Somehow

Who needs candy when you can pop Tums? I bet they’re even marginally better, nutrition-wise.

I’ve been working myself up into a nervy frenzy over the past few days. The Princess's birthday is quickly approaching, I have no job, and we have no insurance. Her one-on-one therapies will no longer be covered by the state, so we’ll have to find some way to continue those which we feel are really helping her…on top of school, that is.

Tuesday was our first-ever IEP meeting. I probably slept for a combined total of about 37 minutes on Monday night. My bedside notepad was covered in IEP-related scribbles when I awoke in the morning, about a quarter of which were legible. I spent time re-writing my list and trying to decipher some of the more cryptic scribbles. After putting in my best effort, I had one legible sheet of items/questions and a sneaking suspicion that I’ve learned to write in my sleep. I swear some of the notes made so little sense, there’s simply no explanation for them other than that they were written while dreaming…or in between dreams, and I just don’t remember writing them. They must have seemed important at the time, but no matter how hard I try I just can’t seem to understand how tomatoes, swimsuits, hippos, and flower gardens fit into the whole IEP theme.

I reviewed that sheet in my notepad no less than three hundred times before the meeting. I spoke with our EI service coordinator, who said it was 100% up to us whether or not The Princess would be joining the group for this meeting. Knowing our little princess, The Hubbs and I made the executive decision to give her some “time off” at Grumma’s house. We dropped her off and headed out to take care of a couple of errands before the meeting.

Errands done, lunch consumed, we headed to the elementary school one town over for the meeting. Naturally, we arrived twenty minutes early, so we had plenty of time to stew in the office before anyone else showed up. Finally, at a couple minutes before two o’clock, our service coordinator strolled in with a confident smile on her face. She sat down with us, waiting for the final program director to take us to the meeting room.

When we got to our destination, all I could think was how glad I was that we had dropped The Princess at Grumma’s house. She’d have destroyed this place in nothin’ flat. It was a small, boring concrete block box with a hulking table and a motley collection of discarded chairs. No toys, no books, no room for a little one to play. It reminded me of someone trying to cram an executive boardroom into an 8 x 10 garden shed, without any of the proper supplies.

There were about six people seated around the table when we arrived with our service coordinator, and a few more empty chairs waiting to be filled. Before long, there were four or five more adults in the room, and the door was shut behind the last of them.  It was time to start.

I could smell my own armpits already – I kid you not.

I was prepared to enter this meeting with guns blazing, convinced that I would have to fight for my daughter to get her the care and attention she needs and deserves. I’ve talked to quite a few people who’ve been through these meetings the first time around with very poor results, hence the notepad. I started firing off questions, all of which were met with no less than eleven understanding looks and kind, patient replies from the professionals around the table. Suddenly, it occurred to me: this wasn’t their first rodeo.

I’m guessing that the unfortunate experiences I heard so much about happened in very different environments. I’ve heard that it can be difficult to get aides, one-on-one time, and any other special consideration for many kids. I was afraid that we’d be dealing with something similar. Also, I’m so used to facing groups on the offensive that it took me a while to realize that these people really were there to help.  It's an odd feeling, knowing that everyone in the room understands.  It was difficult at first to squelch my protective instincts, but it quickly dawned on me that this situation was special...unlike any I'd been in before.  These people work in a special program designed specifically for autistic kids like The Princess, and this is what they’ve chosen to do with their lives. They understand. They want to help.  All of them.

I'm just gonna go ahead and type that one more time: They understand. They want to help.

God, that felt good.

Once I came to this realization, I was able to relax a bit and try to soak up as much information as humanly possible.  There’s no way I can relay it all here, though I know at least a few members of my family would love a transcript of the entire meeting. Sorry, y’all…I was a bit preoccupied, but I can give you the highlights.

The Princess will be starting school on Monday, April 12th, the day after her third birthday. She’ll be attending the program from 8:30 am until 11:00 am, Monday through Friday, until the school year ends in May. After that, she’ll be involved in the summer school program at the special education district. Bus transportation will be provided for all of this – they’ll pick her up at our door and walk her to her classroom. When the next school year starts, we'll begin transitioning her to a longer school day.  Once a month, the class goes shopping as a little field trip; once a month, they go out to eat; and once a month they go swimming in the therapy pool at the special ed center where she’ll be attending summer school.

There are two teachers and a host of therapists, social workers and aides who will be in the classroom with the kiddos at all times. There are currently ten kids in the class – The Princess will be the eleventh…and the only girl. My guess is that she’s going to be pretty popular…or perhaps she’ll decide the boys need some bossing around. Either way, it should be interesting.

Now I just need to get on the state about her health insurance application from December…she needs a physical before she can start attending school, and I doubt we can afford to pay for that out of our pockets. I have faith, though, that it will all work out.

Somehow, it always does.