Destructive Release

by L. U. Ann

  The lady whose name I can never remember to save my life is so sweet to come out of her way to pick us up this morning. I don’t know what we would have done if it weren’t for her. We have exchanged information, and I will make sure she gets something in return for her good deeds. After waiting four hours for the part to be delivered, the new alternator is being installed as we speak. They expect to have the job completed in about two hours as there are other vehicles serviced, too. We take a stroll through the small, one lane, one road, one stop sign town. The most enjoyable site was the mill, but if you asked Evan, it was the swings. This has been a nightmare to get through, but we’re on the flip side and before the day is over, we’ll be returning home and getting rid of that piece of shit minivan. I told Devon I didn’t like it!

  Sixteen and a Half

  Life is full of many challenges. It isn’t necessarily how you deal with the challenges, but how you live the rest of your life accepting them.

  I may have grown up with a father that I loved, but as an adult, I can chose to love my husband, my children, and myself more by the severing unhealthy relationship.

  We can’t choose our family, but we can choose those who walk with us along the path of our future and what car we drive.

  Something hits me to search his profile on Facebook. I come up empty. Trying Nika’s profile, I hit the jackpot. OH. MY. GOD!

  Tears fall freely. How can I be so happy? I’m such a horrible person!

  She miscarried and it WAS a boy! Dear God, thank you. I’m so sorry for feeling happy, but that poor child was headed for a life potentially full of anguish.

  How can I find such relief when a life has been lost? I fall to the floor and repeatedly thank God for taking care of the poor baby from experiencing the horrid things my father was capable of.

  “The greatest prayer is patience.”

  ~Buddha

  Baby Lane has been a product of the Maryland State Department of Education system since she began therapy at nine months. I knew something was not right, but her doctor at the time refused to listen. Devon and I decided it was time to change pediatricians. It was the best thing we ever did. The doctor immediately noticed delays in her startle reflexes that should have been present months ago. At this time she was not sitting, she was not trying to push herself up. All she did was lie on her back, clutching her stomach muscles as she tried to sit. Let me tell you, the sweet thing has abs of steel. Her new doctor had informed us about the Infant and Toddlers Program available through our local public school system. The program is a division of special education for children–birth to school age. Children experiencing developmental delays, feeding issues, vision and hearing impaired, along with a number of other individual needs can receive support and services

  Therefore, at nine months, Baby Lane officially entered the system. Therapy session after therapy session, doctor appointment after doctor appointment, and crying spell after crying spell, we finally get an answer to why she isn’t developing on schedule. With the current technology, they found she is missing fifteen mega-base of chromosome 21. “Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, here is a picture of a normal set of chromosomes. This is your daughters,” her neurologists placed the two pictures on the table before us to compare. My heart sinks, what does this mean? “She is missing part of chromosome 21.” Devon squeezed my hand as we listened intently to the doctor’s diagnosis. Breakpoints, long q arm, and short p arm are a few of the terms we’ll forever know.

  Baby Lane isn’t the only one experiencing issues. Evan now holds the label of early-onset Bipolar Affective Disorder Syndrome. My heart hurts. Evan has progressively shown symptoms of prolonged sadness. We couldn’t put our finger on it. Devon and I mentioned it to his pediatrician. He told us to keep an eye on it. Three years later, after mood cycles, obsessive periods, and our family trying to cope behaviorally, we’ve hit the moment where medicine is required. I have told myself I will do anything and everything I can to help his environment at home be as successful as possible to prevent certain behaviors from getting out of control. Problem is that stress makes it harder for children. Stressors in school and in his social circle can make things go wonky. The key to keeping him stable is to control as many things as possible in his life.

  It feels as if we’ve been battling for the minimum amount of services with this Principal. I was so happy when I found out about his demotion to a smaller school, but he has now returned. Rumor has it he and his wife are friends with the superintendent and that’s why he is back. He has no backbone and is slime in my book. Our history began when Baby Lane was finishing preschool. She began attending school at the age of three. Three years old! Children aren’t supposed to start school until Pre-K or Kindergarten. Working families sometimes have to put their children in daycare and that’s fine, but we didn’t have a choice. If Baby Lane were to receive the services, we would have to take her to school to receive them.

