Therapists

I recently enrolled my son into an online kindergarten program. I was on the phone with his principal informing her of his situation. I told her that he has an elongated thumb on his left hand and unfortunately he is left handed. I told her that his handwriting is a challenge. She cut me off and asked if he had ever received occupational therapy. I cringed at this question. Of course he has had therapy. After waiting lists and negotiating with my insurance company, he was graced with therapists. One spent an entire session carrying him around trying to find an open office. A speech therapist spent a session trying to figure out how to work a communicator. An occupational therapist told me that he was a disiplinary problem, even though I told her he just didn't like her because she was too stern with him. I could go on and on with my struggles with therapists and I wanted to share my experiences with the principle because clearly she lived in a fantasy world where great therapists are granted to every child in need. Instead I told her he did, but he wasn't receiving therapy at this time. Moments like these make me feel inadequate somewhat. And the principal's question stuck with me until I opened a letter from Sammy's neurolical doctor.
The doctor's nurse sent me Sammy's diagnosis of his mental capacities. I started to read the report of his speech pathologist. In her report she states:
"Significiant negative behavior characterized by throwing chairs and refusing to participate."
"Subject needs speech-language therapy with increased frequency."
"Subject needs to be enrolled in a structured, develpmental preschool as soon as possible."
Up to the moment that I read this report, I had forgotten all about that evaluation. But as I laid the report down on my desk, the memories flooded back to me as if it happened yesterday.
That morning of the evaluation, I sat in the waiting room of the hospital. The room was full and Sammy sat on my lap not wanting anyone to notice him. A tiny little girl with long blond hair walked up to us and just stood there smiling at Sammy. She wouldn't give up even though he tried to ignore her. Finally he slid off my lap and the two of them played together. I looked up to see her mom sitting across the room with tears in her eyes that matched mine. I was so lost in the moment that the pathologist startled me when she approached me. I told her that Sammy did better when I wasn't around and asked her if I could stay in the waiting room. She told me it was routine to have a parent in the room while testing. We followed her into a room and Sammy climbed onto my lap and hid from her. No matter what she said or did, he wasn't having any of it. I mentioned to her that I shouldn't have been there. She told me I should leave. I told her that Sammy wouldn't let me leave without him, but she insisted and he had a meltdown. She talked loudly over his screams to inform me that he needed to be in a developmental school. I told her I would love that, but I had been searching for one in my area. I asked her if she knew of any and she said no. I picked Sammy up and left.
I managed to hold my tears in until we were in the car. I was pissed and frustrated. Why couldn't I find anyone who wanted to help me. Why couldn't I find anyone who wanted to listen to me. The session would have went totally different if she would have listened to me and taken Sammy back by himself. Why would she tell me a school was my only hope and not know of a school. I'm sure she tells moms all day long that there are these magic schools all around just sitting there waiting to make your child well.
That session was the point in my life when I quit asking for help. I realized Sammy was making progress. I realized Sammy received therapy everyday, all day. Even though I never had any formal education, I was a occupational, physical and speech therapist. I guided him to overcome his inability to swallow, to sit up, to walk. I recorded his alphabet session the other day and he can verbally say most of the alphabet.
Maybe there is a magical place where everything is handed to you, but I don't know of such place. I do know of my magical world where I have the love and strength to help my child.
I set up an appointment for Sammy to be evaluated by the same pathologist in a few months. I hope I don't tell her to suck it when she realized Sammy had overcome all the issues she listed..without the magical developmental school.
The medical field may never change and really its not for me to say its right or wrong, but I can change my reaction to it.
Long gone are the drives home crying out of frustration...........