It’s a rainy day here in New Jersey. I’m on edge. I’ve been on edge for 5 days. I’m trying to act like I’m not. I make breakfast and I get dressed. I smile and I fight to keep my voice even. I don’t want CC or Ace to know that it feels like they’re hosting the Olympics in my stomach.
We walk down the stairs and I look at him. Ace. He looks so small.
Why does he look smaller today than on any other day?
I wonder to myself “why do my babies have to go through so much?” He should be at school right now. Learning fun things like how caterpillars turn into butterflies. Instead, he’s on his way to see a Pediatric Neurologist. He wasn’t supposed to go until July but due to a last minute cancellation and a conveniently timed phone call on my part, he got bumped up.
We’re sitting in the waiting room. Ace, CC and myself.
I keep looking at Ace. He has freshly cut toe nails. He’s wearing a batman shirt and he’s playing with his transformers toy. He’s happy … until he gets antsy. We’ve been waiting for a while. There’s paperwork business to take care of.
He wants a snack. He wants juice. He wants to know why they are taking so long. He wants to go home. He wants to know where the doctor is. He tells me that he loves me. He says he’s cold. (It’s not cold). He wants more snacks and more juice. He asks to play with an old, washed out puzzle toy in the waiting room. He fingers my earrings. CC takes him to the bathroom. He says he needs to tell me something and when I ask what it is he draws a blank.
I remember him telling me the night before that he feels sad when he is asked to be quiet and that talking makes him happy.
Two other families are in the waiting room with their sons. It makes me sad. I can’t stop wondering what brings those other boys here. I know whatever it is, I would wish away if I could. No-one wants to have to bring their child to see a Developmental Pediatrician or a Neurologist.
Then I hear a mom on the phone. She’s arguing with someone. She says … “I need to make sure this never happens again. I need to understand why security was called instead of the child study team.”
Something catches in my throat.
Her poor child. What is that child dealing with? It’s just not fair.
I count our blessings because we don’t have violent outbursts in our home. My children don’t attack us or try to hurt themselves.
Then they tell us that it’s our turn to go see the doctor.
Long story short ……… Ace has been diagnosed with ADHD. He hasn’t been prescribed any medication, so it’s business as usual at home and a 504 plan will be put in place for him at school.
Lord, please let it help!
That’s all I know for now. We will take it one day at a time and see where this road leads us.
I force myself to exhale.