...it's not about the shoes...

Tonight, Mister Man is attending his first prom.

14 years old and the dapper darling of his mother's eye, he'll be tuxedoed and tucked and tied and looking every part the young man about town...until your eyes drift down to the rough and tumble sneakers below those bottom hems.

 Earlier this week we had to squeeze in a desperate rush to Macy's for tuxedo pants as someone had once again grown out of the previous pair after only one wearing. (Yikes! My wallet can't keep up!) At any rate, we finally found a pair of unhemmed slacks that were just long enough, then added on a particularly well chosen shirt and tie.

I've sat in the dim light of an evening lamp, stitching the hem while he drifted off to sleep. I've ironed that shirt, and steamed that tie. And polished the shoes. The shoes that will go back in the closet now, unworn. And I have scrubbed, to my best ability, his "tossers"...those old sneakers that still fit but are too shabby for anything but tossing on for chores or walks.

He'll have to "just do" with them. They're the only shoes that will accommodate the bulky brace currently encasing his ankle.

(As recently as December, he finished a run of Physical Therapy, months in the longevity, for the long-lasting and somewhat crippling effects of a previous injury on this same ankle. He'd hurt it in gym class, several years ago now, when another student mistook his ankle for the ball and let fly... He'd ignored the pain and played on, masking it as best he could in his people-pleasing way. When the limping grew noticeable, days later, he finally drew my attention to it. Pediatrician, here we come! Brace in place, swelling went down and soon enough he claimed the pain was gone. But, what came in it's place? Out-toeing of the damaged foot. Out-toeing that had developed as he adjusted his gait around the pain. Out-toeing that interfered with walking in straight lines, and made running both comical and concerning. X-rays were ordered when Mami persisted in her protests, and PT begun. After months of exhausting, uncomfortable sessions he was declared Graduated from the program and sent off with home-based exercises. )

Phew, got through all that.

So here we are, graduated PT and back in a brace. Something's wrong here. Let's start at the beginning.

Wednesday's facebook post:

So...first the preface: A few weeks back now, Mister Man invited me to the fabulousness that is Google Hangouts.  Awesomeness! I got an email alert on my phone while he was at school. First thought? Ruh Roh! What the heck is this? I clicked through and was delighted to see that he had messaged me. Just a sweet check in of "Hi Mami! Hope your day is good.", to which I responded with maybe a few too many emojis. 

Ok, back on track. We are able to exchange messages while he's at school so as to keep updated and/or on track with assignments, scheduling, last minute plans, etc...  And I am loving it! Let's be real: I miss him during the schoolday. 

So now it's a daily routine. He shoots me a message during his downtime. I reply during mine. He's sent me jokes, asked about after school plans, vented his frustration after a particularly grueling algebra test, etc...

Then, Wednesday:

2pm(ish) :

J-"...also, I sprained my ankle in gym."

L-"What?  Oh no!  Did you go to the nurse?  Are you ok?"

J-"Yeah, it hurts a lot now but only started hurting noticeably during 3rd period. I didn't go to the nurse though."

L-"Go to the nurse!  You need to ice it, now!"

J-"I do?"

L-"Yes. Go.  Don't make me call the school!"

J-"But..."

L-"Go.  Right away, please.  You can't afford to damage that ankle any more. Write me back once you've gone, please."

Phone rings.  Nurse: Blah blah blah, he's definitely got a bad sprain, he claims it's not so bad...wants to go to after school club-needs permission..., wrapped, iced, pretty swollen, can I give him advil?"

A few minutes later...

J-"Done"

L-"Good.  Keep it elevated."

J-"I tend to work through my injuries way too much."

L-"DNA babe, you got it from your mama...that, or my bad example.  Pick one!"

J-"I could have an arm completely severed off, and I'd still be trying to play volleyball. #onehandedtyping "

***Mami imagines that and gulps

L-"Smart but stupid"

#thisismylife #autismmama #sensoryprocessingdysfunction #butidontwannagobacktopt

I shared the above as my status update, and watched as the notifications popped up...all the amused emojis from family and friends who found our snarky exchange laughable.

Meanwhile, I prepped for his return. Bus dropoff at the end of our long, steep gravel driveway wouldn't do...he'd have to make the exit with assistance from bus to car to home. Epsom salts purchased, basin (Alternatively known as slow-cooker insert!) at the ready for one size 12 foot to soak.

He arrived. We got him bundled up and in, and then assessed the damage. Swollen, and red and hot to the touch...that poor ankle was not having it. Into the bath it went. Into his paws a mug of cocoa. Plated up all the treats I could lay my hands on and served with sympathy. And then, despite the wee little voice in my head, went looking through his notebook for the daily log from his para-professional aide...and didn't find one. Ding! Lightbulb! No log, no aide...one unreported, unattended injury. And a full vial of what should have been self-administered throughout the day, to boot.

