a dream

I've always had incredibly vivid dreams. At times, this is considered a blessing, or a curse. While in high school, I experienced the same dream scenario over and over again for an entire year, until finally, it went away. Everyone I shared it with, thought I was crazy.

Last night, I dreamt that I was eating a piece of bread, and Isaac walked over to me and took one bite after another, and ate the rest of my bread.

I've been up late the past few nights researching feeding therapy techniques. Somehow our feeding therapy has turned into speech therapy, and that annoys the crap out of me. Supposedly, the SLP we've been seeing for almost a year, is one of the best. At the moment, I'm failing to see what we've accomplished in this last year (in terms of feeding). In my dreariest moment, I'd say we've gone backwards. Lovely, right?

His speech has improved. Or more specifically, his attempt to make sounds. His SLP tells me I should make a list of all of the words he says, so that I can feel good about his progress. I should do that, but it's hard when, uh, ah, e, ay, duh make up a majority of his words and each of those sounds means something different according to context. He does say, bebe (baby), ball, mama, da, and a few others that you would probably be able to understand.

He may have dysphasia; he may have apraxia. It's all too soon to tell. Basically, what I was told a couple weeks ago, is that he will probably be able to say words, but the more complex your thoughts become, the harder it is to clearly share those thoughts, and that will probably be Isaac's case.

Do you know how many technicalities there are to forming sounds and eating? I bet you don't.

Isaac is supposed to sign something or make a sound related to the item he wants. Walter got mad at me this morning for holding out on Isaac before rewarding him with the toy he wanted. "Can't you just give it to him?" he said. I can. But what good will that do in the long run.

Sometimes I want to throw in the towel. I want to just stick food in an IV bag for the rest of his life. Sometimes I don't want to make him work for anything because all of that work means that I have to sit through an hour of speech therapy each week while he goes from angry-eyed-passivity to full blown anger that he actually has to do something; to make one seemingly simple sound before he gets the toy car.

The Occupational Therapist who completed Isaac's evaluation a few weeks ago shared two scenarios, one in which a young boy with Down Syndrome was handed everything he ever wanted, and never had to work to attain a goal, and is now a very unhappy adult. And another boy with Down Syndrome, was forced to work for that stupid toy, and had to say, /b/ for boy, and now he is a happy adult, and is able to hold a simple job.

I guess we'll keep plugging onward.