By Jen Gregory of The Runaway Mama
Dr. V. wore a pinstripe collar shirt and a light gray tie with small brown dogs printed all over it. It matched his personality. During my son’s assessment, he laughed at all his jokes and answered every one of his questions, even the silly ones.
Dr. V. spent the last 45 minutes explaining to me in depth the results of my son’s vision evaluation. Not be confused with his eyesight examination. His eyesight was fine. He didn’t need glasses. If only.
The vision evaluation, however, unearthed some concerns. While Dr. V. described oculomotor dysfunction, loss of fixation, accommodative level and facility, exophoria, convergence insufficiency, and visual perception, my mind raced.
I knew where we were headed. We would spend the next six months (or more), including summer vacation, doing twice weekly vision therapy sessions, and it would break my son’s heart.
“Do you have any questions?” Dr. V. asked.
How is it fair that one kid has to deal with all this crap? Do you know how many doctors, therapists, and tutors he has? He’s 10! There aren’t enough hours in the day! Will it even help? Should I just let him be? Am I ruining his childhood? Will he like reading when it’s all done? Will his handwriting be neater and his homework be less unbearable? How do I know when I’m pushing him too hard or not hard enough? Does he know how smart, kind, intuitive, brave, and imaginative he is? Will he live a happy life? Does he resent me for insisting on these interventions? Does he begrudge me for not doing more? Will it get worse or better as he ages? Is it affecting his self-esteem? Is it my fault? Why do I have to be an OT, ST, VT, SPD, ADD, IEP expert? Why can’t I just be his mom?
“Why is this so hard?” I blurted out.
Dr. V. chuckled. “No one teaches us about this stuff before we have kids,” he said. “Being a parent is a special education.”
Dr. V. looked about my dad’s age. His kids were grown. He’d been through the hard bits. He was incredibly patient and had a comforting vibe that gave me hope that, in the long run, everything would be okay.
Still, I wanted to climb across his desk and inhabit his body. I was desperate to see my journey from his vantage point. I ached for my future self to tell my present self that everything would be okay.
But, just as I knew I had to persevere and do the hard work to get to the other side of vision therapy, I also understood I had to persist and do the heart-filling (and heartbreaking) work of raising my boy.
Someday, I would be on the other side. Someday, I would understand the meaning of everything’s going to be okay. Someday, I would offer a patient and comforting vibe to a younger parent in the throes of raising a child with special needs, but it wasn’t my turn yet. I thanked Dr. V. for his time, put my son’s name on the vision therapy waiting list, and headed home.
This post was originally published on The Runaway Mama.
About the Author
Jen Gregory is the writer behind the blog, The Runaway Mama. She wouldn’t want to be anywhere else except home raising her two boys, but like the little bunny in Margaret Wise Brown’s classic book, she sometimes wants to run away. Read more at The Runaway Mama, and follow her on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.