Why can't I see it happening WHILE it's happening? My tone of voice starts out light and cheery. Then, it changes and gets darker. I get hot and shaky, like someone's just cranked the thermostat, and I start repeating the information over and over again. Here's where I should do a spot check, but I don't. Pretty soon I'm talking a little louder, and then a little louder yet, until I'm practically yelling into the phone at some poor person who's just trying to do her job for the day. I want to cry and call her back and tell her I'm sorry and that it isn't her fault, that I'm just up against it again and can't get out. But I don't because I've forgotten her name in the midst of my tantrum, and I wouldn't know who to ask for. I'm also sure she wouldn't care about my fear. She deals with scared moms all day every day.
This must be practice. Practice for treating people well, even when my emotions are on high alert. I must need A LOT of practice in this area. I wonder, sometimes, why it has to be such a fight. I'm to cease fighting anything or anyone. But I feel like I just fade away into the endless piles of paperwork he must have on his desk, and I'm not responded to. "Persistence does not mean fighting," I keep telling myself.
There should be no darkness in my voice. Do I want to be a person with darkness in my voice? There should be no change in the temperature, and certainly no shaking and yelling. Am I a grown up or not? I certainly didn't sound like one a minute ago. A simple, "Can I call you right back after I collect myself?" would probably be appropriate. But then, of course, I'd get someone completely different the next time I called, and I'd have to explain the entire situation ALL over again. More practice. "Call him back every fifteen minutes, calmly and politely asking for the documentation, and he'll get it done for you," my husband's words are swollen in my head. It is so much easier said than done.
The developmental pediatrician that won't call me back regarding current documentation on Isabel's last evaluation, just had his receptionist call to check and see if I'd gotten her to a feeding therapist yet. I've been trying to get a hold of this man for three weeks! I told the receptionist, AGAIN, that I need documentation of WHY she needs to see a feeding therapist so I can give it to the Medicaid medical investigator when they come next week. Once she has the Medicaid (if she's approved), then I will be able to take her to ALL of the therapists she needs to see. But I cannot do this without medical documentation of her condition.
Feeding therapy. Yeah. Stick it on the freakin' list.
And why is it that the school district cannot seem to complete an entire school week? Between PTC days and Presidents' Day, Isabel and Cale will be home for the next five days in a row. Alden has a 10am release tomorrow and the next day, and then has Monday off. Why go to school for two hours? My kids have had at least one, sometimes two, days off a week for like the last three weeks straight. Do you suppose that's why Arizona is ranked 50th in the nation for education? Because, the kids never complete a full week of school? Okay, I'd better stop that. I'm just venting now.
Isabel will see the neuro-psychologist on Monday and Tuesday and then the Medicaid medical investigator comes on Wednesday morning. So, she has to eat gluten (wheat) and casein (dairy products) from now until next Wednesday so that the psychologist and the medical investigator can both see what Isabel is really like. This is where the real fear is coming from. This is my DDD case worker's advice, which I will reluctantly follow.
I wish I could explain what Isabel is like on gluten. The words "small demon" are really inadequate, but they're the only ones that spring to mind. It hurts her tummy. Bad. And they don't have school. So, for the next five days, they'll all be at home with me. Alden will be neglected and play his DS for hours on end, Cale will systematically trash everything in my house while I follow him around and try to keep him from hurting himself, and Isabel will cry and bang her head on the floor. I just can't wait. And that's not even the bad part.
When I told Isabel that she'd need to eat wheat for awhile, she looked me in the eyes and said, "No Mom. I don't eat wheat." She won't either. Not on purpose. She knows it makes her sick. She asks me, point blank, about any questionable food, "Does this have wheat?" and if I say, "Yes" then she won't touch it. Not even a cookie. I'm going to have to lie. I'm going to have to look into her sweet little face, those big trusting green eyes, and say, "No honey...eat up," knowing it'll make her sick. And she's going to get sick. And she's going to know that she can't trust her mom. Have you ever had to look your child in the eyes and lie? It sucks. It just absolutely sucks.
No comments:
Post a Comment