  Eight years, two months later…

  The first day of school, she was so excited. Baby Lane loves school. She is extremely social and talkative. We nicknamed her Little Miss Chatterbox because of it.

  Devon and I were eager to hear how Evan and Baby Lane’s first day of school went. Our first stop was Evan. My fifth grader runs outside excitedly. “Hey, Sweet Pea, how was school?” I ask. Most kids are a little stand-offish at this age, but luckily, Evan still hugs me in public.

  “Great. Did you know Tommy and Bruce are in my class again?” He carries on about his friends.

  “That’s awesome!” He continues to tell me all about his subjects, who else is in his class, and what he thinks of his teachers. Luckily, it’s all good things.

  “Ready to go get your sister?” I ask once we’ve settled ourselves in the truck, and he’s exhausted himself telling Devon. I’m so happy he’s had a great day, and he still has his two most important friends in his class. Now, we’re ready to see how third grade went for Baby Lane. The teachers in the line see our vehicle and call her out. I step out of Devon’s yet another Expedition to greet my sweet girl. “Mommy, look!” She points to the sticker on her shirt. “Oh, wow, it says you had a great first day of school. I’m so proud of you!” I pull her into my arms after taking her book bag. Helping her buckle, Devon begins his twenty questions just like the past five years. “Do you like your teacher?” “Did you meet any new friends?” “What was your favorite part of the day?” And the one question that has now caused the most problems: “Who sat with you at lunch?” I think Devon was going to blow smoke out of his ears. “What do you mean no one sat with you?” he shouts. “Was a teacher there?” Baby Lane shakes her head no while Devon and I look at each other in shock. It clearly states it in her IEP she is to have close supervision. A note from her pediatrician specifies 1:1 ratio with no more than 1:3-teacher/student ratio during all eating activities. Oh, shit!

  Tension is thick in the air. Words exchanged, tempers flare, and emotions are at polar opposites.

  “Will you please look at me when I’m speaking to you?” I plead with the man sitting in front of me who sits behind a desk larger than himself acting like he knows everything. Hmm… is he overcompensating for something? Oh, how can my mind race like this?

  “Mr. Holmes, what I tried to explain to your wife earlier,” he pauses, “which what I said appears to have fallen on deaf ears,” he gestures over to me with his hand without turning my way, “Lane’s Individualized Education Plan, IEP, says close supervision and we are providing that,” he says dryly.

  “No, you aren’t,” I shout, slapping a hand on my leg in frustration. “She has a Health Plan attached to her IEP. Did you read that?”

  He continues with his eyes fixed on Devon. No glance is given my way. “I would like to make sure you are receiving all of the facts.” Facts?

  I cut him off. “The woman behind her didn’t know she had problems eating. How can you tell me she’s watching her?” The man ignores me. Bastard!

  “Mr. Holmes, the teacher behind her is fully ca
pable of watching your daughter, and based on the documentation in her IEP, we are legally providing the services that Lane is due.” I roll my eyes. Fucking bullshit!

  “I had gone in to eat lunch with Lane to verify whether someone was supervising her. Once you walked away, after I confronted you in the lunch room, and you informed me the lady behind her was in charge of Lane and seven other children, I asked her. She told me she didn’t know what I was talking about. She’s in charge of two large tables. I counted the children. There are twenty-five. How is that close supervision?” I shout.

  “Mr. Holmes, your wife’s presence interfered with the lady as she tried to do her job.” He continues to ignore me, not once looking in my direction.

  “Devon, do you see that he can’t even look at me?” He nods placing a hand on my leg to calm me.

  “I know, Lacey.”

