to have J in the program. Throughout the next 10 weeks, I fell in love with sweet, little J. He was the best. All my co-clinicians agreed. Though difficult at times, therapy became easier overall as I got to know him and could predict what he needed/wanted.

I felt so blessed to not only learn so much therapy-wise since he was so complex, but to work/play with the sweetest kid ever. At a church prayer meeting, I remember sharing, "I think I'm in love with my client! He's soo cute." I got a lot of concerned looks and had to clarify, "He's only 3! It's ok guys."

His mom asked if I could remain his therapist for the summer semester, since he was already familiar with me. I was surprised, because I wasn't sure if J was making much progress. By the end of summer, I realized that although he had not begun speaking in words, he really was making progress. He started out only lining up his toy trains, but now he was getting everyone to play hide and seek with him. He used to only repeat sounds like "kuh kuh" to request a cracker, but by his last day, he was combining icons to make 3-4 word sentences on his iPad program. I thought that would be the last time I would see J. 

I was so inspired by J that I applied for an internship at Boston Childen's Hospital, because they specialized in augmentative & alternative communication (AAC), using technology to aid communication. It was also where J was evaluated. A few months into working there, I saw J's name on the schedule and could not believe it: he was coming for a follow-up with one of my supervisors on one of the few days I was shadowing her!! I was soooo excited and emailed his mom immediately.

On the day of his appointment, I headed to the waiting room with utter anticipation. It was probably the most excited I'd ever been to call out a name. His mom rushed over and gave me a huge hug. "TIFF!! I can't believe it...J, say hi to Tiffany!" The last time I had seen him, he could barely make the "t" sound, but he turned around and said "Hi Tiff-a-ny" clear as day and gave me a hug. I started crying right in the hospital waiting room. I had never heard him say my name, let alone a simple word.

His mom explained that that past Christmas, their family was at a restaurant, and out of the blue, J said, "Merry Christmas." His dad was shocked and said, "What, say that again!" and he did. Since Christmas day, he began speaking in full sentences up to 10 words long. It was a miracle, especially given his diagnoses and severity. When I shared this with an SLP who has worked for over 20 years, she said, "It's rare to see that kind of change. Hold onto that." What a blessing that my very first client was the kind therapists dream about their whole careers, and I can only attribute it to God. It also reminds me not to be driven by patients' progress but to be faithful and thankful for the many joys of being part of people's lives, even if it's for just a short time. J will alwayas have a special place in my heart, and I think of this miracle every Christmas!