Today I experienced one of the longest 45 minutes I have ever had to endure. I sat outside a room with a mother, who had silent tears rolling down her cheeks while her son sat in a small room by himself crying, wailing and screaming.
We have a student who is 8 years old and has a complex disability including some cognitive impairment. He is now attending school regularly but he cried at the drop of the hat, especially if mum's not there. Mum is required to hang around school as there are no personal care attendants who work at the school. Additionally, it would be highly expensive to hire people for the children's most basic care needs.
The crying has become disruptive to the classroom environment. Due to his cognitive impairment, there is limited ability to reason with him to behave in the classroom. So instead, he cries and cries and cries. In the past, the solution has been for mum to be called in, pick him up and nurse him until he stops crying. Myself and the teachers at school have realised that this can't continue if he is to grow to be as independent as he can possibly be. So we decided to implement "time-out".
The plan was to lie the student down on the mat and wait until he stopped crying. Today, he cried as soon as mum left the room. He was crying because he either mum had left or he didn't particularly want to participate in the song that was being sung. We moved him quickly into our time-out space to let him cry. He cried, and cried and cried. We had left him with the door ajar and I could see him from my therapy room. Unfortunately, one of the other mothers at school saw him and called mum to go and pick him up.
This was the first time that mum had left her child to lie on the ground and cry on his own, alone in a room. She started to cry herself and it broke my heart to see her like this, let alone place a crying child in a room by himself. Some of the staff were being a bit insensitive to her and told her off for making her child like this. I couldn't stand how people were treating her, and though I had been stern with her myself a couple of days ago, I took her by the hand and told her that we would work through her child's crying together. I am not a psychologist or a counsellor but I don't think anyone else was even considering that she might've needed someone to talk to. I sat with her outside the room that her child was crying and explained why we were doing this.
To be honest, I really had no idea what I was doing. He didn't stop crying for an entire 45 minutes. He had a 45 second break in the middle of it, but the rest of the time, he cried, and cried and cried at the top of his lungs - I think I might be dreaming about his cries tonight.
So I'm not sure - I put it to anyone out there. What on earth should I do? Was 45 minutes along in a room staring at his mother's back too long? Do we keep persisting? Is this causing damage to this child's psychological state?
Here's me signing off and once again, stepping way out of my boundaries.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
VALENTINE'S DAY - FIJI STYLE
Yesterday was a combination of two days: Prophet Mohammed's Birthday and Valentine's day. Prophet Mohammed's birthday is significant enough to warrant a public holiday here in Fiji, but it's not big enough that it's in your face wherever you go. Valentine's day, on the other hand, receives radio advertisements, shop sales and tacky promotional gifts. It also gives an excuse for a once-a-year, only-in-Fiji, must-do-before-you-die experience. It is none other than this:
A candle-lit dinner at McDonald's restaurant complete with red table cloths, a-la-carte service and a complimentary ice-cream sundae to share with your lover. Even the waitresses are clothed in shiney red dresses for the occasion!
I requested a Happy Meal, but the waitress gave me a half-laugh/smirk of a condescending manner. Kind of like the cool kids at school who made you aware that you had said a lame joke that really wasn't worthy of their laughter. So I got a cheeseburger meal instead. I'm still unhappy that I didn't get a toy.
I don't usually "celebrate" valentine's day. However, this event held by the golden arches was one that could not be missed.
After this experience, I felt sick with love, and sick from being one step closer to heart disease. Thank you, Suva McDonald's!
Luke and Lauren share a romantic chip:
Gorgeous table decorations...
A candle-lit dinner at McDonald's restaurant complete with red table cloths, a-la-carte service and a complimentary ice-cream sundae to share with your lover. Even the waitresses are clothed in shiney red dresses for the occasion!
I requested a Happy Meal, but the waitress gave me a half-laugh/smirk of a condescending manner. Kind of like the cool kids at school who made you aware that you had said a lame joke that really wasn't worthy of their laughter. So I got a cheeseburger meal instead. I'm still unhappy that I didn't get a toy.
I don't usually "celebrate" valentine's day. However, this event held by the golden arches was one that could not be missed.
After this experience, I felt sick with love, and sick from being one step closer to heart disease. Thank you, Suva McDonald's!
Luke and Lauren share a romantic chip:
Gorgeous table decorations...
Thursday, February 10, 2011
STUDENT A
In the 6 months that I've been here now, I haven't really had thoughts of: "oh, those poor poor children" or "what sad cases there are at this school!". People have said to me that they couldn't do what I do because it would be too confronting to see these children everyday "struggling" and being those "unfortunate children". I've had so many labels of hopelessness attached to the children and have been told "what a great thing you're doing here, helping them get better."
Well I've got a different view: these children are LIVING and ENJOYING LIFE and LAUGHING and PLAYING and SOCIALISING. I come to school because I LOVE seeing all of these children PARTICIPATE and HAVING FUN. They're not "those poor children". You don't need to be a strong person if you see the ability, and not the disability. The children are happy, life-loving and similarly sporadically annoying as their non-impaired peers. I'm not a "blessed person" as someone once told me. I'm just doing my job.
