At six months old, Josh sat up but showed no interest in the toys that surrounded him. At eight months, he passed the health visitor’s checks with flying colours but I left the clinic in tears; furious with myself for not voicing my concerns. The secret fears grew.
At 10 months old, a doctor visited our home. We welcomed her into the house even though she wasn’t wanted. She brought her bag and stern demeanour. Josh sat and smiled.
We spent 90 minutes willing him to do as she wanted; interjecting with ‘he did that yesterday’ comments. We asked her what she’d found. She answered with developmental age versus actual age. Comparisons of what he was doing and what he should be doing. Too much to take in and too little time to process.
“Your son will never live independently”. Words spoken professionally, without empathy as she turned away.
I don’t remember what else was said. I don’t recall her leaving. I sat on the bottom stair and held Joshua tightly. willing myself to protect him from this damning prognosis. This could not be his life. Nor ours .
Flower in the Rain 