How I learned to live with Dyspraxia: a preview of a book I’m working on

After months of hard work, along with the mentorship and support of Colborne Communications, I am only 6 chapters away from a finished draft of my book. Once this is done, I’ll be looking for a home for this book. I have a few ideas in mind for what literary agents to query, but I’m waiting until the book is done to reach out to them. Although I’m not done writing the book, I thought now was a good time to leak the first few pages. Everything you see below is the introduction to my book. If you want to see more of it, stay tuned for the release date.

Introduction

Dyspraxia is a disability that gives me an underdeveloped sense of space and time. It also impacts fine motor skills.

It has a low level of awareness and is often misdiagnosed, despite the fact that it affects 10% of the population[1]. So, you might live or work with someone with Dyspraxia and not even know it. In fact, the lack of awareness has created a lifetime of problems with being accepted by everyone I meet.

In 1995, the year Dyspraxia was only just starting to be taken seriously in the medical community, my Dyspraxia symptoms started to show up in every aspect of my life. Mike Harris was the premier of Ontario at the time, and his cuts to healthcare shut down hospitals and lowered the healthcare budget[2]. I saw the effects of the cuts in the eyes of every medical professional because they looked visibly stressed, overworked, and overtired. So, I’m still unable to point fingers and impose blame.

This made my first year of school a challenge. I was unable to do everything that children are expected do by the time they’re in school riding a bike and catching a ball, to reading, writing, and basic math. More often than not, I got made fun of. According to a family legend, I couldn’t even understand why an orange (as in the fruit) was orange. I asked my father what triggered the medical tests pre-diagnosis, and he remembers an incident when I lost control of my balance and fell down the stairs.

So, my parents did what most logical parents would do and took me to the doctor. Then, I got sent to several specialists at a major Canadian children’s hospital[3]; I had blood tests, MRIs, appointments with…