Harri enjoyed his first formal therapeutic session with Isabella yesterday. As suspected, he proved his smarts. Learned new skills very quickly and relished the challenge. So much so that when Isabella told him he could go to play for a break he protested. It was reassuring to watch him interact so well with her. And to witness his capacity for learning.
So why did I feel so desolate after Isabella left? I suspect it was confronting to watch my son attempting to comprehend concepts that should come naturally. It was a dose of reality that my child really is different. Disabled. I was blindsided by my sinking reaction. I expected to feel a sense of optimism and direction. And I suppose I do. But it was another nail in the fasle hope coffin. I looked to Isabella for a sign of antipathy towards his diagnosis. Perhaps, like me, she would see a bright little boy and question his ASD status. She didn't. And watching him, I could see why.
Isabella sits with us after the session and provides a verbal list of all the learning tools we will require. They don't sell these things. We must make the charts, cards, shapes and more ourselves. I feel like a deer in headlights. It seems overwhelming. Why isn't there a shop where I can purchase all these things?
She leaves and I realise I don't comprehend half of what she told us. I look at the permission slip I have to sign for my daughters school excursion, next to her book list for next year that is waiting to be filled in. This reminds me her birthday is coming up and I am yet to start planning it. Then I see the pile of washing accumulating, the dishes, the shopping list still waiting to be finalised. The washing reminds me I have the rental property to clean as the guests have departed. I have three Drs appoinments for Harri in the next week, and Isabella is coming back on Monday for another session. Panic!! How the hell do people manage all this day to day stuff, and find time to sit down to cut cirlces and squares and rectangles, and food from junk mail catalogues, and glue and laminate cards....
It's marathon, not a sprint. That is going to become my new mantra. My former mummy mantra was, this too shall pass. That saying no longer applies. This is a life time of work.