Today, I'm anxious. About both my kids.
Tomorrow Saskia and I go to the rheumatologist. I am hoping, after a year or more of observation, we will be closer to knowing if she has an autoimmune disease. Not because I want that for her -- God no -- but because knowing is better than waiting to know. At least then you can move forward. So poor Saskia will have to deal with the indignity of being examined by a rather handsome (and old -- my God he must be FORTY!!!!!!!) male doctor, who does not appear to be gay, as does her hematologist. (Gayness makes examinations a bit easier if they include disrobing.) Then there'll be lots of blood drawn, which she hates, and then we will wait a few weeks to see if her numbers have gone up or stayed still.
Probably we will be no better informed tomorrow than we are today.
I wish Saskia were all I had to worry about. But now I am concerned about the intentions of our school district. They seem to have something up their metaphorical sleeve, and I don't like it. First there was the IEP (received around 2 months after our meeting!) with errors (or, "errors," as the case may be) on the placement page. These errors could mean the difference between Ben staying where he is, at the Joy School, and being shunted off to another placement (a collaborative or in-district will be over my dead body, so if a couple months go by and you don't hear from me you'll know why).
Then, an email today from an administrator asking for a meeting about placement -- just her and me, it sounds like -- which raises a red flag in my mind. No meetings will happen without our advocate, the divine Laurel C., and Lars by my side -- and ideally, the rest of the team.
Wondering what the heck is going on with these people, what they intend for Benjy, is FREAKING ME OUT. Because, for the first time since he started school at age three, Benjy is relaxed, happy, and learning. The other day I picked him up and he was glowing, just glowing. He piled into the car and said, "I'm happy, Mom! I love my school."
Just thinking of it makes me cry. If that Chinese woman whose piece about being The Tiger Mom I read in the Wall Street Journal thinks she's tough, just wait until someone tries messing with my boy. I will be AS TOUGH AS A WOLVERINE. I mean it.
Meantime I am supposed to be writing -- I have a self-imposed deadline because a mag is waiting for a piece from me -- and all I can do it stare at the fish tank. (Ick. It needs to be cleaned.) I am anxious, and I am distracted. Maybe I've stepped into Benjy's life. (Not for the first time -- I know where his issues come from.)
Well, tomorrow is rheumatology day. Maybe by tomorrow night well be a few steps closer to clarity, and I'll be able to relax a little.