The Dreaded Phonecall

My son goes to a special education, ABA therapy, preschool three days a week for about 3 1/2 hours. It’s not long enough to go get a job, or go on any grand adventure. But, I can get the apartment clean or write a few blogs or whatever. It is some mommy time and I appreciate it.

It is also 3 1/2 hours a day, three days a week, where my hands are completely off the wheel when it comes to him. I put him on that cute little bus in the morning, and then worry for the next 3 1/2 hours until that little bus comes back and he comes off with a smiling face and  backpack full of artwork some poor assistant did with him using hand-over-hand techniques.

I never hear from the school while he’s gone. Well, except twice. Once they called us to come pick him up because he was acting sick. By the time we got there, besides my being in tears and sick with worry, he was already running up and down the halls again. They couldn’t really remember why we were called. But, hey, he got to go home early and that was pretty exciting.

And, they called me today.

His preschool teacher called, saying that while he was waiting to get on the bus he got very pale and quiet. Because the bus was already there they put him on it, but they put on an extra assistant in case he “got worse” on the way home.

She was very concerned.

I immediately called my husband and told him to come home, we may need to take our son to the doctor.

I spent the next 40 minutes sitting on the curb in front of our house, in tears, waiting for the bus and my husband to come.

Of course, when the bus got there, the driver and assistants began retelling the story. Finally after what felt like an eternity my son finally appeared. The cute pinkness in his cheeks was gone, and there was a weary sadness in his eyes. I carried him the few steps home.

Because he is relatively non-verbal (we don’t have a lot of functional language) there is no way for my son to tell me how he is feeling. He won’t tell me if it hurts, or where it hurts. I can only go by what I see.

He’s perked up a little now. I think he’s okay. It really does put things into perspective. No matter the challenges we have, there is still stuff you don’t worry about that can come smack up in the face.

And, even a clean bill of health from a doctor doesn’t mean you won’t get the phone call tomorrow.

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2 thoughts on “The Dreaded Phonecall

  1. I really responded to this post! Not exactly similar situations, but my son is also about to start ABA therapy, so that’s what initially caught my eye (he is three). I also understand the panic and dread of hearing from school. I’m working on an upcoming post right now about how painful it can be to pick up my son from daycare and hear about what a bad day he had. It’s so stressful, and it makes me feel so helpless. Thank you for sharing and reminding me I’m not alone!

    Like

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