A Glimmer of Hope
Written by a respected friend and fellow ‘Therapy Mom’:
As a ‘seasoned’ mother of a child with challenges, being in our 12th year of this journey, the lowest points on this road (by far) were those initial parent-teacher meetings. I wouldn’t sleep properly for a week before these meetings, I’d arrive there an absolute bundle of nerves, weak at the knees, nauseous and on the verge of tears before I even entered the room. The first subtle suggestion we may have some issues with R was when she was 2 and a teacher felt a bit of physio may assist her low muscle tone and give her the confidence to play on the jungle gyms outside. With each teacher meeting came more advice, and the subtle suggestions became more panicked and urgent, with possible diagnoses being offered and lists of doctors and therapists being handed to us. Low tone suddenly was the least of our worries, and terms like apraxia, petit mal epilepsy, autistic traits, attentional problems and learning difficulties peppered these discussions. R was attending physio, and by Grade R she was also in OT, speech and play therapy. I was now trying to juggle my job with being ‘therapy mom’. On a Tuesday she would have speech therapy before school, I’d drop her a bit late at class, then I’d go to work to see a few patients, fetch R an hour and a half before school ended and we’d head to OT. Then I’d fetch my other kids from school, give them lunch, help with homework, and take R to the psychologist in the late afternoon. It was a really crazy time and I think other aspects of my life were totally neglected. R not only consumed my time, she consumed my thoughts as well. I felt hopeless and helpless.
But amidst all this confusion and immense worry, there were moments when a glimmer of hope shone through, where I felt content and calm that R may actually be fine. I try hold onto these moments, enjoy them, and appreciate these blessings.
Life certainly has changed for us now compared to those initial difficult years. R is in an appropriate school, she’s been diagnosed with ADHD, she’s medicated now and we’re seeing the benefits, she’s had years of therapy which are finally paying off. She’ll never be able to sit still at a desk, she hasn’t quite mastered holding a pen properly, and she leaves a trail of mess wherever she goes. The OT sensory profile form which I’ve completed countless times always asks if your child needs more protection in life than same aged children. I’ve started marking this as ‘no’, but if I think about it, I’ll never set a knife out for R at the table, I’ll always give her a plastic cup rather than a glass, I won’t let her run her own bath or allow her to put the cupcakes she’s baking in the oven. I suppose many almost 12-year olds may do these things unaided.
I love R fiercely, with my whole being. And she makes me so unbelievably proud. She’s given 2 presentations at her school’s assembly, she’s won numerous certificates and trophies over the years, she’s started an animal anti-cruelty club, she’s been praised for her kindness to other children. Yesterday R made a poster for school. They put it on the school’s Facebook page. I was following it carefully. She got wonderful comments and over 60 likes. Her poster was beautiful and bright, it was clever, and so witty. I felt like my chest was going to explode with pride. I think I’d feel just as proud of my other children, but knowing where she’s come from, the huge obstacles she’s had to negotiate, and how hard life has been for her at times, are facts that can’t be ignored. My girl is amazing. I think if she gets a place at Harvard Medical School or wins a Nobel Prize, I don’t believe I’d be any prouder than I feel right now.