Although on one hand, I was relieved to have some extra time to do more research and to not have to face the shots today; on the other hand I wanted to get the “discussion” over with. I don’t know if I even want to do more research, given how conflicting the information is.

It reminds me of in school when I would work all night long on a project only to be told that because other kids had complained, we’d be given an extension. (Or sometimes the teacher would look at the “quality” of the projects and come to the conclusion that we needed more time.) Because inevitably I wouldn’t have slept the night before, I didn’t have the physical or mental energy to put in to the new “cycle” of working on the project. I would have preferred to be graded on one stressful night’s worth of work than two days worth of work, since the latter would have more stringent requirements.

So I felt that way this morning. I wanted to just get the discussion over with, and probably the mandatory vaccines over with since Spliggle is healthy and would have been filled to the gills with vitamins. But now I have to ruminate about it a bit more. Luckily, this isn’t a “graded” event, though the stakes are higher.

Later, the doctor’s office called back to say that the pediatrician won’t be back until November. My husband took the call, and scheduled an appointment with a newly hired doctor for a couple weeks from now.

Therefore, I have to have “the discussion” with a brand new pediatrician who doesn’t know the Cat’s back story, and therefore will not immediately understand my concerns about Spliggle.

Cross your fingers with me that this is going to be one of those sympathetic, easy-to-talk-to pediatricians instead of those brusque doctors about whom you have no idea how they could possibly want to treat children.

*cross*

Since we weren’t going to the doctor, we headed off to playgroup. The playgroup leader was surprised to see me since I had told her I would be missing this week. She knew why I was worried. I told her the appointment was cancelled, and she responded, “It must be an omen!”

I didn’t have time to tell her about all the “new” stuff I had discovered (such as that it wasn’t as easy to get an exception as once thought, and that the spacing out of vaccines or obtaining them from a private clinic wouldn’t necessarily work for the school system.) And frankly, I didn’t really want to talk about it. I was thankful that another mom arrived, and then another.

About 10 minutes later, a fifth mom (also named Carrie, though spelled differently) arrived with her daughter. I had met her last week. Picture a beautiful skinny blonde who has lived in Switzerland, Hong Kong, Italy, and various other places. The playgroup leader had mentioned that she recently had moved into the (highly affluent) neighborhood and was just an outstanding person. She seemed self-assured, calm, completely together, and friendly.

Before her arrival last playgroup, I had been talking (reluctantly) about the vaccine issue. (I didn’t bring it up; another mom did.) Since I didn’t know Carrie, I really didn’t want to get into why I was concerned about vaccines and such. Thankfully, the conversation turned immediately to introductions. We learned that our sons were in the same preschool, but went different days. Both classes attend on Fridays, so both our boys were in school at that point.

As is typical when meeting someone for the first time, I wanted to make the best impression. I didn’t think that continuing the discussion of my vaccine fears, mentioning the Cat’s past troubles, or anything of that nature would be appropriate. So I helped steer the conversation to other topics.

This week, the first thing the playgroup leader said was, “Hey Kari, you and Carrie have a lot in common.” She paused for dramatic effect. “You both have some of the same issues with your sons.” She teased.

Carrie immediately queried, “Aspergers?” and I sighed, stammering, “Well, yeah, but PDD. I don’t know if that is the right label,” and probably I added a few more unintelligible words.

“Oh, we just got back from our IEP (Individualized Education Plan) this morning!” she chirped.

She told me her 9 year old son has Aspergers. The playgroup head said, “Yeah, and Kari has had lots of trouble getting the help she needs.”

Ugh. Opening a can of worms.

Again, I inarticulately produced a run-on sentence that included my frustration that evaluations are tricky and labels are faulty, and I am not really sure what the deal is. She told me her son is “atypical” in his diagnosis and also doesn’t fit neatly within the Asperger’s label, but she said that getting a label helps get the appropriate help with the school system.

I responded that the school system had so far been unhelpful. She agreed with the frustration that in their eyes “high functioning” plus “low functioning” equals out to “average” and said she has had the same problem in the past.

She asked which school system the Cat was in. I told her it was the same son that went to school with her younger son (she has three sons and one daughter.) I said, “It is just the normal Sunflowers class.”

We chased our kids around a bit, and I went to the restroom. As I returned, I overheard the playgroup head telling Carrie, “Yeah, I just know that she is in need of guidance right now, and you are the perfect person to give it to her! It really is so lucky you are here!”

