Speech. Again. And Some Needed Comic Relief.

I met with two of Leo’s teachers and his school speech therapist yesterday for his parent teacher conference

The good news is, academics-wise, Leo is doing well. His handwriting is progressing. He’s an active, eager participant in class discussions as he’s always been. As I mentioned a few months ago, Leo now attends the learning disabled class for language arts and that is apparently going (mostly) swimmingly (he's not as cooperative or enthusiastic about math, which he also goes to this class for but hey, he comes by that honestly--I was a horror in math throughout all my school years). The class is comprised of children with various, minor “learning problems,” some are not quite reading at grade level, some have dyslexia. If you saw these kids in the hallway, you wouldn’t look twice but they’re in this class because they need just a little extra help.

The “learning problems” teacher (let’s call her Ms. F since that rolls off the tongue a bit more gracefully, don’t you think?) adores Leo. She said he’s a hard worker, loves to be involved in class discussions. Her kids have welcomed him into the class and seem to really enjoy his presence. The interesting thing about this group of kids is they all know they have a problem. They know they’re different, that they’re not good at something and they need help. I don’t know this for sure but I’m going to take a leap and say that I don’t think Leo gets this (about himself) right now. I actually hope he never does but at the same time I suppose it’s a double edged sword—don’t you have to be fairly intelligent to grasp something like that? And I know Leo is incredibly intelligent. One of the many signs of just how smart Leo is? He completely knows when you are pretending to understand him. Most times he's not satisfied you get what he's saying unless you repeat it back to him.

In the meantime, Mrs. F proclaimed Leo the best reader in her class (remember, he’s in second grade and there are third graders in this class). Now for the comic relief: There is much reading aloud in her room and the other day after Leo read his portion, one of the children who really struggles with reading took a deep breath, sat back and said “I think Leo’s a genius.”

Now for the not so cute. Speech. Leo is continues to be very, very difficult to understand. He’s been in private therapy (supplementing what he receives in school) since November and when I asked his school speech therapist if she’d seen any difference since then? She answered a resounding No. My heart sank a little. I wasn’t expecting a miracle, but I guess I was expecting something. A little glimmer of hope. A small bone. At the same time, I obviously want her to be honest. Stroking my parental ego does no one any favors.

It’s baffling to me. Leo says some words and phrases (“That’s boring!” and “Mommy, I’m still hungry!”) clear as a bell. Others (and there are many, many others) leave us scratching our heads. We get frustrated. He gets impatient and understandably frustrated. Of course he does. He’s trying to communicate. We, his family, and to some extent his teachers, get a lot of what he’s saying by context. But we can’t expect the rest of the world to know Leo’s context just to be able to have a conversation with him.

Leo is an ebullient, chatty presence everywhere he goes, including the daily “snack and conversation” held in Ms. F’s room. The other children are extremely patient and curious and include Leo fully. They are, according to Ms. F, just dying to know what Leo is saying. Join the club.

And speech is everything. Or, speech is his bridge to the rest of the world. And the thing is, it’s not like Leo doesn’t have things to day. He’s not speech delayed anymore by any stretch. In fact, he won’t shut up (never thought I’d say that!). He is so friendly and outgoing and interested in the world and people around him. I just worry about how long that openness will last if he’s constantly met with “What did you say? Huh? I’m sorry Leo, I can’t understand you.” I’m afraid if we can’t help him figure this speech thing out, at some point, he’s going to shut down, to not even try.

Both his school and private therapist agree that they want him to be checked by an ENT for something physical (inflamed sinuses? Tonsils? Perhaps a palate issue though wouldn’t this have been discovered already?)—something—anything that night explain why speech is so largely unintelligible. His ABR last summer was all clear so we know he can hear. I’m looking into apraxia but that’s something for a neurologist.

I just want to help him. He has SO much to say.