Desperate Times

I had a very insightful experience the other day. I went a little early to pick-up my son from his treatment program/preschool. Everyday the staff leaves reports on how the kids' day was in the kids' cubbies. My son had just woken up from a nap and was all 'scrumbled' as I call it with sleep marks on his face. He was warm as toast, so we had to snuggle a bit. As I was putting on his shoes and coat, another parent came in to pick their child up. At this point, I had already seen my son's daily report and it was average. I breathed a sigh of relief. My son doesn't always get good or average reports. When we first started at his current school, he took his time in making progress. Two months to be exact. I remember being very frustrated with the social worker as she told me that this school might not be the right fit for him. I was devastated! I was broken inside. It hurt so bad.
This parent was not so lucky. They received a 'bad' report slip. And I knew this because they are color coded. Of course red equals bad. I saw the parent's face drop as he read it. His daughter is just the sweetest, most beautiful little baby girl. Honestly, she could model. Gorgeous and her parents dress her so nice all the time. You can tell that this child is loved. I saw her dad's face drop as he read the report. I saw his desparation as he tried to explain to the staff why her day had been so bad. "Did Dr. X tell you that she's not medicated?" The staff, as always, was polite, kind and understanding. But I don't know if they realized his dispair at the 'bad' report. I totally felt his pain. I wanted to hug him and say, "I understand" and "she'll have better days." But I had never met him. And I'm a woman and he's a man, you never know how you'll be received. Sometimes, these 'bad' reports feel like the day they were diagnosed all over again. A bad report takes you back, takes you down. You lose more hope, you lose hope again. You realize that it's never gonna end. The bad reports, the bad news, the endless list of things to work on and improve. It always gonna be something with our kids. We will have weeks of progress and joy. During these times, I often dilude myself enough to think that maybe if we moved away and put him in a regular preschool, he wouldn't get diagnosed. Don't worry, those bad reports always bring me back to reality. The reality of dealing with a child with a life-long disability. The teachers, the caregivers, the doctors, the nurses, the social workers have all been just wonderful to me throughout this whole experience. And I haven't always been so wonderful to them. But they've been nothing but kind and professional. How can anyone understand what us parents go through if they are not themselves going through it? There is no way to understand the pain that we feel. The teachers have to keep a certain distance in order to make the therapy work. I get that. And as parents, it's our job to be overly concerned and connected with our children. We have to be this devoted to our children in order to cope. I don't think it's possible to raise a special child without a special devotion and special loyalty to the child. So, it's gonna hurt. But not all the time.

Kerry -- Thanks for sharing your blog