Nurse Ratched on the job!

I had a remarkable conversation last week at Lowe's Home Improvement with the young guy who came to help me figure out which lamp to buy to hang over Georgia's work desk. I explained the purpose of the lamp: that I am setting up a space to do work with my daughter, "she's got some struggles!". He nodded knowingly and said "Oh, yeah, I hear ya. My son and my nephew have some issues of their own!" That, of course, started me asking questions. Shocking, right? I'm like my mother in that I can strike up an in-depth conversation with pretty much anyone, anywhere. But, I'm also like my dad in that the oddest people seem to seek me out and talk to me. I have to do some quick assessments sometimes "Hmm, this could either turn out fun, or scary..." As it happens, my Lowe's assistant has two sons: a 6 year old in Kindergarten who is super-smart, on ADHD meds, but still struggling; and a 3 year old who is exhibiting anger for which they can find no reason. His nephew is 8, and severely autistic. He helps care for him several days a week. This guy looked SO young, but he is very obviously committed to doing right by his kids. I gave him some ideas of therapies and school programs to look into. When he described to me some of the odd behaviors his 6 year old was exhibiting on the meds, (hearing bees buzzing around his head!) it was my turn to nod knowingly. I told him Georgia had the same thing happen to her on Concerta. His eyes opened really wide, his jaw dropped, and he said almost breathlessly "I thought I was crazy! I thought my son was crazy! I've never had anyone else tell me that they had that same thing happen!" I felt like my head would explode with all of the information I wanted to impart! But it just wasn't the time or place. I was worried his boss would give him a hard time for talking with me for too long. I wondered about getting a resource packet together for him and bringing it back up to Lowe's. Maybe I will!

Our second week of Distance Learning went pretty well. Liz gave us another "step" to add: The AST Language portion. This involves using picture cards, and essentially talking or telling a story about each picture. It's covering a lot of ground: auditory processing, expressive and receptive language, visual organization, and sensory input. This is all done on the mic, along with a Samonas CD on headphones. Georgia has a really hard time blending certain sounds together. "S" is particularly difficult. She'll often leave off the beginning OR the end of a word with "S". When she was little it was kind of cute. She'd ask for a "nack" instead of "snack", that kind of thing. But at age 14, it's a bit of problem. It makes her sound so much younger, and people will glance sort of sideways at us with a look that says "What is *wrong* with that kid?" As we're going along in this lesson though, she's doing a lot more self-correction. With a prompt of "what's that *little* word we're looking for...?" ("is") She'll say "IZZZZZ!" She also just seems a lot more chatty, and personable, and not nearly as sensitive to sounds or touch. Progress. Slowly but surely.

I'm letting Geosie off the hook for mic work today, since she woke up with a stomach bug. You know, I try to be a compassionate mother. It's a little challenging for me though, since I grew up with a nurse mother and doctor father. If you weren't running a fever, didn't have any bones sticking out, and weren't having *obvious* convulsions, the standard response to illness was "Go to school! You'll feel better!" I've commiserated with other Adult Children of Medical Professionals, and they corroborate my story. I used to think school nurses must have some sort of mutated compassion gene, since they seem to exhibit a higher degree of benevolence toward sick children. But then, there is that pesky modern policy of not sending your kid to school until they've been fever and vomit-free for at least 24 hours. So maybe it's not so much a greater degree of empathy, just fear of the policy-makers that compels them to phone me when my child complains of a movable, mystery stomachache. In fact, I do remember the school nurses back in the day didn't readily call home. They tried to handle things first. They'd tell you to lie down on one of the cots with the crisp white sheets, and turn the lights low, then bustle out on their squeaky shoes to smoke a cigarette in the other room while you rested. Twenty minutes usually did the trick, (long enough to miss the quiz you forgot to study for) and then it was back to class. Ahhh, the good old days before smoking bans and the frenzied War On Bacteria! Still, I'll keep Miss G home tomorrow. If I pump her up with soup, I'm sure I can get at least *some* work out of her!