grrlTravels

patience is the art of coping

When the OT told me that Z.'s gait was odd I just smiled to myself. Z. has her own way of getting places and her own pace getting there I thought to myself. She requires us to wait. For what I don't know. At this point I'm just waiting.

It's been a rough few months for Z. We suspected the transition occasioned by adding a new member of the family would be most difficult on her. We were not wrong. She and R. spend their days following me around jockeying for position. Those are the nice days. There are other, less nice days too.

But Z. has more on her plate than just a new brother. We are in the process of being evaluated by the school district with our eye on the integrated preschool class next fall (special needs kids in with NSN kids who are invited via a lottery). So far we have met with the OT and the SW, and we still have the speech therapist and a standardized test they are going to administer. Z. knows instantly when she is being evaluated these days. It isn't that difficult. The signs are there—there is a stranger, odd requests, and her mother gets that voice and is a little too cheerful.

I have mixed feelings about the evaluation by the school and about Z. going to preschool in the fall. But then again I have mixed feelings about most everything with Z. So we are moving forward, having the evaluations performed, meeting with the Child Study Team, preparing to send her in the fall. It isn't easy on Z.—she must have mixed feelings too.

Then there is feeding. A great thing happened for me when we met with the IA doctor for R.'s first visit. R. was being watched and the doctor and the OT were asking me a million little questions. The subject of Z. came up. I was just waiting, and immediately pounced. I screwed on my most pathetic mom face and said, "Things are not going well with the feeding therapy. We aren't getting anywhere. Are there any IA doctors who specialize in feeding?" The doctor and the OT gave each other a strange look, but I forged ahead. "I mean anyone. Anywhere. We will fly across the country to consult with the right person. We don't know what to do and the current therapy isn't working and we don't know why and we are considering the doctor in Virginia who everyone loves but living there for 4 or 6 weeks would be difficult. Anyone? At all?" They both gave me a long look. I wondered if I had offended them in some way.
"You're looking at them." It took me a second to realize what they were saying. Were they saying that they were experts in feeding within the IA community? Why did I never know this?

Blah blah blah. Lots of talking. We arrange for Z. to see the already solidly booked OT. We go to the appointment. It is much, much different than our current feeding therapy. It is very, very difficult for Z., and not much fun for me. It is challenging. I feel afraid and exuberant at the same time. I take Z. and her stash of stuff home and begin to implement the new regime.

Z. crumbles. She cries, a lot. She acts unhappy. She begins to refuse to make eye contact during meals, and then refuses eye contact with me intermittently all day long. She begins an all-out rejection of me, doesn't want to be touched, doesn't want me at all. Ever. I persist. I hug her and make eye contact and continue on with the program. She gets gaggy. And then she vomits right in the middle of her dinner, the first time since November.

I email the OT and we decide to take a step back, skip a session, and wait and see. We continue with a few little changes and try to decide whether Z. is upset because of R., upset because of the new therapy, or both. More question marks from our Z. She is a veritable question mark factory, churning them out night and day at breakneck speed.

More question marks. More waiting. I take a deep breath.

Posted by grrlTravels at April 8, 2008 9:02 PM