Silenced Plea (eBook)

Chapter 1

Different From The Start: Early Childhood Experiences

Before preschool, I went to Kidsplace a few days a week. It was like a prekindergarten where we played and did other activities with kids of the same age. I liked this place, and I recall that my time there began my memories of feeling different.

At Kidsplace, when it was quiet time, we each picked out a book and were given a space to read it. We sat on floor mats scattered across the main playroom, arm’s length away from each other. While some kids read their books, I would watch for those kids who looked like they were done reading or not reading at all.

I slowly inched my mat to the kid next to me, whom I called “friend.” I called almost everyone “friend” because I couldn’t remember names. This was one of the few friends who was like me. He was much taller than me and had olive skin, hazel eyes, and short, curly hair. This friend was like me because he had wiggles, too, during quiet time.

I often had long and confusing talks with the daycare attendants at Kidspace about how I had unknowingly broken a rule. I remember a regular pattern of a daycare attendant pulling me aside to tell me that I hurt someone’s feelings with my words, didn’t follow directions, or needed to sit and think about my actions when I wasn’t exactly sure what I had done.

Looking back, I feel that I had a tough time understanding these rules. And it seemed I was often not in the right place at the right time.

For example, I got time out one day in the dollhouse room because I was supposed to be in the activity room. I wasn’t playing around; I was genuinely lost because I did not understand the directions or social signals to go to the next area.

I don’t know if I was slow to process, self-absorbed in my world, or low functioning when it came to understanding directions, but I often felt like I couldn’t connect the dots and be at the right place at the right time. I didn’t know why, but I knew I was different.

I also cannot remember a time when I did not feel clumsy. For example, when Mom signed me up for a youth soccer team, I could never master foot-eye coordination. Heck, I still feel like I don’t have coordination fully figured out. People around me seem to notice that, too—I often hear, “Be careful” and “Slow down.” I am known to trip on the air around me.

My least favorite advice from grown-ups was, “Think before you act.” How was I supposed to do that?

Because of my clumsiness, I’ve had a lot of accidents. Most were embarrassing but not too serious—like I would regularly spill my drink or trip on nothing—but sometimes they were painful. For example, when I was five years old, while visiting the local museum, I somehow managed to fall, going up a flight of stairs and breaking my arm in multiple places. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fallen going upstairs! Who falls going up the stairs?

About a year later, I got 28 stitches on my forehead while playing in one of those kid gerbil tube-like gyms. I was running around, going in one tube and out the other, and suddenly, I found myself falling and hitting my forehead on the top of a big yellow tube. I remember being scared, then not seeing or feeling anything, and then waking up with another kid screaming over me. I had blood all over my shirt and in my hair. The next thing I knew, I was in an ambulance headed to the hospital again.

My mom did her best to protect me, and I tried to be more careful, but it always seemed like I was just a clumsy kid. We didn’t have a good answer for a long while as to why I was so accident-prone.

Mom’s perspective:

My pregnancy with Kelly was uneventful. Everything was identified as “normal” until it was time to deliver. My water broke about 9 p.m. and by 11 p.m. I was seeing small traces of meconium after I peed. This made the nurses and doctors nervous, and they decided to perform a C-section. A few hours later, Kelly was born. She was a gorgeous, hairless, round, eight-pound baby girl who looked like she was from a Pampers commercial.

Shortly after birth and after passing the standard hospital tests, including a state-mandated hearing test, Kelly and I left the hospital and headed home. Over the next year, Kelly hit every milestone of baby development and received great checkups during the myriad well-baby pediatrician visits.

All except one.

Kelly had a difficult time sleeping. After many tests, she was diagnosed with a sleeping disorder. Otherwise, she was a happy and curious child who loved to explore, see, touch, and sometimes taste new things. She treasured her bath time and playtime and enjoyed new food, and before long, she started to crawl, walk, talk, and sing! My goodness, this child still loves to sing every day.

When my maternity leave was exhausted, I returned to work. I was fortunate that one of the benefits of my employment was an on-site daycare. Every weekday I went to work, I would drop Kelly off at the daycare and take the elevator upstairs to my office.

The daycare staff were terrific; they adored Kelly and provided daily activity reports. When she was around one, they shared that her vocabulary was advanced. As she got older, the daycare reports often stated that she and her buddy Quinn played well together. However, during reading time, Kelly was distractive to others, so the staff frequently took her out of the room so others could listen to the stories. They shared that she found more joy in being active than sitting during reading time.

When we got home at the end of the workday, Kelly wanted to swing in the backyard. She often sang about her day and what she did, or sometimes she said she was teaching “Songa” what she had learned. For a short time before preschool, Kelly had an imaginary friend named Songa.

I understood that Songa was present primarily during eating, play, and reading hours. Kelly was serious about Songa, and I was too. At dinner time, she insisted that Songa have a plate of food, too, and I was happy to oblige. I appreciated Songa because she seemed to help Kelly sit for a bit longer as Kelly focused on eating with her.

After dinner, during story time, Kelly was less patient. She didn’t want to sit in my lap and stare at a book. She wanted the page turned before the words were done being read. I started pointing at each word to show why I was still on the same page, and she would say, “Keep reading to Songa,” as she got up and walked across the room to listen from afar while tinkering with something from her toybox.

Our picture books were short, and when I finished the story announcing “The End.” As soon as I was done, Kelly would tell me that Songa didn’t want to read anymore and invite her to the toy box to play.

As Kelly grew older, around the time kindergarten started, Songa left as suddenly as she had arrived. There was no announcement; she wasn’t mentioned as much, and then, eventually, not at all. When school began, life started to get complicated.

Looking back, the signs we experienced make more sense now that Kelly’s specific learning disabilities have been identified.

One sign was her consistent avoidance of reading time. Kelly would semi-tolerate being read to but was mostly interested in the pictures on the page. She didn’t, however, tolerate reading a book more than once. When I completed a book, she would say, “All done,” and then kindly take the book from my hands and place it in the trash bin.

Another area of uniqueness was her tactile sensitivity. She did not want her hair brushed, she didn’t like hugs, and she was particular about clothes as they could be itchy especially the tags. She did love her bathtime, however. She found the limited tub space a reduction in distractions and the warm water sensory soothing.

I often referred to her as my wiggle worm, as she could not sit still for long, especially in restaurants, movies, or venues that require the social norm to sit, watch, and listen. She was always well-behaved, just wiggly as if her chair or outfit were uncomfortable.

Lastly, Kelly seemed to struggle with spatial judgment. For example, she would miss the table when attempting to return a cup to where she picked it up, not once but almost every time! I was concerned about this, so I took her to the eye doctor, and the optometrist said her vision was perfect. To this day, when she sits down, she plops, regardless of the potential consequences of a hard surface. When walking, she will turn around corners too early or bump her arm on objects that could have been avoided. We tried multiple times, but Kelly could never master riding her bike due to being unable to balance it.

One of Kelly’s most challenging areas was her inability to get tired. Around 8 p.m. each night, her body seemed to do the opposite of relaxing; instead, she gained energy. This increasing energy turned into hyperactivity that she found exhausting—it still happens regularly, regardless of how tired she is. After several tests, it was determined she had a sleeping disorder. Her pediatrician prescribes her medicine that helps her get the...