Patience hell, I’m going to kill something

 

I have two children who couldn’t be more different. 

My oldest, a girl, is the kind of student every teacher dreams of having at least once during their career – well behaved, participates intelligently in class discussions, turns her homework in on time, tutors other students, nice, polite, smart, a joy to have in class.

My youngest, a boy – is the kind of student that could make teachers question their career choice. 

I’ll be the first to admit that he can be challenging, can be disrupting, can be frustrating. He is also brilliant. He brings ideas to classroom discussions that are both thought provoking and unexpected from someone so young. His annual FCAT (Florida Comprehensive Assessment Test) scores are in the 95-99 percentile range, so it’s not a matter of him not being intelligent.

He is the kind of student every teacher should have at least once in their career, just to have an opportunity to use that expensive college education to actually help a child, to make a positive difference in a kid’s life – a kid who wants to learn, but doesn’t fit the typical mold of how kids are supposed to learn.

From pre-school on we knew WK was going to have issues. He would literally bounce off the walls – I have dents and holes throughout my house to prove that.

Once he started public school his time in hell began. Teachers constantly complaining about his behavior, about his lack of ability to stay on task, to remain focused. Teachers who allowed toxic environments, hostile environments fester in their classes, and not only allowed the other students to prey on WK, but also joined in the fray.

During his first parent/teacher conference, his first grade teacher told us she was concerned about his apparent lack of fine motor skills because of his failure to stay inside the lines when he colored. She somehow failed to notice the intricately detailed drawing of the sports car on the back of the worksheet.

On a hunch I asked WK why he scribbled on the pictured, why he didn’t do a better job of coloring. He’s response “so I could finish faster and draw on the back. She said I couldn’t draw until I finished coloring.”

WTF?! 

Fine motor skills my ass… he was working too far outside their neat little box. He was, even then, marching to not only a different drummer, but a whole different band.

In second grade, his teacher (who was also a friend outside of school) mentioned to us that because she was a employee of the school system could not advise us to put WK medication, but the school would probably go easier on him if we did. She hinted that life at school would only get worse for him if we did not cave on this point.

We fought this for years. I did not want my boy to be medicated, I did not want him to be labeled. I did not want this stigma to follow him for the rest of his life. 

By the time he was in fifth grade, we knew that we no longer had a choice. 

The medicine did funky things to him. He no longer slept well. He began to suffer migraines – headaches so severe he would throw up. He began to have stomach problems, ended up in the ER and eventually began taking Nexium for acid reflux. He began to be afraid of the dark and became claustrophobic.

But through it all, he still did not function better in school 

He started going to counseling and the first doctor he went to was basically useless. He would xerox whole passages of books for us to read. He would tell WK the same things we told him about how to stay on task… it was a colossal waste of time and money.

We finally found a woman that seemed to know what she was doing. Through weekly session we discovered that it wasn’t just a focus issue, but much more. Yet, because of his age (WK was maybe 12 by now), we couldn’t get a definitive diagnoses. For that he would have to be at least 18. So there were no ‘disorders,’ instead it was ‘syndromes’ or “tendencies.’ But, regardless, he was placed on yet more medication. 

To back track slightly – turns out the original medication was actually working fine. With his ability to focus more, his underlying panic/anxiety and obsessive-compulsive ‘tendencies’ were more visible – hence the migraines and claustrophobia.

Still through this all, through countless meetings with teachers, guidance counselors and principals, we could not get the schools to offer any sort of assistance in helping WK function at the level we all knew he could – despite the reams of doctor provided documentation. These educators would offer up plans for helping WK with his assignments, on how they would help him keep track of homework… this would last for about a week and the teachers would abandon these plans.

We have had these same educators tells us that it is not uncommon for gifted students to fail. 

WTF?! 

Aren’t these the students you want to help, want to see succeed. Not just LET THEM FAIL because these sort of students actually mean teachers have to teach and not just guide their little lemmings off the ledge.

Along the way, WK has had a couple of teachers that seemed to understand he was different. We gave them what information we could about him. Lo, and behold, they worked with him, took what we said about how he learns differently – guess what? He was an A student in those classes. Those teachers remain favorites of his and ours, they were rare islands of tranquility in a torturous ocean.

All this brings us to this past Friday. Yet another conference – this time with WK’s guidance counselor and the school psychologist – the same psychologist who said WK didn’t qualify for any assistance from the school because despite his difficulties and the reams of doctor’s notes and recommendations, he was too smart. It was a matter of numbers.

Hubs took this meeting. I usually don’t attend these because they are so infuriating. I tend to get emotional and my road raging tendencies begin to surface. I think Hubs is concerned I will go all spider monkey on one of these bitches and get arrested.

So, after being made to wait for about 15 minutes passed his scheduled appointment, Hubs goes into the meeting. They rehash all the old offenses, all the old arguments. Hubs reiterates that we only want help getting WK’s teachers to provide us with his assignments so we can help him keep on track. 

After about 30 minutes of this back and forth, at one point, Hubs says the four letters that apparently are the keys to the kingdom – ADHD.

There has never been a secret attached to this one issue… from day one, this seemed to be a given. We believed that we had been putting that alphabet code out there for all to see all these many years, believed that this was something we gave them each year since fifth grade. Apparently we were wrong. 

Official forms were brought out, words like ‘Americans with Disabilities Act,’ and ‘all we need is a doctor’s diagnoses’ were thrown out, phrases like ‘sure we can get him all the help he needs’ were uttered. 

WHAT. THE. FUCK?!

Ten years, ten damn years and this was all it took!? All this time, all the conferences that we attended, all the times we brought this up to teachers, to administrators, ad nauseam and no one said ‘just have your doctor fill out this form.’ A form until that day we never knew existed.

Next week Spring Break begins and WK will be out of school. Come Monday after the break, that golden ticket will be filled out and signed, then delivered into the hands of the school gods. Hopefully we will finally see the heavens open up and hear the angels sing – six weeks before the end of his first year in high school.