Tuesday, January 22, 2008

Where things stand

Vision therapy is nearly at an end and it appears that Scott has behavior issues that are going beyond his vision issues. And I feel very, very afraid that this is setting his pattern for school, and how people see him and treat him and the whole vicious cycle. I’m waiting on a message from his teacher (just in case he has noticed a remarkable change in Scott’s behavior and learning and just hasn’t mentioned it—which really doesn’t seem likely), and I’m waiting on Gary’s input from when he volunteers in the class Thursday. As well as what I observe tomorrow.

I had a horrible dream a few months ago where I'd put Scott in a crevice in a rock to sleep. There was a cliff below it, and in the dream he started to turn in his sleep. He was so heavily asleep that my shouts didn't wake him up and then I saw him fall and screamed. Perhaps this is what my dream is referring to. Scott IS on an edge and doesn’t realize the peril he is in, and he’s starting to slip off…

He doesn’t realize how his behavior at school impacts the way people assume his character to be—and then they treat him that way. I feel very afraid that he’s going to be convinced that he’s someone he’s not—sneaky, hurtful, poor learner, poorly disciplined. I don’t like his behavior at school.

So, just to summarize how things stand:

I’m in a very unhappy marriage. My husband makes it clear that he doesn’t like me, and I don’t like him either. I don’t like him because I don’t like the way he treats me. And it doesn’t look like it’s going to get better.

I have a child who is struggling at school. He has behavior problems that are at risk for becoming an established part of how people see him, and how he sees himself. I’m not sure to what extent the environment between his father and I is contributing to his behavior problems. I don’t know if it does him more harm to continue in this atmosphere, or if the trauma of a divorce would have worse impact.

I have a powerful need to be alone, and even the time I have when the boys are at school doesn’t seem to be enough. I’m feeling pressures to do things that would sharply curtail this alone time: go back to outside work; homeschool Scott. (Subtext to that is I feel some residual unease about this need to be alone, its intensity and its quantity).

I’m in therapy and it’s expensive. And we are living right up to the end of our paycheck and then some—supplementing from an ever-thinner margin of savings. We may need for me to start contributing to the bottom line of our family financially.

I feel fear that the needs in the environment on the ground around me that are based in fact are going to overtake and trump my need for this solitary time. That I will be forced to give up this nourishing time before I’m ready to. My hope was that by now I’d know I was ‘ready’. And I don’t seem to be: I don’t seem to need this time any less—yet the demands of reality are beginning to press in—and they must be dealt with. And dealing with them means giving up this time; I don’t see any way around that.


Lori said...

Have you looked into sensory integration issues? I'm thinking you have, but that might explain some of the behavior issues. Also, the OT might help with them.

Which also means more $$$.

Oh, D, I'm so sorry you're feeling stuck.

Anything I can do?

excavator said...

Yeah, I did *kind* of. I had him evaluated by an OT at the end of last summer and she was the one who caught the fact that visually he wasn't tracking objects.

In the obvious sense he doesn't seem to show sensory integration issues--that is, doesn't seem really hypersensitive to textures, clothes. But maybe it manifests in more subtle ways such as his being distracted by groups of children around him. I've also wondered about auditory integration issues since I've noticed that often he just doesn't seem to take in information and then apply it to something that's expected of HIM.

So I'm not sure what the next step is. The OT, at least, has a little bit of insurance coverage where the vision therapy had ZERO.

Thanks, Lori