  “Mr. Richmond, Lane has had someone assigned to her during all eating activities since she began school at three. Do not try to pretend you didn’t know that. You know as well as I do that this was in place before you left this school to be principal elsewhere. Now that you have returned, in the middle of her yearly review, you are changing things,” Devon curtly reminds him.

  My voice rises. “Do you realize the legal ramifications you are setting up not just for yourself, but the school, too? If you don’t protect my daughter after knowing she has choking issues, you are being negligent.” He completely ignores my question and comment.

  “Mr. Holmes, please control your wife.” The asshole sits nonchalantly behind his large desk.

  “Excuse me?” Devon raises his voice and straightens his back. Glaring at the jerk he says, “I’ve had enough of the way you speak regarding my wife with her sitting next to me. You are being very unprofessional. Parents are allowed, if not encouraged, to have lunch with their children, and you’re telling me that Lacey interfered with the teacher doing her job? That’s outrageous.” Devon has reached his limit.

  He finally turns to me. “You also wanted your daughter to ride the special needs school bus and walk her to her classroom.” OMG! I gasp.

  “That was years ago when she was going into Pre-K! She gets overstimulated and since the bus drives past my house every day, I asked if it could be arranged. The school wouldn’t fund it, so I let it go. What is the harm in me asking for things I feel could help my daughter? And as far as walking her to her classroom, it was her first day of Pre-K! You clearly have a selective memory.” I take a breath to try to calm the rage building within.

  “So when she’s in high school, are you going to have someone sit with her? You are the one handicapping her and not once has she choked during any of the feeding times at school. You’re making this up.”

  “Don’t you dare!” Devon shouts. “You’re supposed to be an educator. Do you have a medical degree? I don’t think so. Until you are qualified to make medical decisions, refer to those who do.”

  “That’s neither here nor there! We have to take each day as it comes.” I suck in a breath trying to restart my heart. Oxygen cannot keep up with the blood pumping through my veins. With tears streaming down my face, I continue, “Never would I want to make this up. You don’t understand what she’s been through. She has low-muscle tone in her mouth and when she sleeps, her throat collapses causing her to stop breathing. Not to mention that her brain doesn’t always tell her to take a breath. We have sleep studies to prove this and have afforded a copy for you guys. You’re telling me I’m handicapping my daughter? I would love nothing more than to have my daughter experience none of the issues she has. How can you sit there and talk to a parent the way you are?” He actually shut up for me to talk.

  I continue, “I witnessed Lane get excited during lunch yesterday and had to remind her to finish chewing the food in her mouth. She was laughing with her friends and forgot she was eating. She has never choked because of the precautions we have in place. I don’t want the other children to think she is special having an adult sit with her while the other students can go on without that.” I shake my head and look down at my hands. “I just want her safe. There is no rhyme or reason for when she’ll choke. We just have to monitor her to make sure it doesn’t happen.” Tears fall freely. He doesn’t understand. He hasn’t witnessed the numerous choking episodes that Devon and I have. He wasn’t watching in horror as I tried to give Baby Lane the Heimlich without success. Devon was on the phone with the 911 operator waiting for the Paramedics to arrive. No, he’s never had to deal with something like that or he wouldn’t speak to me in that tone.

  “Come on, Lacey.” Devon ushers my wilted form out of the school. “We’ll file a State Complaint and hopefully, this will be resolved,” he tries to reassure me.

  One week and four days later…

  The cold empty conference room helps calm the jittery nerves building upon one another. With each tick-tock of the loud clock above the door, my palms sweat more and the bounce in my leg increases. Eyes focused on the hustle and bustle on the other side of the glass door, I wait patiently for Devon to join me. I have the binder I created holding all relevant reports, minutes, and progress in front of me, as well as turned to the appropriate page.

  Arriving at her school fifteen minutes early allows Devon the opportunity to sign in and sneak a quick hello during her lunch period. I’m still waiting on his return.

