Monday 12 December 2011

Too Crazy Not To Be True

This morning Nic had his first evaluation at nine. At about eight-forty I finished getting Nic dressed and realized that it might be a good idea for Tommy and I not to be in our PJs. So, I took the world's fastest shower and scrambled into some clothes while encouraging, or yelling at (whatever), Tommy to get dressed. At five 'til nine I ran into Tommy's room to help him with his underwear and pants, and Tommy decided to shut the door for some unknown reason. I heard Nic pawing at the door and playing with the handle, so I pulled Tommy's knickers on and went to open it...and the handle wouldn't turn.

Somehow Nic managed to lock Tommy and me into the boy's room. In case you are wondering, the handle is reversed on that room because Tommy knows how to lock doors and we didn't want Tommy to lock himself in the room with Nicolas. We obviously weren't thinking about the problems that might cause should one of the kids lock us in.

Events unfold: Nic starts crying. Tommy starts crying. I start to freak out. I think, maybe I can hop out the window and see if a neighbor is home so I can call Jeff or our landlord and get back in. I got so far as to majorly bend the screen before realizing that it is screwed in place. I then attempt to twist out the screws, working frantically as I try to remember whether or not I shut the kitchen gate. Were all the caps on the oven dials that Nic loves to turn? Was the bathroom door shut and the toilet lock in place? He sure does love that toilet. All this time, Nic is screaming and pounding the door, and Tommy is next to me bawling his eyes out.

At this point our one hope is that the therapist shows up and that she can call someone for us. Tommy and I start yelling out the window to see if we can attract her attention. The phone starts ringing, and I am desperately hoping that it isn't the therapist calling to cancel. We yell more, and louder. It sounds something like this, "Hello, therapist, HELP! HELP! Therapist, we're in the back yard, please come around," etc with Tommy parroting every slightly incoherent word as I yell it. A minute or two later I hear someone coming. The therapist had arrived, heard our pleas, and came to our rescue. First, we tried calling Jeff at work. We couldn't get him. I didn't have my landlord's number on me, so that was out. She asks if she should try the doors. I said it was a good idea, because every once in a blue moon Jeff doesn't lock the door on his way out. She goes around the house and - miraculously - the door is OPEN. She lets herself in and lets us out. I was/am so so thankful. God knew when Jeff left in a rush and left the door unlocked that we would need that door open!

So, we had Nic's assessment. It did not start off well. First, both Nic and Tommy were hysterical from the lock incident, and took some time to calm down. Then Nic decided to act like a child seriously affected with a mental disorder. I am not joking. Nic is always slow to warm up to strangers, and generally quiet when a new person is introduced, but today he decided to stare blankly with his head slightly down, DROOL, and chew his tongue. It was as if he had lost 50 IQ points in ten minutes. The therapist was obviously taken aback since I had stated in my intake interview that the only thing I was concerned about was speech, and then she arrives to find a non-responsive, drooling, tongue-chewer. Immediately she starts asking about how often he drools, chews his tongue, and so on, and of course I'm responding that this is really unusual behavior, probably related to teething because we are so hoping that he will get his molars in soon, and I know she is thinking that I am in complete denial about my child's obvious mental deficiencies. After all, I'm the mom who got locked in a room by her sixteen month old...clearly I must have a screw or two loose myself.

After we went through Nic's history (which probably convinced her even further that he has serious issues), and about a hundred other questions, she got out her toys. Nic decides that he likes her toys and wants to play. He proceeds to demonstrate above-average gross motor skills, and completely on-target fine motor skills. WHEW. He also demonstrated that he doesn't talk, which I already knew, and she ended up deciding that we will proceed with his scheduled speech evaluation but that no other evaluations will be necessary because there are no other possible areas of delay.

However, as she's giving me her run-down, she mentions that she's glad Nic perked up, because at first she was really concerned that there was something seriously wrong with him. She starts throwing around terms like "autism spectrum," "Down syndrome," and "FAS" and I'm thinking, oh my gosh, what is she saying? I was already completely discombobulated from the morning's events and trying to corral Tommy during the evaluations (which Tommy was longing to participate in). So, I stopped her and asked if she was concerned about autism. She explained that she brought it up just to tell me that she wasn't worried about it, she just hadn't gotten to that part of the explanation yet. Her main point was that a child who spent 8 months of his life in an orphanage is expected to have delays that express themselves in a certain way, and that Nic's speech is completely consistent with that. In fact, she mentioned that she was shocked at how well he was doing overall, even compared to adopted clients she has who have come home earlier than eight months. She did ask that we have his hearing evaluated, as she is concerned that it might be the root cause of his delay. He is congested all the time, so it is possible that his ears are filled with fluid (her theory). Also, I think he was born prematurely and that can lead to hearing damage too. So we will be setting up a hearing test as well. As for FAS, she brought it up because he has a sloping head and wide nose. I might have mentioned that he is African and that his head and nose shape aren't exactly unusual for someone from his country (as far as I can tell he has no common FAS indications). So, I asked her if she wanted me to take him to his pediatrician for an FAS evaluation, because I know there is a strong chance that both of my kids had fetal alcohol exposure, and she decided no. To which I must say, "why bring it up and freak me out?" You know I spent half an hour on the internet this afternoon scrutinizing pictures of children with FAS out of sheer paranoia.

Now I am convinced that both my children have any number of syndromes that logic tells me they don't have because I assume their (many) pediatricians might have noticed FAS, or Down syndrome, or autism, or any other severe issue with highly distinguishable facial characteristics or behavioral features. Have I ever mentioned that hypochondria runs in my family? I come by it very honestly. So, for now I am stepping away from the crazy (aka google), and trying to process my intense day. I am counting my blessings: at least we only have one more evaluation appointment to go!

6 comments:

Christine said...

Oh my goodness! Amy, I linked to this from facebook and just laughed my head off! We have all had those days. (Both of my children have locked themselves in a bathroom - although not me with them. But with Peter the bathroom door was broken and it took me a good 10-15 minutes to spring him from a pitch black bathroom at, oh, age 15 months or so). Sounds like you have a lovely family. Sorry you had a rough day.

Christine Thorne

Emily said...

At least you didn't also shove Nic into the snow in front of the therapist...

Tom said...

Perhaps Nic locked you in the room as a direct result of his snow experience. He is a very bright boy, you know.

Jess said...

It's seriously good to know that I am not the only person who relies on google to diagnose medical information when I know better! Laughed until I almost cried imagining this! And then my 4 year old son locked our pantry this morning, don't know why the lock is on the inside, and there is no key to this door, and my hubby is out of town so somehow I have to unlock the door to get the food out. It's a good thing my kids aren't still freaking out if food isn't immediate! Thinking maybe I should just bust it down?
P.S. Try and stay off google, but this is advice I can never, ever follow myself! Hypochondria indeed!

Sweet Apron said...

Oh my goodness, Amy. It will make a good story someday. Crazy times at the Klug cottage....

Heather said...

Add that to poop dress at the museum and barfing at the airport as best Amy as a mom stories of all time.