At long last I can report back on Stella’s neuro appointment. In short, the news is positive. She has been diagnosed with “language disorder” and we will be seeking speech therapy. The neurologist fully expects that she will outgrow this, especially if we get moving on the therapy. It’s pretty much what I knew already. Stella speaks wonderfully well. And she can speak in terms of black and white very well. It’s the more qualitative areas of communication that are a problem. There are some overlaps with autism spectrum in this respect, but that’s not the boxes that were checked on her evaluation form. Hot damn!
The important thing is that she is going to outgrow this. This is doable. And with the work Will and I have been doing with her, we can already tell a difference. Her behavior has improved. The bellowing is mellowing. Eye contact is amazing. She’s becoming much more aware of things like that. Think what a professional can do!
So now we can gear up for her new school. And now we have something concrete to tell her new school. Yes, there is a diagnosed language disorder. And yes, we are actively getting therapy for it. I think these people will be more willing to work with us and Stella.
After I digested our appointment and diagnosis my mind went back to the Stepford Academy. I’m angrier than ever now. No, you fuckwads, she’s not some bad or problem child. She has a bloody language disorder. Between her frustration about not being able to communicate and your attempts to make her sit still she was bound to act out somewhat. Yes, my kid can be larger than life. Her tantrums are loud enough to be heard in space. But you know what? Her joy and creativity and enthusiasm for whatever it is she’s doing are also enormous. AND SHE’S GETTING BETTER EVERY DAY. You didn’t give her a chance to show you that side of her. You don’t deserve my kid.
I am reminded of an e-tailer from way back when that caused all kinds of ruckus for its business model. Essentially, you could send boxes of dog poop to your enemies. They offered all breeds of dogs, so if you hated someone just a wee bit, they could enjoy Chihuahua poop. If you really loathed someone, you could serve up some Great Dane droppings. I think I know what I’d send to Stepford if I were so inclined.
Sorry. I’m done now. I promise.