Three Weeks of Speech Therapy

I have been absent on the blogging front. Quite possible the most obvious statement I have uttered recently. I'm not entirely sure why I've been so absent but I have a suspicion it has a little something to do with my dear son, Ryan, and his recent beginnings of group speech therapy.

For those not in the know, my soon to be two year is not yet talking. He's had a number of developmental evaluations and the end result has been that he is a good deal behind on his expressive language development. In fact some would say as much as a year. While that may sound staggering it really isn't that bad, though it isn't good either.

Today was the end of his third week of speech therapy and we have both come a long way since his first session. The first day I was already planning my exit strategy. I'll give it two weeks I said to myself. The second day I felt a little better and was hopeful that we found the right program for the two of us. The third day, I bowed my head and cried and I didn't give a damn who saw me or what they thought. Ryan cried the first day. Ryan cried the second day. Ryan cried the third day.

The second week rolled around and I put on my brave mummy face with feigned indifference. Perhaps Ryan was feeding off my own anxieties? The first day of the second week he cried. I wiped his nose and rubbed his back and tried to tell him he was okay and that everything was okay. Who was I kidding? The second day of the second week I practically pleaded with the therapist when I suggested Ryan would do better if I wasn't there to rescue him.

By the third day of the second week, I left the therapy session midway and my son did stop crying. You might think this would be reassuring but no. Not for me. I start to think that my son doesn't feel secure enough to show his raw emotions. I think he's feeling insecure and unsure and unhappy and confused and I still want to run into the room and rescue him. Through a video cam I watch his body language and his ambivalence towards conforming to the action of the group therapy. He does not look like he wants to be there, especially when he lays down his head on the table and turns his whole body away from the therapists.

At this point I am not sure of the pedagogy and mechanics of the group therapy and beginning to doubt its relevance for Ryan's specific needs. I still want to rescue him and I begin to plan my exit strategy again.

The third day of the second week rolls around and no sooner has the door closed behind Ryan, I am escorted to an office where, for the next hour I am being informed of the my responsibilities as a parent. I do not lie when I tell you I felt that I had been called to the headmistress office. I am sure best intentions were set and the young lady across the desk was very well educated and experienced and knew her stuff but she didn't have clue how to talk to a parent, to me. Ryan's advocate.

I was informed it was noted that I was not present for the last parent educational conference (where child care was not provided) and that I would be expected to attend them in the future. I was informed that if any homework that was not handed in on time, it would also be noted. I could go on with complaint about how insulted and undermined I felt but the effort would be futile here and really, I am trying to be positive.

As I said earlier, this is the end of the third week and despite the drama and the tears and the uncertainty of the first two weeks, this week has been relatively smooth by comparison. No tears this week and a little more participation from Ryan so I'm extending my warranty and hoping for the best possible outcomes. In the meantime I'm keeping my evil eye on everything and am ready to pounce, negotiate or verbalize my concerns. First order will be discussing interpersonal communication between the therapists and myself 'cos so far it ain't working for me.