We found ourselves in the child development centre of our local hospital. The outcome of a two day investigation. “Global development delay”. Cause unknown.
A blizzard of clinical appointments and investigations followed. Every part of his body was measured and examined. Every detail of his life, explored. Was the cowlick in his hair a sign? The birthmark on his back an indicator? I was exhausted on every level. Each day was a challenge, made harder by lack of sleep.
Three times a week we attended a clinic where caring professionals helped Josh and me with his development. We all sat in a room and sang songs designed to encourage movement and response from our disinterested children. I took secret pride in the fact that my son seemed more able than others in the group and hoped that this was a sign that he would ‘catch up’. To me, he looked and felt normal.
Initially reluctant to join in with these sessions, I slowly realised that this was the place where we fitted. Every part of me resisted the world we found ourselves in but Joshua’s ‘lack of ability’ had become more pronounced in toddler groups. Conversations about what our children were ‘achieving’ were painful and awkward for me. But at the clinic, amongst others like us, I was able to relax. There was no bench mark that we were expected to reach. Every slow and small step our children made was celebrated; the accompanying sadness understood. A bond formed due to our mutual distress and circumstances. Care was apportioned to each of us as we awaited results and navigated our way through this new life.
At the end of this time a diagnosis was found for Josh. Though some might think this a relief, it was actually a bitter blow. At that moment our hope for his recovery was taken away and his life was mapped out. “Your son will never live independently”.
Flower in the Rain 