Changing Lanes
No one has children in the hope that they will struggle or have special needs. No one plans their child’s formative years around therapy sessions, home-programmes and changing schools. It is hard to acknowledge and even harder to accept. By the August of N’s first year at playschool (which was tumultuous to be nice), we knew we had to look at alternative schools. His teachers, principal and therapists had been supportive, kind and nurturing to the best of their collective abilities, but he needed more. Having trained as a speech therapist and done practical placements at various sites, I had a good sense of where we were headed. We went for the interview / assessment, confirmed his diagnosis and secured his place for 2019. I could not think or talk about it without crying. Not because I thought that it was a mistake or because I didn’t want to send him to the best possible school for his needs. I cried because of the loss of what I thought we would do, where I thought we would go and what I thought he would have. I cried because of the anxiety and gut-wrenching fear of having to settle him into a new school (again). I cried because I was terrified that they too would discover that their school was not the right place for him. I cried because school was already so hard for him and it was only the first year.
Let’s go back a little bit and talk about the ‘school / team meeting’ – a constant source of anxiety and tears. We did not have one positive school/therapy/team meeting for N’s entire first year of school. The teachers tried, they really did. It can’t be easy for them to have tell parents what they had to tell us. Their feedback was always couched in something positive, like “he’s so cute…”; “he’s so loving…” always swiftly followed up with the BUT. Like Pavlov’s dog, I now cannot listen to any feedback about N without tensing up and waiting for the BUT. Even though his progress has been quicker and greater than anyone expected, there are always the BUTS, big or small; covert or overt. At one point I just simplified it for my husband and told him to expect me to cry no matter what they said. Either I was sad and crying, or happy and crying, or relieved and crying – probably a little of each. I remember our first feedback meeting at his current school about a month into the first term. The meeting comprised the teacher, his speech therapist, his occupational therapist and his case manager (who is a speech therapist and co-head of the school). They all gave feedback on their initial assessments and his general settling-in process. When they were done, we sat staring at them in silence waiting for the BUT. Eventually, my husband said to them “Is that it?”. I got in my car and sobbed with relief that N was in the right place, that he was understood and that he would be nurtured accordingly in a safe environment. We had done the right thing.
As we prepare to start our third year at his current school, I wouldn’t want him to be anywhere else. They have given him a voice (and boy does he use it), they have fostered his confidence and they have given us the gift of being able to have a conversation with our child. Sometimes when we are driving home from school, I still smile in wonder that he is telling me all about his day. At our first school orientation evening, one of the joint heads said to us “you will cry when you need to come here, and then you will cry when you need to leave”. I understand this now.
However, I still can’t sleep the night before or eat on the day of a feedback session until the meeting is over. My husband doesn’t get as worked up and doesn’t really understand why I do, particularly now that N is “doing so well”. I know why. Because I can hear what they are not saying and read between the lines of what they are saying; because I know his school years are going to be complicated and throw curveballs at him and us no matter how equipped we may be. The thought of having to start over with new teachers and new therapists raises my anxiety to untold heights. Will they see his potential? Will they understand him as a child? All the ‘normal’ parental worries are amplified by the challenges that he faces and that we, as a family, therefore face. You can never understand this unless you are in inside it. In another year, we will have to change lanes again and I am trying to prepare myself for that.