The
next morning, I rose early to prepare to fill out the forms we needed for the
meeting. Some of it was very
straight-forward: medical history,
doctors, medicine, conditions, sign releases, etc. But the seemingly innocuous describe your child was there
with its impossibly small lines and check boxes that left no room for gray
area. I filled out what I could
and then "interviewed" C. so that I wasn't just putting in my
ideas. I modeled the kind of
information and how to give it, with examples to illustrate the issues. She started to remember really good
examples of instances that demonstrated some of the adjectives that otherwise
would have been meaningless or open to interpretation, such as
"innocent."
I
had to physically take a break to give myself some emotional space. I was afraid I would lose my ability to
write up a reasonably objective description. It had to be something the psychologist could interpret as
observation not emotion. If
nothing else, the skills I have gained in graduate school around observation
and writing up those notes are good for something. I typed up the results of my interview, but then I decided
we should turn it in handwritten.
So,
as I wrote it out over two pages of college ruled paper, C. and Q. got
dressed. We made it to the place
about ten minutes late … drama and concern and lack of sleep and eating made us
a little out of sorts. At the last
minutes, I asked Q. to bring a stuffed friend or other toy and her favorite
clay sculpture. I wanted her to
feel comfortable, and usually holding one of her favorite toy/friends works
well for that. But I also wanted
her to share the work she does at home … away from school with really no
influence other than what she has in her mind. I think it illustrates both the view from the world she
lives in and some of the abilities she has that her verbal skills do not.
They
saw us immediately, and the intake person attempted to interview Q. It was interesting to see what she
would/could answer. The intake
person wrote furious notes. Pretty
quickly, the psychologist joined us, asking questions and taking notes. The psychologist took Q. in another
room for testing and we continued with the intake person who had a few more
questions. We needed to fill in
the blanks of all the things Q. could not or chose not to answer. It was again heartbreaking to list her
abilities in this way. Her
deficits are so clear, though their origins are not so easy to
distinguish.
They
have until November to let us know if she is eligible for services. But, due to
her age, the psychologist administered the adult intelligence test. I am guessing that means it was pencil
and paper. Thus she will qualify
for intellectually disabled because she cannot perform on paper above a first
grade level. I corned the
psychologist for a bit before we left to give her more of my observations and
interpretations. Though the intake
person had finished her part of the interview, she took out her notes and began
to scribble more as I talked to the psychologist. There were more follow up questions and knowing looks
between them.
I
felt elated and confident after we left … hopeful, really. Not because they now think that she is
intellectually disabled, but because we have our foot back in the door. There is no doubt way more work to do …
and battle with the school district about the IEP and the services before
school starts in two weeks. But we
are on the road to getting her the help she needs. We have a long haul ahead of us.
But
the absolute best part, in reflection after these few days, is that I learned
so much more about Q.'s conditon.
I will try to write more about it later. Suffice to say that really uncovering the outside behavioral
issues opens a box to much deeper understandings.
Did
I mention that two beautiful butterflies captivated us as we entered the
center? I sure hope that my
brother and sister were there because they believe we are doing the right
thing. We could use a little
spiritual support right about now.
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