We're taking Justin to a pediatric neurologist this week.
Silly me, I thought neurologists were just neurologists...a dime a dozen, serving the masses age 1 to 100. But nope, it turns out some are just for kids. And, of course we need one (I say with a sigh). Why wouldn't we? Join the doctor club, oh, new neurologist of mine.
Both of our kids see a therapist once a week. She helps them with their behavioral control issues, cooperation, competitiveness, tantrums - all the stuff you normal moms and dads deal with. I'm sure you wouldn't mind sending your little angels off for a little tinkering once a week to blow the cobwebs out. No harm in that.
Ours is ordered by the Clark County Department of Family Services. Technically, they still own our kids and get to tell us what to do with them for another six-to-eight months until our adoption is finalized and a judge hands over the keys to the car. We have a contributory say in picking their doctors for ease of location, but their case plan is very much laid out in stone for us. If they say jump, we say how high. If they say pediatric neurologist, we're off to see the wizard.
We have to see the neurologist, you see, to rule out sensory or brain-related issues, before Justin can see another team-ordered piece of the pie - an occupational therapist - who will give him treatment for impulse control problems, lack of frustration tolerance, and whatever else is lurking under the woodwork.
I have a sneaking suspicion Justin is already looking at ADHD in the rear view mirror, but the therapist isn't technically allowed to diagnose it, so it's off to the neurologist who can clear us for the occupational therapist, and, well, at a certain point, the whole thing just turns into a Tom Lehrer song. In brief bouts of hysterical mind laughter as I comtemplate the myriad of doctors appointments this boils down to, a little voice inside me is quietly singing, "There's antimony, arsenic, aluminum, selenium, And hydrogen and oxygen and nitrogen and rhenium..."
And that's just for Justin, who's been in therapy for a while now. Who knows what snowballs will start rolling down the hill once Justuce is up and running. She's been sharing therapy sessions with her brother since we've had her, but her therapy intake assessment for her solo work just got underway last week.
I don't even know how this is supposed to work once the school year starts. We...what? Take them out of school early once, twice, three times a week to see all their various doctors? Will we have follow-ups that lead to other follow-ups? Criss-crossing referrals that lead to other referrals? Why didn't anybody tell us about any of this? Not that it would change our love for them. Not that it would stop us from wanting them. But come on. Really? Three specialists right out of the ballpark? Truth in advertising, people. Truth in advertising.
Sometimes the frustrated taxi driver in my head says, "You know what? Maybe they fight, growl and whack the crap out of each other because they're siblings at six and seven, and that's what siblings at six and seven do. Lighten up, people. Kids will be kids." Because, frankly, their list of doctors this year is starting to look like the menu at the local Chinese takeaway. I'll have the number 3, no noodles.
But of course, I know that's not logical. These kids are indeed classified as "special needs" on their DFS bio sheet - although to DFS marketing credit, they cleverly water it down a bit during recruitment, saying anytime kids over 2-years-old are adopted, or anytime they're in a sibling group needing same-home placement, they are automatically classified as special-needs - as if that makes their "needs" a little less daunting to prospective shoppers - but yeah, no doubt about it, these kids truly did get off to a rough neurological start, and here we are, the new guys, doing our best to pick up the pieces with a tank of gas a week and no instruction manual provided. Some assembly required.
We don't talk a whole lot about the kids' birth parents to our friends. That information is on a need-to-know basis, and, well, frankly, a lot of you don't need to know. It's our kids' private history, and someday when they're older, they may not appreciate the fact that Dad-1 and Dad-2 told everybody in their universe what a shitty start they had in life.
But then again, it frustrates me that I can't tell you all about it. That I shouldn't tell you about it. That I shouldn't shout it from the rooftops and help you understand them. Or at the very least, when well-meaning friends are giving us countless tips on how to discipline our kids - and don't get us wrong, we appreciate you sharing all the cool, logical tips that worked with your children - but we also need you to understand that the playing field is probably a little uneven. Your kids likely weren't born with alcohol and crystal meth in their systems, and, well, not to put too fine a point on it, but if your kids simmered in a broth of ice in utero, which tends to whack out the part of the brain that runs cognitive functions like judgment and reasoning, you might get a little extra cranky when your brother calls you a dumb poopy-pants la-la fart head, too.
All, I'm saying is, thank you for your parenting tips. I don't mean to be rude or ungrateful, but a lot of times, you guys are speaking Japanese when we require Korean. To the untrained ear, they may sound a lot alike, and I'm sure you're thinking if one worked for you, it certainly must work for us, but, well, no. Let's all just cool our jets until we hear what the Great and Powerful Oz has to say.
"The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side. Oh joy! Rapture! I got a brain! How can I ever thank you enough?" said the Scarecrow to the Wizard.
Thank God special needs kids come with Medicaid cards.
