It's not even 7:30am on Sunday morning and my Mama Bear is already on high alert. I just completed an assessment sent to me by the township school district psychologist for Robbie. We're working on getting some services for him at school, including occupational therapy and some reading support services.
Our conference with the team of assessors from the school district, our school's resource director and Robbie's teacher (both of whom have been very helpful this year) is Thursday. So I sat down to complete the assessment and immediately felt my defenses go up when I saw the title of the form: "Asperger Syndrome Diagnostic Scale."
We have already had him tested thoroughly at the very highly regarded children's hospital here. They determined that he does not have autism or Asperger's and gave him a vague diagnosis of pervasive development disorder-not otherwise specified. Which, I think, in the era before every behavior set had a label would have just been considered "quirky."
But because completing the form is part of getting him the services, I forged ahead. And let me just tell you if you have never had the privilege of completing one of these assessments regarding your child, there's nothing like one of these forms to make you feel like your kid might be a freak:
- Talks excessively about favorite topics that hold limited interest for others (Hell, I do that!)
- Exhibits few or inappropriate facial expressions (Robbie doesn't do this, but isn't that what's made Jim Carrey millons of dollars?)
- Frequently becomes anxious or panics when unscheduled events occur (He gets that one from his dad.)
- Lacks organizational skills (Hey, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.)
- Displays an unusual reaction to loud, unpredictable noises (Is that so unsual for a small child?)
- Has a restricted diet consisting of the same foods cooked and presented the same way (So he likes chicken nuggets and baloney.)
And I'm sitting here thinking, this is who he is. He's not unusual. He's Robbie. He is quirky and generally happy and somewhat manipulative -- being the baby of the family and all. And I'm offended by the repeated term of "unusual" because in my head it's a euphemism for "freakish."
Which of course triggers the guilt buttons in my brain (and heart). We shouldn't have let him watch TV when he was a baby. We should have delayed vaccinating. He's my only kid to have spent time in day care and maybe that in some way damaged him.
From there I go to the "what ifs?" What if he never graduates from high school? What if he can never live independently? What if he never gets married? Mostly far-fetched, I know. But when my brain gets going, sometimes its hard to stop.
I just want to scoop up my bear cub and his adorable smile and his infectious giggle and his fear of the electric hand dryers in public restrooms and move to some hillside in Kentucky where we can run barefoot and learn about life on life's terms in our own insulated bubble.
But we don't live on a grassy hillside and our life's terms include school and assessments and using the resources at our disposal to help our kids achieve their highest potential. And so I slip the now completeld assessment back into the envelope and, thinking ahead to our conference on Thursday, pray for the best.