And so it began. Carrie listed exactly what I would need: a developmental pediatrician is a MUST. Don’t you dare go to a regular pediatrician! Also, an educational psychologist and a pediatric neuropsychologist are helpful. She listed off names of her preferred clinicians. Dr. Wonderful is THE doctor in the area! What he says goes. When the (highly affluent) school district is told that your son is referred by Dr. Wonderful, they will do ANYTHING. Of course, Dr. Wonderful doesn’t take insurance…

Honestly? On one hand, I was glad for her “guidance” but on the other hand, I was a bit shocked by the abrupt “I have been down this road longer than you have, so here is the skinny,” especially given that I have lived in the area longer than she has. (She actually used the phrase “I have been down this road longer than you have,” which I thought was off-putting.) But, she clearly has more experience. And, she clearly knows who the influential people are. I know that she was being helpful. Her comments were with a genuine intent to assist, not to lecture, although it felt otherwise to me.

It again felt like the overnight school project. Even though the Cat had already gone through two formal evaluations and seen numerous providers, social workers, and caseworkers, Carrie was suggesting yet another “starting point” to get an evaluation, a new case worker, and so forth. It was as though all the effort I had already done didn’t “count.” (Which most of the time, I feel is true!) She said things like, “Well, you need to get him evaluated and labeled,” and “Early intervention is key,” as though I hadn’t done a thing.

In the course of the conversation (which was pretty much one-sided, but I would occasionally get to respond), I had to admit that I wasn’t part of the highly affluent school district. (So perhaps Dr. Wonderful’s influence won’t be the same.) In response to some of her queries about medication, I “let it slip” that in my pre-child life I had been a neuroscientist and had studied neuropharmacology, so had some knowledge on the issue, and we had decided to hold off for the time being.

Before I knew it, playgroup was over. Our conversation hadn’t been completely fluid; I had only responded to her queries in the midst of her “lecture.”

“Be sure to intervene as early as possible!” she said cheerfully as a goodbye. Again with the preaching to the choir! It isn’t like I am just sitting around doing nothing!

Still, I am glad to have someone who has been down the road, because I can go to her with questions.

But.

I didn’t want to start the whole vaccine conversation (my guess is that the playgroup leader will initiate that conversation next week,) and at this point, I don’t really want to list the “trouble” that we have with the Cat.

For example, now that he has acclimated to the routine of finding his name and putting it in the envelope at the start of the preschool day, he simply does it easily and automatically. It is the initial transition, routine, and meeting people that is the problem. At the moment, he is doing fine in preschool, or at least I think he is. When I receive the official in-school evaluation, then I may discover otherwise.

But at this precise moment, I am reluctant to start a whole other battery of tests. I want to wait and see how the Cat is handling preschool now that he is more acclimated. I feel more like observation than action right now. I want the Cat to have a break from the scrutiny.

I can tell that Carrie is more for action. I will be nervous that next week she starts out by asking, “Did you phone Dr. Wonderful yet?”

I am conflicted by this new friendship. It has started off as a “mentor-mentee” pairing and I am uncomfortable. I would have preferred more of an “equal” friendship initially, eventually discovering for ourselves that we have similar issues with our sons. Advice from her to me would me casual. The “set up” was unexpected (although made with the best of intentions.)

I go to playgroup to enjoy my time with Spliggle and other women who have infants and toddlers. I really didn’t want to get the Cat mixed in with what I had pictured as “Spliggle” time.

I had posted before about how I was hoping for a friend who had gone through similar things relating to ASDs, but I pictured that “ideal” relationship as being outside of a playgroup, not part of a situation where other mothers are privy to the “issues” I am having and the “guidance” that one mom is providing to me.

(Today, the other moms kept interjecting with their own questions. For several of them, it was the first time they had been told of the Cat’s “diagnosis.” I felt “outed.”)

Yes, I am being overly sensitive about this, but I really don’t want what was supposed to be a relaxing Friday morning away-from-the-Cat playgroup to turn into a group therapy session to “help” me with my son.

Later this afternoon, I saw Carrie as she was picking up her son from the classroom right next to the Cat’s. We smiled and said “hello.” As is Murphy’s Law, if you tell someone your child is “different,” the child will put on a show. Sure enough, the Cat responded to Carrie’s greeting with a loud, “Mmmmrrrreow!” and started racing around on all fours, ignoring my attempts to get him to stand up and walk properly to the car. This is either normal four year old antics or “other,” depending on whose eyes view the behavior and in what frame of reference.

Fortunately, Carrie has been “down that road…”