A tale of two roles: navigating my role on both sides of apraxia.
I first met a fellow mommy of apraxia at the Denver Apraxia Walk. She was pleasant with kind eyes, and said she felt her 5 year old son needed a change up in speech therapy services.
The next week her son was scheduled for therapy at the private clinic in which I work.
In most cases, I have my parents come with their child into my office. I NEED them to see what I see. I NEED them to do what I do. They are with their child the most, and they are completely capable of carrying over what I am doing, as long as they know WHAT I am doing.
Normally the child might be somewhat distracted by the parent; however, this day, I was the one distracted. Not by my client, but by his mom. There isn’t one word to describe her face, but there were multiple adjectives rolled into one: worry, anxiety, fear, hope.
These are only a few, and honestly, they killed me.
I understood more when she said she had successfully home schooled 4 other children, some even in college. I admired her. She not only stayed home and raised her kids, but she taught them school as well. Their entire childhood development rested on her shoulders and she had done a good job.
But her baby. Her last child. This one was different.
I felt her pain. I absorbed her worry. I took responsibility for her hope.
I knew I could help her son. He wasn’t receiving the right therapy. That was evident from his first session.
I was so moved, I came home and told my husband. I described her face and how it was hard for me to take because I kept absorbing all of her emotions.
It’s hard to watch a mother visibly show almost every emotion I went through with Ashlynn’s dx, but then be able to turn that off and be the professional SLP I need to be.
I recently watched an initial video I took when I saw him. Again, though I was trying my hardest to focus on him, I couldn’t help but look at his mom in the background. The worry on her face is tangible. I just want to yell out, “I will help him mom.” “Slow down.” “Stop worrying.” “He is going to be okay.”
Unfortunately, I know saying all of those things is like telling the sun not to rise. A mother’s worry cannot be extinguished.
Last week though, something was different about her demeanor. A softness was in her face. Upon further questioning, I discovered her oldest daughter came home from college and told her she saw a difference in her little brother’s speech.
That’s all it took. Outside validation from an inside source.
I’m sure that doesn’t mean she’s still not worried, but I hope a small weight, even if ever so tiny, was taken off her shoulders.
