It’s no secret that I am a registered nurse. I am the mother of a special needs adult man. I remember when Thomas was very young and him having a shit ton of evaluations to enable him to receive needed services such as physical therapy and speech therapy from Early Intervention. I was not happy. I was angry. Not at Thomas, but angry that we were going through this. That I had to read evaluations performed by “experts” that were informing me that Thomas was indeed delayed but not tell me why. I had to watch him stumble walking, half medicated before an MRI and beg the powers that be that my son obviously needed more medication to sedate him in order for the test to be performed.
I did not recognize my feelings as “anger” at the time, I’m not that insightful. It wasn’t until we were both older did I see I was grieving my perfect baby/child and anger is a part of the grieving process. So when I speak with other parents of special needs children/young adults/adults there are many times we just “get” each other. Some experiences and emotions do not need an explanation. We just know, btdt; got the t-shirt.
I may have been through seasons of anger in raising Thomas, but I did not ever use profanity when speaking to a professional who was providing care to my special needs child. There were a few I did not like personally but I respected their position and that they were there to help Thomas.
The second time Thomas required residential school was right before his 16th birthday. I drove him to the residential school. Just Thomas and me. For his intake. To meet the care providers, nurses, social workers, staff whose care he would be in after I left. Yonkers, NY is a pretty decent ride from where I live and Thomas was very well behaved on the car ride. Quiet. We didn’t talk much, just listened to music.
I remember how the staff welcomed Thomas warmly and took him outside to look around so I could speak to the nurses and other therapists. I discussed Thomas’ meds with the nurse and with my hands shaking handed over the bag with his meds; I said to the nurse, ok this is it, I’m trusting you, here are his meds. I was holding back tears. Thomas’ meds were my job, my forte. I could have given lectures on Thomas’ meds back in the day.
Thomas spent time with people I had to trust were taking care of him. Especially people handling his medications. If I had concerns I addressed them. I never forgot that I was talking to someone whose job it was, was to take care of my son in one capacity or another. I didn’t personally like everyone involved in his care, but I respected that they were there and I was not.
This past week at work, a parent called me a fucking bitch. I’m still stinging from it. The parent brought in an incomplete doctor’s order to care for their child. I pointed out what was incomplete and the parent became angry and authoritatively told me how things are done at home and that they were telling me that’s the way to provide care. I calmly explained that I don’t take directives from parents. I take direction from a doctor’s order that is filled out completely. The parent briskly turned to leave and on the way out said, “fucking bitch”. I immediately, quickly walked down the hall in the opposite direction. I work with incredible people.
The experience at first made me laugh. In disbelief. That a parent would use those words towards a professional who is to provide care to their family member. What was the point? As more time passes I am stunned. As a mother with much experience in the special needs realm; I have been angry, confused, exasperated, frustrated, pick an emotion/state of mind. However I have never called anyone a name or used profanity towards someone involved in his care. Spoke strongly and passionately in advocating for Thomas?Absolutely. Cried at an IEP meeting? Yep. Cursed out a participant or professional who was incorrect or didn’t agree with their testing? No.
My husband would not back me up if I spoke ugly or cursed at a person who was doing their job in the care of our son. We are not like that. Thank God.
Menay O; mom to 4, Christian and thrift shopper on the side... 