The tapestry of the life of a medically complex family

Archive for October, 2013

Homeschool Choice

To the doctors and others who judge my decision to homeschool:

It has come to my attention that there is some confusion about the reasons I homeschool my children. You are familiar with the medical reasons (trachs, illness susceptibility) but may not be aware that my choice is also based on the “whole child” needs of each of my children. In addition, it is in part supported by my knowledge of and experience with the US public school system’s structure & variability. For the purpose of this note, I will focus on what is right about homeschooling for my children.

Homeschooling allows for individualization of curriculum and instruction for each of my children. It allows my gifted & talented learner to stretch her abilities at her own pace, my middle ability learner to make age & grade level progress, and my challenged learner to receive appropriate instruction to move skills forward more rapidly than would be possible in a large group setting. It allows me to address developmentally & academically (MA Curriculum Frameworks) appropriate activities within a topic that captivates interest & keeps my kids motivated to keep moving forward in all curricular areas. Each of my children is learning at a good pace, demonstrating the success of their homeschool program.

With regard to social skills, my 3 children span less than 2 academic years in age. Unlike peers enrolled in traditional schooling who spend close to 5 hours a day listening to an adult or completing individual tasks at their desks, my children spend much of each day discussing interesting topics, playing interactively & encouraging each other’s learning. Although they are ‘familiar’ play partners, there is little predictable about their daily play choices & interactions. My child with an autism spectrum diagnosis is encouraged, challenged, instructed and drawn in to dynamic, sustained social interactions daily. Because they are supervised by both nurses & myself, they are regularly exposed to different levels of structure & independence, across different activities. In addition, local cousins (there are 4) visit regularly to participate in play as health allows.

Every day of the week, each child has structured & adult-directed learning activities, individually & in a group. Each completes familiar learning tasks independently, with new curriculum, on multiple days a week. They are read to, read silently & read to each other nearly every day. They do yoga, play ball games, swing, slide & run about daily. Because of their heat intolerance & health, they do tend to spend more time inside than out but have balance beams, an indoor swing & a loft slide for active indoor play as well. Homeschooling allows for spontaneous “field trips” to the beach, historical sites, birdwatching, the aquarium & movies.

As their health improves, medical status changes &/or I return to paid employment outside the home, I will continue to homeschool. I have the skills & intention to homeschool through high school or until such time as one of my children makes a valid case for their individual transition to a private or more traditional school environment that we can afford. Homeschooling is a family value that far exceeds any medical reason to do so.

Battle Cry

I apologize when I cry. Not just to the friend who wipes his shirt with a tissue when I’m done, or the friend whose dishtowel needs the dryer after a long lament.

I apologize for each tear that escapes my eye while talking about the difficulty of awake nights spent caregiving my children. I apologize for the gasp that escapes as I talk about my son’s ride in the wagon to the apple tree, to which he could run 2 years ago. I apologize for the pause while talking to the phone nurse and describing how ill my child is again, or yet.

I apologize to my nurses when I cry from the stress, or from loss, or from injury. I apologize.

I grew up in a home where crying was a sign of ‘weakness’. Crying in the house of the Colonel was the equivalent of yelling your inadequacy from the rooftop. It was admonished. It was hidden. It was shunned.

There is a doctor my kids’ see who must also have been raised by the colonel. The notes describe significant concern about my stress. Tears fell but I continued; my kids were safe, they were (are) well-cared for, yet my stress was concerning.

I am sure I apologized. I apologized today to the phone nurse. I apologized to the doc who called me back- not because I cried then, but because I had cried.

The next time I cry, I will work not apologize. When I cry, it is because I am strong for so long. When I cry, it is because I feel so deeply. When I cry, it is to release the strain, to refill my resolve, to regain my strength. I should not apologize for that.

The Day Before Again

Originally I published this piece the day before my friend’s son’s first birthday after his death. This week has been one of tremendous loss in my community of friends and another friend is trying to get through a 10th birthday- that isn’t. My heart is still touched by these many children. Here is my message to E’s Mom:

SO many posts are running through my head but the one I need to write TODAY is this one- because tomorrow I can’t say all that needs to be said today.

Today is Tuesday. Today is just another day. Today is the day before the 5th birthday of a child of a wonderful friend of mine. Today should be a day for last minute preparations, baking, decorating, stuffing gift bags… but it’s not. Because my friend’s child had a complex medical condition and he died last fall. He is dead. People can say the ugly words religions use to describe this, but saying “angel”, “heaven”, “whole again”, “in the light”, NONE of these things fill the emptiness in my friend’s arms, the ache in her heart, the agony she is experiencing as tomorrow approaches. Tomorrow she faces another “first” in the list of events after the death of a child- his first birthday on which he will not age, he will not enjoy candles and cake with she and his younger brother, he will not… anything. He no longer exists in the physical realm we experience on Earth. It SUCKS. And I am angry at the Universe that so many of my friends have to, or will, experience this pain.

I want to remind her that tomorrow is no different- it is not special in its difference from each and every day- every painful day without her son. It is holding her now in a state of terror, fear that tomorrow will bring the collapse she has spent all these months fighting. That does not make tomorrow more special than any day this week, or last week, or last month, or Christmas or any other day. Tomorrow will come, and the searing pain and agony of his loss will be great, but not as great as that first day, that first moment of knowing and not being able to bring him back. I want her to know that she survived the worst on that day, that she has the strength to face and get through tomorrow because she has already survived the worst. She has already committed to continuing, to thriving, to supporting her other son to thrive, as the son who has died would want. She is so strong- although she is feeling as if a drop of water, a shift in the breeze, might be all it takes to break her. She is strong and she doesn’t need to be- because we are here to help hold her when the journey knocks her down.

I want her to know, and to feel, that she is loved and supported and right and just on her trail through the perils of the loss of a child. What I want to do is go to her; to bring cake, to bring candles, to bring wine, and to sit and hold hands and hug and cry and laugh and remember the beacon her child shared with the world for his short 4.5 years. I want to celebrate the gift that was her child. I want her agony to soothe, her memories of joy to once again be strong. I want some of the moments she experiences to be filled with peace. Please know we love you and will be celebrating the life of our special friend tomorrow.