  My eyes are trained outside the conference room door and my blood pumps quickly as I try to find the proper thoughts on how I approach the sensitive subjects. Attempts to behave in a levelheaded manner are vanishing quickly. Nine days ago, this very seat occupied my body while the Principal of the Elementary School conveniently informed Devon and me that Baby Lane does not need the services we believe she does. The principal and I have a long history. He has repeatedly argued everything we’ve brought to the table. A few years ago, this same principal didn’t mind sharing how he believes Devon and I think Baby Lane is more disabled than she truly is. Tempers flew at that meeting.

  “Mrs. Holmes, I think you feel your daughter is more disabled than she really is,” the asshat had the audacity to say and with a straight face, at that.

  “How dare you!” I turn to the lady facilitating the meeting who also writes the minutes. “I need to make sure that comment is recorded and included in the minutes. You all are witnesses to what he said.” The room falls silent with all eyes on the Principal and me. I think Devon is stunned speechless like the others. His body remains tense in the seat beside me. All I want is to make sure she’s receiving the services she needs and what are available according to the law. “I can’t help it if you don’t have the funds to provide the services. It’s not Lane’s fault. I suggest you think carefully about what you say to me regarding my daughter’s health.” I finished with my face turning different shades of red as fury was building. Children with special needs aren’t given to just any parents. It’s clearly evident why his children are ‘normal.’ He should be thanking his lucky stars for that. If only he knew what it was like to walk in my shoes, or any other parents. I would never wish this on anyone, nor would I try to make her out to be worse off than she is. The heat of my face from anger turns to despair and hurt. How can he speak to a mom like that?

  “You know, Mr. Richmond. It’s funny what I’ve had to teach myself in regards to Special Education laws. Want to know what I’ve learned?” The silence in the room continues.

  The services she received transitioned from home to school at that age. Devon and I felt interaction with peers could teach her things she couldn’t learn from us and her teacher. Since she was already attending school half the day, wouldn’t you think she would automatically move into Pre-K? Wrong. Even though she is classified as at risk for lower school performance, children who are of minority race, single parents and lower income families were first priority. Why wasn’t a child who wasn’t developing on schedule included in that group? It didn’t take long for the Principal and the Superintendent to learn of Devon’s and my concerns. We
believe the other children are at risk, however, so was Baby Lane.

  Weeks later, I received a call on my cell phone from the Superintendent while I sat in the parking lot waiting for Evan’s dismissal from his school. “Mrs. Holmes, this is Dr. Steepe. I have learned the situation regarding your daughter’s enrollment into our Pre-K program. I would like to ease your concerns and personally guarantee her acceptance,” she finished.

  “Oh, that’s great. Thank you so much for calling.” I pause.

  “Very good. Have a great day.” Dr. Steepe tried to finish the call.

  “Well, can you tell me why children with special needs aren’t included in the at risk category? The principal told me he couldn’t guarantee a spot for her next year. In addition, if she didn’t attend Pre-K, she would need to stop by three times a week for therapy. It’s not a big deal to take her to these appointments. I’m just confused. The school told us it was important for her to begin the preschool program. Studies have shown children learn from their peers. We did what they suggested, but then the school isn’t going to guarantee a continuation of this routine?”

  “Please understand we only have a few spots available, Mrs. Holmes, and we must accept everyone within a certain financial bracket, ethnicity, and family status. At this time, Pre-K is not mandatory. I’m sorry the state did not include children with special needs inside that law. We have guidelines set by the state and federal government that we must abide by. However, as I said before, we are guaranteeing your daughter a place for Pre-K next year. You needn’t worry about her.” I shouldn’t worry? Sure, I don’t now that I’ve made a big commotion about it, but what about families who aren’t as vocal as I am? There are children I’m sure not receiving services because their parents aren’t as involved. I shake my head and stare out the window waiting for Evan to get out of school. Thank heavens Evan is doing so well in Catholic School. I would love more than anything for Baby Lane to attend St. Augustine’s as well, but with her delay, she needs services they can’t afford.