Eval #2

Today was Sh.awn's day to be evaluated by the state agency. In some ways it was better than I expected. In some ways, it was worse.

I have been nervous about both Ja.son's and Sh.awn's evaluations. So much so, my IBS has been in overdrive the last two weeks, and I've lost three pounds. Yet, while I was worried about Ja.son's turn, it wasn't the same kind of worry I held in my heart for Sh.awn's appointment.

Sh.awn is my wild card. Detailing his history always, always gets the same kind of looks. It is a combination of pity and horror. It makes me sick to my stomach to see that look, even though I guess I can understand why it comes. It isn't the norm to hear what I have to say. Not even for the professionals who deal with kiddos in our situation.

Not very many parents have to say that their kids have had ten fucking brain (plus two hernia) surgeries before they were two.

But that look triggers always something in me. The guilt floods back. The doubts. The fear of what lies ahead. It makes me want to grab him and run.

Sigh.

He was his charming self, wanting to go straight to just about every person there. My boy will melt your heart, he will.

They were impressed with his mad alphabet and counting skills.

Then the talk of what he can do started.

My heart hurt a little more with each no.

I had to consciously bite my tongue from constantly saying, "but..." after every question (although I did more than they probably wanted to hear).

Then questions about things that don't apply in his situation, and the feeling like they don't quite believe me when I answer.

Does he chew with both sides of his mouth? Does he drool? How is he with this? Or that?

They read a diagnosis and see his arm and think the worst.

And in my head I know they need to ask these questions. Some kids struggle in all areas and there is such a wide variety of limitations that kids can have.

But my heart starts to wonder if these professionals are friends, like we hope for, or foes. I am trying to decide if they will help us in the way that we need or if they will be yet another obstacle we have to clear.

Will they be naysayers?

More people we have to prove ourselves to?

A waste of our time for them to concentrate on the peripheral?

I hope not.

I hate that I have such a distrust of the people who should be there to help us. It would be nice if I could relax and feel confident that those who should know would do what is needed.

Still, we have to try, as scary as it is. I have to trust.

I have to believe.

Without that faith, I might never get to see sights like this.





For him, I believe anything is possible. My job is to figure out the way to help him get there.