Silly me, I thought neurologists were just neurologists...a dime a dozen, serving the masses age 1 to 100. But nope, it turns out some are just for kids. And, of course we need one (I say with a sigh). Why wouldn't we? Join the doctor club, oh, new neurologist of mine.
Both of our kids see a therapist once a week. She helps them with their behavioral control issues, cooperation, competitiveness, tantrums - all the stuff you normal moms and dads deal with. I'm sure you wouldn't mind sending your little angels off for a little tinkering once a week to blow the cobwebs out. No harm in that.
Ours is ordered by the Clark County Department of Family Services. Technically, they still own our kids and get to tell us what to do with them for another six-to-eight months until our adoption is finalized and a judge hands over the keys to the car. We have a contributory say in picking their doctors for ease of location, but their case plan is very much laid out in stone for us. If they say jump, we say how high. If they say pediatric neurologist, we're off to see the wizard.
We have to see the neurologist, you see, to rule out sensory or brain-related issues, before Justin can see another team-ordered piece of the pie - an occupational therapist - who will give him treatment for impulse control problems, lack of frustration tolerance, and whatever else is lurking under the woodwork.
I have a sneaking suspicion Justin is already looking at ADHD in the rear view mirror, but the therapist isn't technically allowed to diagnose it, so it's off to the neurologist who can clear us for the occupational therapist, and, well, at a certain point, the whole thing just turns into a Tom Lehrer song. In brief bouts of hysterical mind laughter as I comtemplate the myriad of doctors appointments this boils down to, a little voice inside me is quietly singing, "There's antimony, arsenic, aluminum, selenium, And hydrogen and oxygen and nitrogen and rhenium..."
And that's just for Justin, who's been in therapy for a while now. Who knows what snowballs will start rolling down the hill once Justuce is up and running. She's been sharing therapy sessions with her brother since we've had her, but her therapy intake assessment for her solo work just got underway last week.
I don't even know how this is supposed to work once the school year starts. We...what? Take them out of school early once, twice, three times a week to see all their various doctors? Will we have follow-ups that lead to other follow-ups? Criss-crossing referrals that lead to other referrals? Why didn't anybody tell us about any of this? Not that it would change our love for them. Not that it would stop us from wanting them. But come on. Really? Three specialists right out of the ballpark? Truth in advertising, people. Truth in advertising.
Sometimes the frustrated taxi driver in my head says, "You know what? Maybe they fight, growl and whack the crap out of each other because they're siblings at six and seven, and that's what siblings at six and seven do. Lighten up, people. Kids will be kids." Because, frankly, their list of doctors this year is starting to look like the menu at the local Chinese takeaway. I'll have the number 3, no noodles.
But of course, I know that's not logical. These kids are indeed classified as "special needs" on their DFS bio sheet - although to DFS marketing credit, they cleverly water it down a bit during recruitment, saying anytime kids over 2-years-old are adopted, or anytime they're in a sibling group needing same-home placement, they are automatically classified as special-needs - as if that makes their "needs" a little less daunting to prospective shoppers - but yeah, no doubt about it, these kids truly did get off to a rough neurological start, and here we are, the new guys, doing our best to pick up the pieces with a tank of gas a week and no instruction manual provided. Some assembly required.
We don't talk a whole lot about the kids' birth parents to our friends. That information is on a need-to-know basis, and, well, frankly, a lot of you don't need to know. It's our kids' private history, and someday when they're older, they may not appreciate the fact that Dad-1 and Dad-2 told everybody in their universe what a shitty start they had in life.
But then again, it frustrates me that I can't tell you all about it. That I shouldn't tell you about it. That I shouldn't shout it from the rooftops and help you understand them. Or at the very least, when well-meaning friends are giving us countless tips on how to discipline our kids - and don't get us wrong, we appreciate you sharing all the cool, logical tips that worked with your children - but we also need you to understand that the playing field is probably a little uneven. Your kids likely weren't born with alcohol and crystal meth in their systems, and, well, not to put too fine a point on it, but if your kids simmered in a broth of ice in utero, which tends to whack out the part of the brain that runs cognitive functions like judgment and reasoning, you might get a little extra cranky when your brother calls you a dumb poopy-pants la-la fart head, too.
All, I'm saying is, thank you for your parenting tips. I don't mean to be rude or ungrateful, but a lot of times, you guys are speaking Japanese when we require Korean. To the untrained ear, they may sound a lot alike, and I'm sure you're thinking if one worked for you, it certainly must work for us, but, well, no. Let's all just cool our jets until we hear what the Great and Powerful Oz has to say.
"The sum of the square roots of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side. Oh joy! Rapture! I got a brain! How can I ever thank you enough?" said the Scarecrow to the Wizard.
Thank God special needs kids come with Medicaid cards.
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