I’ve been a bit quiet recently, I haven’t really felt the urge to blog much other than keeping up with reviews (all of which I am very grateful for). Last week we took Toddler boy back for his fairly regular speech therapy sessions. It was a different therapist and a different diagnosis. This woman seemed much more on the ball. The other speech therapist had wanted to discharge us and I had insisted she didn’t, but that she saw us one more time. The one more time turned out to be with a different therapist and thank god it was. This therapist listened to our concerns and to toddler boy speak. She told us basically what we thought all along, that there is a problem. It seems that my gorgeous boy has a condition called Vocal Dyspraxia. The diagnosis goes a long way to explaining some of his little eccentricities. We don’t yet know the degree to which he suffers from it.
I sat in the room and felt shocked to my very core. I still do. It’s strange, even when you know that something is wrong, it’s hard to accept it. I feel concerned about the impact that this will have on his life, our lives and Fifi. It seems like we are in for the long haul with regular speech therapy sessions and lots of tasks to do at home. Although toddler boy will not get a statement, he will require careful management at school in order to prevent him from being bullied, frustrated and so forth. This wasn’t something I signed up for when I became pregnant, I am fully aware that it’s not about me, but a small part of me resents that he has it. I keep telling myself that he was gifted to us because we are the best people to deal with it and help him. It’s still upsetting.
I keep wondering if it was my fault, if stress in pregnancy caused it. If I had managed his breath-holding differently then he wouldn’t have it. No one knows what causes Vocal Dyspraxia, so who knows? It’s amazing how quickly you need to become an expert. Three weeks ago I had never even heard of the condition, now I’m going on Amazon buying books, trying to learn a bit more about what to do, how to help and exactly what it is, just so I can question and check that he is receiving the best possible treatment. I don’t trust the NHS.
I look at my handsome, sweet, funny boy and love him more than ever. This is the strange thing with something like this, you realise how precious they are and what a gift children are. I just hope I am a good enough mother to help him through this; to teach him how to speak properly literally from scratch and to help him overcome all the other difficulties that come with this condition. I also hope that I can somehow make sure that the additional help I have to give him does not impact on the time that I can give Fifi. I am tempted to give up work.