Without going into too much detail on the other day's freak out, I wanted to share a few thoughts on what prompted it and where we are now. It came about as a result of an email that raised questions about Isaac's progress in certain areas. Like so many professional communications, it was written with one set of objectives in mind (to detail certain areas which, with more understanding, would help his team better target interventions for him: correct and responsible) but read entirely differently to us (to wit, "Guess what? Your child is a whole lot more broken than you thought.") It sent me, and my usually-unflappable J., into an emotional tailspin that, well, we thought we'd emerged from. Hoped, anyway.
The net of it: the questions were questions: not implications. The intent was laudable: to hone in on things that would better help my son with certain situational challenges. The person who sent it is a lovely, compassionate, responsible professional, and genuinely appreciates my kid for who he is. All the elements were there for a fine old dialogue about how to do a better job for Isaac. All good, no?
But it hit us like a ton of bricks, and brought me back to a line in one of Isaac's earliest speech evaluations that became emblematic of the surreal nightmare that the evaluation process would become. The line in question? "No drooling was observed." "No drooling?!?!" I remember saying to Jesse in the car one day. "That's just great. He didn't drool. I am so grateful that they pointed that out to us." And I followed that comment with some other choice phrases that, for reasons of respect and human decency, I'll spare you.
You see, no one bothered to tell us why they would even mention drooling in a speech evaluation. There I was, back in Rain Man Land, imagining an unfurling future tape loop of "Ten minutes to Wapner," and no one took the time to explain that drooling, which as an image of cognitive dysfunction has a symbolic weight equal only to that of dark matter, is simply a sign of oral-motor weakness, which might correlate with poor articulation. Long story short: your kid needs to exercise his mouth muscles more. Oh.
And so I submit this to you as an example of how, even with the best of intentions, we sometimes get our lines crossed, we parents and professionals. And how hard, even with the best and kindest teams, we need to work to communicate with each other. Ironic, huh? We're supposed to be good at this. But I suppose if I have any wisdom about this now, it's to try to separate the words from the intent. And go from there.
The hell of it is that, even with all the love and respect and faith we have in our kids, we can still be so raw and vulnerable to the most fleeting comment or sign of judgment. That's one of the side-effects of being on this particular bus.
Thanks to all of you who left comments, or emailed, or sent cyber-hugs.
Ohhhh. Ahhhh. Been there, too. As a matter of fact, I was there yesterday, where I was a little too tart with Miss M's teacher who wrote a very innocent email, but used the word "goofy" and my daughter in the same sentence.
I beat her up, she stammered an apology (even though she intended no ill will) and I felt crappy and victorious all the same time.
Glad you're better.
Still sending the hugs.
Posted by: drama mama | October 19, 2007 at 04:25 PM
UGH. We have been there, too. The hell of it is that is is so, so very easy to slip back to; it only takes a wrongly worded email or a tone of voice in a meeting. Sigh...
I'm glad it turned out better than it felt at first reading. Puts me in mind of this post:
http://autismgames.blogspot.com/2007/10/never-call-parent-non-compliant.html
Posted by: Niksmom | October 19, 2007 at 05:21 PM
How true this is. And then I, of course, have this tape recorder in my head that hits "replay" over and over of the incident.
Thanks for sharing. So nice to know I'm not alone.
Posted by: cynthia | October 20, 2007 at 03:56 PM