Now don't take it the wrong way. It's not like I don't care about the children. I just don't see it as extra brownie points for social status, or taking a moral high-ground by working daily with these children. I rarely feel hopeless for the children.
Until today.
Student A is student A becuase he's one of the smartest in his class. He's enthusiastic, has a beautiful smile, he's really soft spoken and he tries so hard during his therapy. He's your typical A-Grade student. Student A also has a degenerative condition which won't be named in this blog post. I didn't know what his official diagnosis was because that information just wasn't available. Until now, I've been treating him a bit blindly based on the minimal information that I know and the vague information that I've been given by the staff at the school. Everyone seems to be under the impression that because I'm the resident "expert", I know EVERYTHING. It is for this reason that I don't get told much about the child because I am an "expert" and therefore know everything about the child just by looking at them. Yeah right.
Recently, we were sent a large bundle of medical reports by some visiting overseas doctors from one year previous. I found the report for Student A and discovered his official diagnosis. At first, this didn't mean much to me as my knowledge of the condition didn't reach very far. Being a good student myself, I looked it up when I got home. I was determined to understand the condition's ins and outs so I knew what I was dealing with. I felt that this would also allow me to answer Student A's mother's persistent questioning about whether her child will get better or what the future is like for him. I don't know...go ask a doctor.
Unfortunately, what I read was not what I wanted to hear. I saw the words "degenerative", "gradual decline with age", "gradual loss of mobility and function", "associated neural complications", "behavioural change". Lastly, I read: "child needs regular and consistent contact with neurologist to ensure child is appropriately managed". Where on earth am I going to find a neurologist when I only discovered TODAY that there are 10 paediatricians in Fiji...right across the road from the school!!!
The parent of the child also tends to avoid therapy and usually has brilliantly fabricated reasons as to why he can't attend. Either that or he just happens to be late every Thursday when he's been scheduled for his therapy. It doesn't help his cause. Overprotection, it seems, is exposure to danger.
Last year, he was walking. Now he needs to be hauled into a standing position from his wheelchair. Mum's not helping and his condition makes him fatter day by day. He's following the course of my text book and I don't like where it's headed. From here, according to my text book, it only gets worse.
Helplessness. Sorrow. It's overwhelming and I feel like breaking down in tears. What on earth am I doing to Student A that will really make a difference? My incomplete Allied Health team is starting to reveal its limitations and the lack of connection between the health system and the education system is starting to show its cracks.
All I know is to keep doing what I'm doing and attempt to make some sort of contact with the health system. Right now it just seems a bit too much, all because a text book case has materialised itself in the form of Student A.
Well I've got a different view: these children are LIVING and ENJOYING LIFE and LAUGHING and PLAYING and SOCIALISING. I come to school because I LOVE seeing all of these children PARTICIPATE and HAVING FUN. They're not "those poor children". You don't need to be a strong person if you see the ability, and not the disability. The children are happy, life-loving and similarly sporadically annoying as their non-impaired peers. I'm not a "blessed person" as someone once told me. I'm just doing my job.
Now don't take it the wrong way. It's not like I don't care about the children. I just don't see it as extra brownie points for social status, or taking a moral high-ground by working daily with these children. I rarely feel hopeless for the children.
Until today.
Student A is student A becuase he's one of the smartest in his class. He's enthusiastic, has a beautiful smile, he's really soft spoken and he tries so hard during his therapy. He's your typical A-Grade student. Student A also has a degenerative condition which won't be named in this blog post. I didn't know what his official diagnosis was because that information just wasn't available. Until now, I've been treating him a bit blindly based on the minimal information that I know and the vague information that I've been given by the staff at the school. Everyone seems to be under the impression that because I'm the resident "expert", I know EVERYTHING. It is for this reason that I don't get told much about the child because I am an "expert" and therefore know everything about the child just by looking at them. Yeah right.
Recently, we were sent a large bundle of medical reports by some visiting overseas doctors from one year previous. I found the report for Student A and discovered his official diagnosis. At first, this didn't mean much to me as my knowledge of the condition didn't reach very far. Being a good student myself, I looked it up when I got home. I was determined to understand the condition's ins and outs so I knew what I was dealing with. I felt that this would also allow me to answer Student A's mother's persistent questioning about whether her child will get better or what the future is like for him. I don't know...go ask a doctor.
Unfortunately, what I read was not what I wanted to hear. I saw the words "degenerative", "gradual decline with age", "gradual loss of mobility and function", "associated neural complications", "behavioural change". Lastly, I read: "child needs regular and consistent contact with neurologist to ensure child is appropriately managed". Where on earth am I going to find a neurologist when I only discovered TODAY that there are 10 paediatricians in Fiji...right across the road from the school!!!
The parent of the child also tends to avoid therapy and usually has brilliantly fabricated reasons as to why he can't attend. Either that or he just happens to be late every Thursday when he's been scheduled for his therapy. It doesn't help his cause. Overprotection, it seems, is exposure to danger.
