Last week at Cordy’s preschool, the physical therapist pulled me aside when we arrived. She wanted to talk with me about Cordy’s safety at school.
“I worry about her violent outbursts where she sometimes hits her head on the floor,” she explained. The week prior, the PT had tried to do an evaluation on Cordy by taking her out of the classroom into the hallway. Of course, in doing so, she triggered a major meltdown in Cordy, complete with screaming and head banging. Cordy barely knows, and therefore barely trusts, the PT so of course she was going to have a problem leaving the teacher she knows well.
“Well, she’s had a lot fewer meltdowns in the past month than before,” I offered, “She rarely hits her head anymore.”
The PT crossed her arms and sighed. “I’d like to recommend that she wear a helmet at all times when she’s at school.”
I must have looked like a dazed large mouth bass after she said that, because she followed it up with, “It’s for her safety. I’m surprised she hasn’t had a concussion yet.”
I’m sure I must have given her my best “what drug are you on?” look, but she continued describing about the types of soft foam helmets they have for kids.
“While she’s hit her head many, many times,” I interjected, “she’s never had any problems as a result. Not even any swelling.”
“But she doesn’t seem to register any pain when she does it, and that’s troubling because she has no reason to stop. She’s clearly learned that she can get attention by doing this.”
Wait one damn minute – did she just imply that we have encouraged this? At this point I was seething.
My voice changed slightly from an accommodating willing-to-hear-you-out one to a you-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about voice. “We have never encouraged her to hit her head. When she does it, we walk away or ignore it. And I think a helmet is more trouble than it’s worth. She hates having her head even touched – how do you think she’ll react to a helmet? It’ll send her into a fury and she’ll freak out until she can tear it off.”
I didn’t even mention my other concerns with a helmet. First, we’re sending her to this preschool so she can learn the skills needed to blend in with your average kid. Wearing a big stupid helmet will only alienate her and make her an easy target.
Also, wearing a helmet would, in a way, be reinforcing her behavior by sending the message that we expect her to hit her head, and therefore we’re protecting it in advance.
She still didn’t give up. “I’m just asking you to think about it. Yes, she may not like it at first, but I think it would be in her best interests to consider a helmet.”
What I wanted to say was: “Maybe instead you should learn there’s more than one way to do things, and find a way to get what you want from her without sending her into a meltdown. It’s called compromise, and even children should be given that consideration.”
Instead, I simply wanted out of the conversation, so I ended with, “I’ll speak with my husband about it, but I don’t think it’s likely he’ll want to pursue that option.”
Thinking I was free, I turned my attention to Cordy for a moment, only to hear the PT then say, “Also, have you thought about genetic testing for her?”
WTF?
“For what?”
“Well, there’s several syndromes that can have similar symptoms to autism.”
“OK…like what?”
“Oh, well, it’s not my place to diagnose that. But there are several she could be tested for.”
Again…WTF?
Seriously? She wants me to take Cordy to the pediatrician and say, “I’d like to have her genetically tested. For what? Oh, I don’t know, go ahead and test for everything, just to know.” They’d think I was crazy.
I walked out of the classroom muttering, “Oh for Chrissakes…”
Cordy’s teacher had told me before this conversation that it seemed that Cordy and the PT didn’t get along very well. We all have someone we don’t get along with, but can’t figure out why. There’s nothing wrong with personality conflicts – they happen, and you either avoid the person or work through it.
Of course, I’m not thrilled with the PT much right now either. A helmet? For real? And genetic testing? I’ll agree that it might be dangerous for a child with no real fear of pain to hit her head on the floor. But Cordy has been doing soooo much better lately that it hasn’t even concerned me.
Her teacher is so proud of how far she’s come so quickly. I can count on one hand the number of major meltdowns she’s had in the past month. Seriously, less than 5. Before we started her in this preschool, the number would have been more than 5 for a single week. It’s huge progress.
Just to make sure this isn’t just my protective Mother-Bear instinct kicking in (because really, I don’t want to be one of those parents who thinks her kid is flawless), I’ve been checking with others to make sure I’m not overreacting. Aaron immediately got angry and said no-way to a helmet. Of course, he’s the other parent, so his reaction is also biased. So I asked Cordy’s pediatrician, who said it would do more harm since Cordy’s head is so sensitive.
Am I crazy for getting so upset over the idea of a helmet? The PT has had only one major meltdown from Cordy, and she’s already suggesting a helmet. I just think there are other ways to deal with the issue than slap a big foam helmet on her head.
Edited to add: I wanted to add that I don’t think the PT is mean. She seems like a very nice woman, with years of experience. I just think there might be a personality conflict between her and Cordy, which makes it difficult for them to work together.
