So yesterday I got a call from the school nurse at Anna's school. Anna had been in class and suddenly hid in a corner crying. The teacher sent her to the nurse. The nurse called me. The nurse asked her questions about whether her head or her tummy hurt. Anna decided that her tummy hurt. This surprised me because Anna is not really a conversational kind of girl; she's just not that verbal. She rarely answers questions when you ask her directly. So I was absolutely amazed that she had told the nurse that her tummy hurt. It turned out that the nurse got the tummy hurting answer after touching her own tummy and head and asking Anna to choose.
The nurse and I spoke and and at that time Anna was absolutely fine. She was happy and smiling in the nurse's office. So I asked if she thought I needed to come get her. The nurse said no. She was fine. The nurse thought maybe she was constipated. I admitted that it was possible--sometimes Anna has pain when she is constipated. I didn't think that was the case as she had pooped multiple times the day before, but whatever. At that point Anna was fine, and she'd had a conversation (of sorts) about her needs.
Anna was sent back to class and started the crying inconsolably and hiding in the corner. She was brought back to the nurse's office and I was called. The nurse questioned Anna again and Anna admitted that her tummy was hurting, but once she was in the nurse's office, she was fine and bouncing off the walls. So I called and asked Judy to go get the princess. When I checked in with Judy later, Anna was fine. She was singing and dancing.
Judy, John and I all figured that it wasn't a cry of pain, it was a freak out and that something in the class had upset her. So John wanted to call to speak to the teacher. We all wanted to know what it was that had caused her to freak out. I called the school and left a message, but the phone call was not returned that afternoon.
When I came home, Anna was singing and dancing. She was absolutely fine. So I wrote the teacher a fairly lengthly note, letting her know that we weren't really sure that Anna's tummy hurt, but that it was more likely she was having some sort of panic attack. I reminded her that this is what I had described during every stage of the testing and even though none of the evaluators witnessed it, it was still a concern. I told the teacher what could trigger it and that I was hoping that by being in this integrated pre-school program Anna would learn some coping mechanisms.
The teacher called me this morning before she got the note, but I had phone issues so I asked her to call John. John explained to her everything that was in the note. That this was not constipation, but a freak out. That while she had improved since November, we were still concerned about this behavior. He reminded her that this is what we had told them about and asked them to be aware of and that this behavior was why we refered her in the first place. At one point the teacher told John that her crying was heartbreaking. Tell me about it. Really? Didn't notice that myself.
When Judy dropped her off at school today, the teacher asked if Anna had pooped. Um...no. She didn't need to poop. When Judy picked her up, she asked the teacher how the day was. The teacher responded, "Fine." Judy tried to ask her what was going on in the class when Anna flipped and the teacher didn't think anything had happened. And then the teacher said that she had been told that Anna hadn't freaked out since November. Not what she had been told, but whatever.
So this afternoon while I was cleaning up the mess the dogs had waiting for me when I came home from school, and the principal from the school called and left a message on my phone. She wants to talk to me about the note. Interesting. The teacher didn't want to discuss it with me; the principal does. She said that the note was great, but she wanted to talk about what we want the school to do if Anna is in pain. I joked with Judy this morning that the teacher wouldn't like me by the end of the school year. The answer is she doesn't like me now. I think it is official to call me "one of those mothers."
Anna wasn't in pain. I'll gladly come get her when she is in pain. But I don't want her to learn the lesson that if she doesn't like something or if she is a little sad that she just has to shed a few tears and she can leave school. That is the lesson we taught her yesterday. It will be a long educational career for all of us if we let this lesson sink in.
My big complaint about this place is that there is no feed back. I don't know what is going on with my child. I really don't. At home she sings songs about cleaning up--which is nice. At Judy's she clicks her heels together and says, "Don't hit! It's the first day of school!" Is she hitting someone? Is someone hitting her? I'd like to know so that I can address both those issues with her. I'd like to support what is going on in school, but I can't if I don't know what it is.
I must say that I have been completely underwhelmed with the professionalism of the people we have dealt with thus far. They kept John and I waiting for approximately 15 minutes for Anna's IEP meeting to talk about one of the teacher's new dog. They had a very private conversation with another parent right in front of us (during that 15 minutes) that could have been handled way better and not in the school corridor. Then, mid-IEP, the team talked about the parent. That's just the tip of the iceberg. That's not the stalking of the school psychologist I had to do to get the appoint, or the begging I had to do to get the paper work two days in advance. Or the fact that even though I told them Judy would be dropping her off and picking her up, they all thought she would be coming by van. I know that I am spoiled because of the caliber of professionals I work with; however, this is ridiculous. What I have to decide is whether or not to address this. Or perhaps when is the better question.
After her bath this evening, Anna lifted her scraped knee and told me "My tummy hurts." Clear as a bell. I asked her about it, "Your tummy?" "My tummy," she told me, shoving her knee in my face. "That's your knee," I told her. "Oh. My knee hurts." I kissed it, helped her put her jammie pants on and then she ran off.
Anna's got us all wrapped around her little finger. I'm sure of that, but I can't wait to talk to the principal.
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