Evolution

I did not have time to write this week, so I thought I'd share a post that I submitted last December to one of my favorite websites, www.spdbloggernetwork.com.  It is a site where parents who have children with sensory processing disorders (along with many other diagnosis) share their daily stories. So, here you go....

I had an experience the other day that was neither good nor bad really, but mostly caught me off guard. As I thought about it afterwards, I thought it worth sharing with other “sensational” parents because maybe you can relate.

As many of you surely do, I take my son to therapy 3 times a week. He has speech, physical, and occupational therapies through a private facility. We have been going there for about 2 years now, and my son has made some pretty decent progress in that time. In the beginning, my son was not even a year old. I remember taking him there for his first evaluations, thinking that maybe he wouldn’t have to come here for very long. Therapy would be a “quick fix,” so to speak. I remember also being terrified after sitting in the waiting room for the first time. As I sat holding my then infant son, who appeared to be “normal” by most people’s standards (including my own) at that age, I was surrounded by kids in wheelchairs, some who had braces on their legs, and others who clearly had what (at that time) I would have considered to be “behavioral” issues. I remember thinking to myself that at least my son didn’t have “these” kind of issues. He was just a little delayed physically, and would surely catch up! I mean really, it’s only human nature to compare your child to others, and I’m certainly not above that. I also recall feeling sorry for the parents of these children, thinking how difficult it must be for them, and how sad they must feel that their child has issues that, from my oh, so expert observation, could potentially be lifelong. Thank goodness this isn’t my situation, I thought!

Well, two years have passed since then, and my son is now three years old. And in those two years, a LOT has changed…including my perspective. Therapy has continued, and my son’s issues have not only not disappeared, but have only become more complex. Granted, he has made some awesome progress, and we are very proud of him. But I am no longer under the grand illusion that his need for therapy will end anytime soon. My perspective of the therapy facility has also changed. When I am in the waiting room each week, it is almost as if it is my home away from home. I have come to feel comfortable there, maybe more-so than in the typical places parents go…like a kid’s play land at the mall, for example. Why? Because these families that I have met through my time spent here who dedicate their lives to their children with special needs (along with their other children of course!) have become almost like another kind of family to me. In those hours spent in the waiting room, or in the therapy rooms, I have gotten to know the staff and the other parents. We have shared, cried, laughed, commiserated, and most importantly, bonded. Here, I feel safe. I don’t feel that I’m being judged, and I feel that my son is being cheered on rather than observed and secretly wondered about. It is my own little bubble, and I never realized it until recently.

So this week, I was floating around the therapy facility in my little bubble as usual. My son was being treated in the same PT room as another little guy who was probably about 5 years old. As I sat and watched my son’s treatment, I noticed the other little guy, but wasn’t really paying too much attention. After about 15 or 20 minutes, I noticed the boy’s mother really observing my son and eying me. Eventually, she came right out and asked me how old my son was, and why he was here. I responded simply, “He’s three, and he has Cerebral Palsy.” To this, she replied, “Oh! I couldn’t even tell.” Hmmm, this is when the red flag went up for me. Because I know that not all kids with needs show immediate outward signs of their diagnosis, I would not even DREAM of saying this to a parent who had just revealed this kind of information to me. A few moments later, she qualified her reason for being there by telling me that her son had “just twisted his ankle and injured a ligament so he just needed a little strengthening” to overcome his injury. It was as if she needed to let me know that there was nothing “really wrong” with her son that would warrant him to be in a place such as this for any length of time. Of course, this woman meant NO harm by saying any of this, in fact, quite the opposite I’m sure. But for a moment, I realized that I felt a bit violated….like someone had intruded into my safe place….”burst my bubble,” so to speak. I was very caught off guard, and my internal reaction surprised me really. I now viewed her as almost an impostor in my safe little world.

Interestingly enough, I didn’t take offense to her comment about my son at all, because I don’t expect that every person should be all-knowing on such topics as developmental delays in children, and in particular, the political correctness of how to address such topics. I mean, is there really a “right” way? In retrospect, I am actually impressed that she was brave enough to just come out and ask me the question…many people with “typical” children would be too afraid of offending me. At any rate, what she said, and how she said it is not really the point of my story. The point is this:  I realized in the moment that she asked about my son’s “issues” that I had actually evolved into being the “other” parent in the waiting room. I became that parent for whom I’d once observed in my frightened state, and felt sorry. I was the one in that situation for which she, and likely others for that matter, may look upon and breathe a sigh of relief because it is not THEIR situation. I am now the parent that has the scenario that scares so many parents, and I know this only because it would have scared me not so long ago. However, the other thing that I realized in that moment was that this scenario no longer scares me the way it once did.

This is now MY “normal.” My son’s “life- long issues” are just taken a day at a time, and I find just as much joy in parenting him as I do my “typical” daughter. Sure, I have my moments of sadness or despair, but it has not placed a giant cloud of sadness over my head the way I once imagined it must for those parents I had observed in the waiting room that day two years ago. Before, I wouldn’t have thought that possible. So, in a way, it was like a small victory for me. In that moment, I learned, without even realizing it, that I have evolved. I have overcome! I am the proud mother of a special needs child, and I do not feel sorry or fearful about this fact anymore. This is not to say that my life is all roses, and it DOES come with its unique set of challenges which can, at times, tear me apart. However, even though my parenting experience may be different from others, I love every minute of it, and I celebrate every single milestone that each of my children achieve with pride! I am grateful for that one moment in time, because now I am aware that I have grown as a parent, and for that, I feel proud!

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