Tuesday, January 13, 2009

...on a chair to wait for it

january 13 2009

What was before....

A cup of coffee, a pen and notebook, my glasses and the phone.
Eyes on the clock...
10
1 past 10
...

By the time it was ten past I was already doing a chore near the phone.

It was 15 past when he called.
For a few moments I thought about letting the call go, but the idea that it might harm one of us in any way made make take the call.

The voice was exactly the way I expected it to be: distant, without friendliness and a bit from up high.
You know what I mean.

He said his name and started to ask questions.

"Pardon.... what was your name?"
He repeated it and and then jumped on the questions.
"I'm sorry, I don't know who you are and why you are calling me."

Well, according to him he was from the school-to-be of my second son.
He wanted information.

"What for, may I ask?"

To choose the right intaker... Hmm...

"I assume you have a file."
"No I don't."
"That's very strange because we've left lots of information when we visited the school, and my son's social worker left you a very good and complete profile."
"But I still have questions."
"So you Do have his file."

I told him very quiet that I've been dealing with people and files about my children for over 20 years now and that I'm tired of repeating things over and over again to people who are expected to understand the file. That I'm very willing to answer questions, but I've decided in the recent past not to put the files in other words.

So he asked me some questions... all had their answers in the files. I know for sure.
The he asked me what kind of education the father of the children and I have had.
"Why?
It's about the boy, not about us."

"I want to assess the socio-economic level"
"We're not the lowest class, if that's what you mean?
I assume you know that autism spectrum disorder has nothing to do with class, money or social life of the parents. It's a neuro-biological disorder. Inborn so to say."
"Did he get treatment?"
"Mister, when there's a cure I'm one of the first to hear about it. Until then we can only smoothen the things for the environment, but not directly for the person himself. Not really."

"Who diagnosed him?"
"That's in the file too. It's a psychiatrist. Only psychiatrists are allowed to diagnose autism spectrum disorder, according to a certain diagnostic system."
"Why was he diagnosed?"
Because he kept asking questions which were in the file, and it became clear through little sidetalks that he didn't read it at all. Not even the front page, I said:
"Because he displayed symptoms of autism spectrum disorder."
"Which symptoms?"
"Of PDD-NOS. Just like they're in the DSM IV-TR (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 4th version, text revised edition).
You can find my son's symptoms in the file, sir."

"How many siblings has your son?"
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr......
"Sir, he's one of 6 or to be precise, number 2 of 6. It's in the files.
Are you sure you can represent my sons interests well enough to get him the intaker he needs? It should be at least someone who knows about autism spectrum disorders and who is willing to read the file. It's about 6 pages, very well structured and very clear, and there should be an addition of the meeting we had at your school with C., my son, his social worker and me."

"Oh and by the way, his father has all the degrees in mathematics and science and I'm a psychologist."
"I know."

Well....... why ask??????

This part of the conversation didn't take away my feeling that this call was very strange.

And that he referred to the short time my son didn't go to school in the way he did, didn't ease my mind at all.
He sounded exactly like the person of the school of my autistic son who had made our lives hell.

Then we got to my autistic son and he told me that his name was given by the person who had the first meeting there with his brother and us.
That was a kind man, who was touched by the fact that the council representative was hunting us down and was threatening with court each contact.
So he really did what he could.
He submitted him for registration at that school.
I'm perfectly OK with that.

I told the guy on the phone a short version of what has happened all those years, and that we can find no school at all.
That my son understands other people work for a living, but that he doesn't understand that it's his future too.
That I don't expect him to finish exams, but that he can learn well enough to get a job, when he's taught the skills in the right way.
This school has a special department for long distance learning with the aim to create long distance workers. It's for severely physically handicapped people who need adjustments which are far too expensive to create at a workingplace and for autistic people who can't work at an office or in a team.
My son likes the idea.... so it's perfect.

When I put the phone down I still had the same feeling as I had before.
Either this guy is unfit for his job, or something is not OK.
The future will show.

I've mailed the social worker about the call, so she knows.

And then I started to worry about the money.
Because my autistic son is 2 years too young for that school we have to find a way to get it payed for.

Maybe I should start writing a script about my life and pay his education from the royalties. LOL!









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3 comments:

  1. Argh - that guy sounds like a first class pompous ass! Reminds me of some doctors I've had to deal with...I had a doctor question the other day if I had asthma - when he knew I was under the care of a lung specialist and could see that I was on 6 different medications for asthma...

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  2. It looks like people today are more interested in keeping their jobs, and not sharing their love. Gone are the days when we really care for one another. How very sad.

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  3. ITA with RoseWorks, the guy sounds like a total jerk. Makes you wonder why people like that get into that line of work to begin with?? No people skills or interest in actually helping the situation at all.

    Not to mention I think the whole thing with him being forced into school when you, his parents, KNOW he can't handle it (as you said in a previous post) is completely ludicrous. People can be really stupid sometimes.

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