So here's Thursday's facebook post:

Let's take a moment and think about the special-education piece, in light of J's recent injury.

(Quick recap: J sprained his already injured ankle yesterday during his gym class.  Thanks to the wonder that is google hangouts, he alerted me to this at the start of his last class of the day, having spent the whole day in fairly significant discomfort but without the necessary tools to access assistance, as his para-professional aide was absent and no sub had been provided.)

Yes, it's humorous (not the humurus!) that our google hangouts chat was rife with snark and sarcasm.

But you know what's not funny?

1) That his para was absent yesterday and there was no substitute to take her place.

2) That he was injured at the start of 2nd period, but didn't get help until the start of 8th period.

3) That he didn't take any of his 'self-administered' medication all day yesterday.

4) That he likely further damaged an already weak ankle for which he had just finished PT, because he continued to play and then walk on it all day.

Look at #1 again...

1) That his para was absent yesterday. and there was no substitute to take her place.

A special-education student who relies on the aid of his IEP mandated aide went without all day yesterday and neither availed himself of medical attention, nor miraculously found a way to tend to his own medical needs.  A special-education student who relies on his aide's constant reminders, refocusing and intercessions went about unmedicated all day, and can't recall a single lesson from the schoolday. 

Yes, J is brilliant.  (No, I'm not Mami-bragging.  He's truly, statistically, tested brilliant)  He's also autistic.  The two don't/won't/can't cancel one another out.  He's brilliant, and he requires an aide. 

And when one is not provided....

Well...

So here we are again. Ice packs and Advil and Walgreens where we bought three different kinds of braces: 1 for school with cushioned stirrups to lock his ankle in place all day, 1 for after school so he can be relieved of the stiff panels, and 1 elastic piece for sleeping in. Of course finding them all in sizes large enough to accommodate those massive feet of his??? Ach! 

And then the kicker. The only shoes that comfortably fit both foot and brace? The "tossers". Those old, worn out, stretched to their max cruddy, scuzzy sneakers.

Tonight he'll go to his first prom. A special guest of the "Night to Shine" event, sponsored by Tim Tebow. He's been looking forward to it, in his own way. He chose the shirt and tie. He tried on countless pairs of pants. He's made sure his tuxedo jacket still fits. I've been looking forward to it as well. Waiting to see him all spiffed up. Eager to introduce him to his buddy. Ready and waiting with camera for a perfect photo. He'll come home soon...off the bus, into the house, into the shower with my arm for an assist. My arm, behind the curtain and my body toward the door so he has something to lean on. He'll dry off and get dressed, slowly as usual. I'll speed through my end: dress, shoes, makeup, hair-brush. Perhaps he'll let me blowdry his bangs to the side so they don't hang down, covering his eyes. He'll sneak a mini-con transformer or two into his pockets. And then he'll pull on his dress socks, carefully. And together we'll put on his shoes...I holding the right one wide so the brace doesn't budge. Tying the laces loosely on those cruddy sneakers.

Now lest you think it's all about the shoes...

It's not about the shoes. It's about the aide. Or rather, it's about the aide's absence. An absence which, left unfilled, allowed for an accident to become a situation...for a student with specific needs to waste a school day with those needs unmet...for an injury to progressively get worse the longer it went unnoticed and unattended.

"Why didn't he just go to the nurse?", or " Why didn't he tell someone?", you're thinking. Right? After all, I've told you that he's brilliant. "Why not...?"

But look through the posts above. Look back to see where I wrote this...

He's truly, statistically, tested brilliant. He's also autistic.  The two don't/won't/can't cancel one another out.  He's brilliant, and he requires an aide. 

That's the why not. That, right there. His diagnosis and it's attending symptomology are the why not. They are the reason that an aide is assigned to him via his IEP. They are the reason he relies on that aide to function at his best level. They are the reason why, when he sprained his ankle in gym somewhere around 9am, he didn't notify anyone until round about 2pm. They are the reason why he finally messaged me.

  It's not about the shoes. It's about the administrator who, noting the absence called in by a para-professional aide, didn't fill that absence with a sub. It's about the audacity of a school district employee who made the decision to break the contracted IEP. It's about an individual who thought no one will catch on if I don't fulfill my obligation to this student, his family, my employer and the state. It's about what happens when the rules that are set in place to safeguard one student's FAPE rights aren't followed. 

It's about leaving a student to fend for himself despite evidence that he can't manage alone.

It's about an injury made worse by lack of immediate medical attention. 

And yeah, you know what? When I go to take his photo tonight, and hold the camera just so to crop out the bottom few inches...

It's about the shoes.

~Leanna