Our Autism Story: ‘My Mom Went Home and Told Herself, “This Will Not Be Mark’s Story”’

By Mark Hasselo

Editor’s note: In recognition of Autism Awareness Month, we invited members of the CHD community to submit their personal stories about autism, and how it has affected them and their families.

I was born healthy and loved. My loving mom, who was a social worker, did everything to nurture me.

I went to a doctor’s office at age 1 and was given the MMR vaccine. During the next three months, I lost skill upon skill as I became more and more fixated on puzzles, number rituals and building block structures.

By 18 months, I had regressed to the point where I was only making an “Eee” sound. I ran back and forth continuously, only glancing sideways.

I no longer knew the names for things, and flipped flash cards and match game cards three times before setting them down.

One doctor said, “Boys are late talkers.” Another asked my mom if I rocked. And one occupational therapist asked if I spun plates. I started early intervention immediately.

November 22, 1994, I was officially diagnosed with autism. My mom felt shock and despair.

The evaluating doctor said “expressive language at a 4-month level” — meaning I had the verbal capacity of a 4-month old baby.

The doctor recommended one outdated book from 1972 and suggested that Mom get me engaged in meaningful interactions throughout the entire day.

A bleak picture had been painted. My mom went home and told herself, “This will not be Mark’s story.”

After the vaccine and rounds of antibiotics, I developed a host of health issues, including chronic green diarrhea, yeast overgrowth syndrome, continuous eczema, significant food intolerances, hypothyroidism and severe immune suppression with constant acute infections.

I was too sick to attend school or enjoy community outings.

My Mom consulted a top nutritionist, many biomedical doctors (referred to as DAN doctors back then) and other mothers who were helping their children to succeed.

The biomedical interventions were trial and error. Some caused severe Herxheimer reactions that took months to recover from.

By age 4-and-a-half, I was seen at a Children’s Hospital for 10 monthly outpatient six-hour intravenous immunoglobulin infusions. This promising treatment helped me move forward with many symptoms of autism, but also triggered mania and years of sleepless nights.

I spent six years in a home-based program to rewire my brain. Wave upon wave of mentors came to the house.

In the beginning, I would sit in a chair for much of the day, painstakingly mastering new skills.

Some staff stayed for two years. Others lasted three days. When I got sick with a virus, I would often lose skills that my team had spent months working on, and I’d have to start over.

Attending school was not much better. The homework load was astronomical. Worse, the administrators thought I needed to get with the program and not act out.

Once home, after white-knuckling my school day, I sometimes had violent outbursts that were uncontrollable. My body was also adjusting to a daily growth hormone injectable that had begun in fifth grade.

After an extensive workup, my endocrinologist had diagnosed me with a pituitary disorder, necessitating the $110-a-day injection that lasted through age 22.

Although this injectable immediately stopped my merry-go-round life of constant viruses, it didn’t prevent me from feeling the persistent and crushing shame surrounding it.

When I attended middle school’s Special Ed program, the teacher’s sarcasm and fear tactics truly harmed me.

When I misbehaved, I was placed in an adjoining detention room for long stretches of time. My pleas for support were often ignored.

By age 13, I hit my lowest point ever — landing in a sub-par residential treatment center.

My mother had hit her own unmovable wall in 1997, which worsened after years of suppressed grief, facilitating my round-the-clock therapy hours, training and supervising the team, a bitter divorce and putting herself in last place.

She went on to be diagnosed with myalgic encephalitis and a host of chronic, impactful conditions.

After leaving the residential center at age 15, I was stunned to be immediately diagnosed with chronic Lyme Disease and atypical Bartonella.

I experienced strange back striations, fatigue, sweats and continual nosebleeds. It took two years of intensive holistic and energy work for me to recover.

Presently, I still have a hard time coping with change, fear abandonment and loss, have specific routines to follow and I need a low-stress environment.

However, I have gone on to perform in nine community theatre productions, have founded a longstanding YouTube Channel, work part-time, have my driver’s license and am putting effort toward independent living.

Despite being vaccine-injured, I would not trade my autism for anything.

Please know that as an autistic individual, you are not a burden or broken. You are loved and your autism is a gift.

Yet you can’t embrace the gift without navigating the curse of vaccine injury.

If there are those who do not see your light, it is their limitation, and not yours. And to the parents who struggle every day, the hope in your heart is never in vain. I see you and commend you.

The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the views of Children’s Health Defense.

Do you have an autism story you’d like to share with the CHD Community for Autism Awareness Month? Click here for details.