Thursday, June 10, 2010

Pooh Un

Well, where to start?  The long-anticipated, when-will-it-ever-get-here Children’s Mercy appointment came and went without a hitch (mostly) yesterday, and we are on the road to helping Jordan say something other than “mmmm,” which is a very good thing.

I had to wake Jordan up to get him going in the morning, but once he was on the move, he was filled with that sort of crack-head energy that only Jordan has—you know the kind that makes you think someone must have put speed in his orange juice at dinner the night before.  We got ready, did a quick kid-clean, and I determined that a last-minute fingernail clipping was in order.  Because, honestly…this kid’s fingernails!  See, here’s the thing.  Jordan likes dirt, and it has become painfully clear that dirt also feels quite comfortable with Jordan, because the two of them hang out together.  A lot.  And it just so happens that his fingernails are where he tends to store his most favorite and cherished dirt.

I didn’t really have time to do the nail thing, but I quickly weighed the option of taking dirty-nail kid to the doctors’ office as-is and just as quickly dismissed the idea, because I was pretty sure they might try to send me home with free soap or something.  Anyway, a quick excavation with that diggy thing that is attached to the clippers, and we were good to go.

Jordan climbed into the car with his new BFF, the Buzz Lightyear action figure Jason and I bought for him last weekend, because his new favorite movie EVER is Toy Story, and we thought it would be cool if the boys had Buzz and Woody action figures.  Needless to say, Buzz has remained in Jordan’s clutches for nearly an entire week, and it was apparent he was making the trek to Children’s Mercy with us.  And when we arrived, do you know what was playing in the waiting room?  Toy Story!  Upon seeing this, Jordan seemed convinced that we had, indeed, traveled to a magical land where his every wish would come true.

And he was pretty much right.  When we were called in, we were surrounded by a team of 6 doctors—that’s a LOT of brain power in one room.  I was sitting in a chair when the doctors entered the room single-file and introduced themselves, and sitting there looking up at them, I swear I felt like I was a kid in the principal’s office just waiting to get yelled at for holding a sit-in protesting something or other in the gym.  (Oh, wait, that was a flashback to high school.  Nevermind.  But I still felt like a kid in trouble.)

The first question I got was something to the effect of ‘how does the little guy do with separating from Mom?  Will he talk to us?’

Ok, um, he would pretty much talk to a guy in a rusty van peddling kittens and lollipops, so yeah, I’m pretty sure he’ll hang with you.

So, off I went with 4 or so of the doctors while Jordan obliviously played and interacted with a couple more of the posse.  As I left the room, I glanced back, and it was pretty much like he had gone to heaven.  He was surrounded with toys and puzzles and people paying all kinds of attention to him, so yeah, he was ok with that.

Three hours later.  Yes, THREE.  That’s a lot of hours with no restroom break, and believe me, I needed a break.  Where was I?  Oh yeah, three hours later, they all converged on me in my little interrogation room to pass along a profound piece of information regarding their observations of Jordan.  Guess what?  He can’t talk.

Three months we waited for this appointment, and I know we’ll get more information in the parent follow-up, but I sort of expected some life-altering information after three whole hours, something like, ‘Oh, we discovered that the problem is that his tongue has been paralyzed this whole time’ or something like that.  But all I got so far is that he can’t talk.  Really?  Because all this time I thought he was just playing mute and then having secret conversations at night with the tooth fairy after we all fell asleep.

Anyway, there was one earth-shattering moment while talking to the speech therapist.  She got him to say ‘pudding.’  Well, it was more like ‘pooh’ + ‘un’—but it was more than we had ever gotten from him before.  She laughed and told me that she had been holding a container of chocolate pudding while teaching him to say the word—and he really wanted that pudding.  He went for the pudding.  Way to go, Jordan!  That boy is an eater, so I’m thinking if we use the speech therapist’s method, we should have the names of all the foods he likes down in no time.

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