I dropped off Ian at pre-school at 9:15. I gave him a kiss and told him to be a big boy. He returned to happily shoveling sand into a blue bucket. I tore over to a Panera’s for a peaceful hour out of the house with the laptop. It was a welcome moment of normality during this strange and stressful week.
The school administrators have finally gotten off their lazy asses and begun the grueling testing regimen of Ian that must occur before they assume responsibility for his speech therapy. I began the paperwork for this process back in December and it may be May before he actually starts receiving any services. The administrators don’t seem to be counting pennies, trying to withhold expensive services from my kid. Their slowness seems to be coming from a resistance to hurrying themselves with paperwork and meetings. They feel sorry for themselves their workload has doubled; there is a sharp increase of kids needing help in Northern New Jersey.
Could there be a correlation to 9/11? All these kids were in utero when their mothers were experiencing a major surge in stressful hormones. It’s a possibility.
We finally got the administrators to get the process going, and the next two weeks are going to involve making my kid jump through all sorts of hoops.
On Monday morning, it was the neurologist. His speech delay is the most obvious problem, but the diagnosis is elusive. The neurologist explained that speech delays don’t just happen on their own. There are always other problems that travel with it. What other problems are in this carpool of dysfunction? It’s not clear.
Perhaps it apraxia, which means that the brain is not well connected to the mouth. He knows what to say, but has trouble getting it out. But he shows no signs of the other problems that go along with apraxia: low muscle tone, late walking, trouble eating.
Perhaps it is hyperlexia, which is similar to high functioning autism. Kids with this disability have trouble processing auditory information, but have superabilities processing information visually and are obsessed with numbers and letters. Typically, they are early readers. Ian has started reading and is brilliant on the computer. But kids with this problem have very poor social skills, and he’s functioning okay in a regular pre-school.
She thought that Ian had a very good prognosis because of his gentle personality and his high level of intelligence. By five, he should be talking normally. She wants to see him in another 6 months to see what turns up in his carpool of disorder.
After the morning with the neurologist, Steve and I googled disorders and disabilities until late at night. This maniacal googling is a new stage of grief. After denial and before resignation, comes the google stage.
The neurologist was adamant that Ian had to be in a special education pre-school next year to get him on track quickly. He also needs to interact with peers with the same cognitive level, so he’s also has to be in a regular pre-school. Two pre-schools means I’m going to have to be a chauffeur for two years. Two hours here and three hours there. Not enough time to teach a class at the local college.
I’m relieved to finally have a sense of what my parenting responsibilities are going to be next year. I’ve been wavering about returning to academia and finding a more flexible profession like freelance writing. Ian has made the decision for me.