Last year, he was walking. Now he needs to be hauled into a standing position from his wheelchair. Mum's not helping and his condition makes him fatter day by day. He's following the course of my text book and I don't like where it's headed. From here, according to my text book, it only gets worse.
Helplessness. Sorrow. It's overwhelming and I feel like breaking down in tears. What on earth am I doing to Student A that will really make a difference? My incomplete Allied Health team is starting to reveal its limitations and the lack of connection between the health system and the education system is starting to show its cracks.
All I know is to keep doing what I'm doing and attempt to make some sort of contact with the health system. Right now it just seems a bit too much, all because a text book case has materialised itself in the form of Student A.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
A NEW SCHOOL YEAR
2011 and a new school year has commenced. I started back at school 3 weeks ago. I thought I’d visit the school on the holidays to get myself back into the swing of things. I needed something to re-spark my motivation after such a long break away from being at school. As I walked into the school grounds, I wished the school secretary, cleaner and Head Teacher a Happy New Year and proceeded to my therapy room.
What a mess it was.
There was old furniture stacked in the middle, a bench across the room, my ankle-foot orthoses strewn across another section of floor and papers that weren’t mine scattered across our desk. My cigarette lighter for my mosquito coil had grown legs and disappeared and the pen that I had tied to the desk and mummified in sticky-taped had been skilfully de-stick-taped and had gone to another home. That pen obviously did not want to be shackled to my desk and there was someone out there who had a better use for it.
However, this was not the worst of what I had walked into.
In the cupboard where I had stored all of my therapy equipment had been infested by rodents and had rat poo ALL. OVER. EVERYTHING. They’d even managed to bite through a container of drinking chocolate powder and leave bits of rat-bite-sized plastic lid everywhere. Quicker than you could say “rat poo!” I had snapped on a pair of gloves and was madly cleaning out the store room with the strongest cleaning fluid that Suva had to offer.
Linda, my counterpart, came to school the next day and we decided to attack the cupboard. For too long, the school has managed to accumulate a lot of useless, broken, musty-smelling and old equipment. There was also a pile of equipment in plastic wrap that had been sitting in a separate store room for a year. I suggested to Linda that we open it, clean off the rat poo and determine if it was in good enough condition to be used. What we found was a gold mine!
We found fantastic supportive seating and a large wheelchair pram. We also found things that were of little help like ancient looking foot braces which looked like they’d been worn by Forrest Gump and other bits of incomplete broken equipment. We also visited the school’s hostel which also had a pile of equipment in plastic wrap that wasn’t being used. We raided that and found more supportive seating, wheelchairs, suspension walkers and one really small saddle walker. It was like Christmas all over again!
Since then, the school has taken a turn for the better. The Head Teacher has been inspired to shake up the school’s curriculum. She said that if she walks, her staff will crawl. If she runs, they will walk and if she takes flight, they will run. We’ve been having extensive meetings with the aim of improving the curriculum and making Hilton Special School the best that it can possibly be.
So anyway, that is how the start of the school year has panned out: productive, innovative and leaping forwards with a view to be the leaders of special education. I hope that this is a preview of things to come!
What a mess it was.
There was old furniture stacked in the middle, a bench across the room, my ankle-foot orthoses strewn across another section of floor and papers that weren’t mine scattered across our desk. My cigarette lighter for my mosquito coil had grown legs and disappeared and the pen that I had tied to the desk and mummified in sticky-taped had been skilfully de-stick-taped and had gone to another home. That pen obviously did not want to be shackled to my desk and there was someone out there who had a better use for it.
However, this was not the worst of what I had walked into.
In the cupboard where I had stored all of my therapy equipment had been infested by rodents and had rat poo ALL. OVER. EVERYTHING. They’d even managed to bite through a container of drinking chocolate powder and leave bits of rat-bite-sized plastic lid everywhere. Quicker than you could say “rat poo!” I had snapped on a pair of gloves and was madly cleaning out the store room with the strongest cleaning fluid that Suva had to offer.
Linda, my counterpart, came to school the next day and we decided to attack the cupboard. For too long, the school has managed to accumulate a lot of useless, broken, musty-smelling and old equipment. There was also a pile of equipment in plastic wrap that had been sitting in a separate store room for a year. I suggested to Linda that we open it, clean off the rat poo and determine if it was in good enough condition to be used. What we found was a gold mine!
We found fantastic supportive seating and a large wheelchair pram. We also found things that were of little help like ancient looking foot braces which looked like they’d been worn by Forrest Gump and other bits of incomplete broken equipment. We also visited the school’s hostel which also had a pile of equipment in plastic wrap that wasn’t being used. We raided that and found more supportive seating, wheelchairs, suspension walkers and one really small saddle walker. It was like Christmas all over again!
Since then, the school has taken a turn for the better. The Head Teacher has been inspired to shake up the school’s curriculum. She said that if she walks, her staff will crawl. If she runs, they will walk and if she takes flight, they will run. We’ve been having extensive meetings with the aim of improving the curriculum and making Hilton Special School the best that it can possibly be.
So anyway, that is how the start of the school year has panned out: productive, innovative and leaping forwards with a view to be the leaders of special education. I hope that this is a preview of things to come!
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