On Check-Ups and Gratitude

I took Leo to the eye doctor yesterday morning for his annual check-up. He had surgery for strabismus last April so this was also the one-year follow-up. The doctor was thrilled with how he’s adjusted to the surgery (apparently either your brain “takes” to the surgery or it doesn’t and there is the chance that his type of procedure may require repeating). But he looks good and doesn’t need to go back for eighteen months so there’s another one to cross off the list. The doctor who did the pre-exam (not our surgeon doctor) seemed to immediately adore Leo. She exclaimed “Oh he’s doing very well, it’s very mild isn’t it? The Down’s?”

I know this was meant as a compliment and that’s fine, it just always shocks me when medical professionals speak this way. “The Down’s”? I mean, who says that?

Also, there’s nothing like sitting in a waiting room to gain a little perspective and gratitude. In my “Why Me” moments of exasperation with some of Leo’s behavior, I need to remember how in the grand scheme, I truly believe Down syndrome is the special needs grand prize lottery. There were some kids in the waiting room who were just…hard. I know if they were my kid I would love them and I’m sure people look at Leo and us sometimes and think “how do they do it?” But Leo is so present. He connects with people and he hugs them (maybe too much but seriously? If that's the worst thing you can say about a person...) and he communicates. Sure he’s stubborn and willful but I’ve also never met anyone who likes to please people more (when he wants to). Not all kids are like this (I know, duh, but still).

I made eye contact with some of the parents of the kids I’m talking about. I smiled at them, they smiled back, some looking exhausted, some looking resigned, some seemed embarrassed. Defeated? I guess I’m projecting. Mostly we all just looked tired, I think.

At one point the dad of one of the kids who I would describe as “challenging” took his daughter to get something to eat, I think I heard him say. She looked to be maybe ten (though it’s hard to say). She spoke in one word statements and repeated a lot of things. She moved very quickly around the room, sat next to people and got inappropriately close a few times (I wasn’t uncomfortable but sensed others were).

When the dad left with the daughter, the mom stayed in the waiting room. I watched as her husband and child left. The door closed, her shoulders went down, the pink covered Blackberry came out. She sighed. In no way am I comparing her situation with mine but I know that feeling. I think all parents do, maybe some more than others. Relief. Peace.

In other appointment related news, Leo was very cooperative, for the most part (I’ll leave out the small struggle with the eye drops which wasn’t as bad as it has been in the past). I can see why his teacher says that Leo “likes to please.” It’s nice to see him relate to other people. I can see him changing, growing up a little, not such a baby—well, not at all a baby, of course. The doctor gave him several different toys to play with, all had buttons and switches. She was watching to see how his eyes focused and moved.

We were a little early to the appointment (the doctor has two offices and we went to one I’d never been to so I left extra time, god bless GPS, have you ever tried to find anything in New Jersey?). Anyway, it was nice because we had about half an hour so I took Leo to the hospital cafeteria where we shared a bagel and juice. Of course he hugged three doctors between the bagel stand and the cash register, but hey. He has a thing for white coated women, I guess. Unless of course they’re trying to administer eye drops.