Ice breaking with cousins!

November 5, 2009 at 3:37 pm (Casual notes, Family, Memoirs, Miscellaneous, amusing (hopefully!), me, the housewife!)

You might’ve noticed that I avoid treating this blog as a diary of my daily encounters, but last night was an exception. A memoir I’d like to include. Something I’d like to go back to and enjoy re-living the memory.

Wednesday early morning, I fought the H1N1 controversies currently surrounding the world and got the H1N1 JAB, not because I’m freakin out and plan to avoid it like the plague, but because it is compulsory for those who go to Hajj, and my urge to perform Hajj (specifically this year) is stronger than my urge to avoid the vaccine! YES.. I have decided to perform HAJJ this year Inshallah (Coming soon -> Hajj-dedicated post)!

The afternoon was uneventful, just runnin’ around to prepare for THE evening ahead.

The evening was a gathering of cousins in my house. Sounds normal, casual and sorta what’s the big deal, right? Wait..wait.. let me explain. We are a huge family (Mashalla), not only that but intertwined to a great degree. My father-side cousin is married to my mom’s aunt who also happens to be the sister of my grand-mother, oh so so complicated you don’t even want to go there. The point is, it’s difficult to mingle with everyone in a family gathering (we have loads of them gatherings by the way!). What happens in all gatherings across the years is that cousins of similar ages hang out together and I’m talking about hundreds here, and we slowly miss out on the other ones, the younger specifically. We do ask about studies/work and the formal stuff every now and again, but we do not talk much about the juicy stuff if you like!

They were always there, always around us but not until one of those younger cousins got engaged, did we stop to realise that time took us by surprise! Now they’re grown-ups, they are ladies and are  getting married one by one. We’ve missed so much of their childhood, we do not want to miss out on their young adult phase. We urgently needed to break the ice, I repeat: urgently! 

Last night, we (myself and my sisters) invited 13 of those cousins. The once young and annoying (Sorry! if you’re reading this, that was when you were way younger, runnin’ around, screaming, crying and laughing out loud!), now mature ladies, aged 13 to 25, of elegance and rigid viewpoints!

In fact, they themselves had a not-so-cool image of us, they were flabbergasted when they first entered the house, seeing us fully groomed in young trendy fashion and ready to rock n roll, oh not that rock n roll, but ready to kick some fun! Lady Buth (one of the cousins) said she expected a formal dinner, everyone with their abayas on, on a dining table with plate mats and home-made dinner, obviously that was not the case!  We kicked off the gathering with some sight-seeing around my house, then random chit chats dipping nachos in rich cheese dips, jalapeno and the must-have salsa dip, gulping down popcorn in bulks and munching away chocolate bars! Then came the PIZZA! 3 large pizzas served with cheese sticks dipped in a sauce of choice (tomato or garlic – see, healthy ingredients!). Had the pizzas with chilled fizzy drinks to fizz us out even more!

Then, then, then… the serious bit starts, the GAMES! Hide and seek? No. Find the hidden object? Nope. Hang the donkey tail with your eyes shut. Nah! The games were confessional games to further break the ice and add some vibe to the gathering. The first game involved each one of us writing a personal question down, putting all questions in a bowl, each picks up a question and is forced to truthfully answer it. The game went super super good. For the second game, we had our names written on a piece of paper, folded and placed in one bowl and the same names again in another bowl. Two names are picked up at a time, those names exchange comments or things they ”like” about the other. That was an eye-opener, we never knew what they thought of us, they never knew what we thought of them, so again this game went beautifully perfecto!

Junk without the sweets? A sin. We had rich red velvet chocolate cake served with frigid vanilla ice-cream, also, marshmallow chocolate (again!) cake done and brought by the cousins, the cake was as sweet as they are! The 3 course meal all in all could not get any better, or actually could not get any junk-ier, but let’s be logical here, one time won’t hurt, right? It’s not my fault if they don’t make up for it now, I suggest go for green salads, vegetables and fruits for a week to wash away the junk. E7m, I myself had more of the nachos during lunch today. So…Do as I say, not as I do!

My guests left the house at 11.30 pm, all dazzled with the amount of ice-breaking we did, very unexpected, very casual, very random. In 3 hours we managed to reveal the most discreet of life matters to each other. We managed in those hours to strengthen our bonds, to crash down the formal boundaries, to dissolve false perceptions, to achieve a level of equality and mostly to dig into each others’ lives like friends of the same age.

Whatever the ingredients of this night, it was sure a night to remember.

Family by chance, friends by choice!

7 Comments

Salute to the Fathers!

October 26, 2009 at 10:27 pm (Discuss, Emotional reservoir, Family, Memoirs, Oman, Short stories, Through my Eyes, me, the speech therapist!)

Salute to the fathers, Salute to the Omani fathers from very deep within my heart!

During my course in London, a Danish speech therapist came over to me surprised, asking if I see fathers of young clients in my clinic where I come from. Hearing me proudly say “YES, in fact more fathers than mothers attend therapy sessions with their child” left her gobsmacked! I honestly do not know the source of her surprise or what exactly she meant by that. I can only assume and I will assume; maybe, because Arab men are usually perceived as Macho macho, hence the thought that they would show limited care towards their children? Maybe, she thought about the segregation of genders in my country, hence the surprise that I do actually meet men in my clinic? Other than these two reasons, I found the surprise rather shallow because what I see within the walls of my clinic is by far the most compassionate of relationships. A relationship that is devoid of lies, hypocrisy or personal interests. The all heart relationship between “father and child”!

I do not deny the role of the mother here, I only do not flaunt about it now because it’s the “default” setting if you like, a mother concerned about her child that is. You rarely see otherwise in almost all cultures. However, when the father takes the driving seat, when he runs for his child’s interest for whatever it costs, when the mother is at home and have never even met the therapy behind her child’s improvement, and the father brings the child in for a long-term fortnightly therapy session that could last for years (it happens). That’s the tender heart of a father I’m talking about.  

I’ll leave you with this true story that left me touched, disturbed and impressed in the same split of a second, while taking the case history of a child in clinic.

The Doctor calls me referring a patient with a complicated history of multiple abnormalities. A few minutes later, a gentleman, a lady and the little child are in my clinic. The lady sits on a chair, the child on another chair, sadly I do not have a special chair for children with hypotonia (very weak muscles), their sitting positions are difficult to maintain, someone needs to hold the child or else he’ll lean sideways and could fall down quite instantly. The father kneels on the ground holding his son with his arms, helping him maintain his posture while the child moves, jerks and twitches uncontrollably. 

I started taking the case history, asking the lady pre and post birth questions. I took it for granted (like I assume you all did) that she was the mother. She was apparently the paternal grandmother (She looked really young, it must be the pure heart she has that gave her the glow). After a few questions, I saw a few hesitations with back and forth looks from the lady and her son (the father), as if contemplating whether to trust me and expose the hidden bit or not, and they started… The child had been neglected the care of his mother since birth, or actually the mother has lost this precious son to suit her ego and her heartless family. The story is, after the child had been born, the mother astonished by the amount of physical abnormalities her son has, decided to run away from the hospital, abandoning her son under her family pressure that she will not enter their house with a disabled! The father and his mother were left or rather privileged with the responsibility of taking care of this young boy.

Not only do they care for this child, they show tender love and absolute affection beyond imagination. The grandmother showed repeatedly how blessed she is to have him. The child’s mother on the other hand filed a divorce, got her wish granted, re-married and has a family of her own now. She has never seen her first child after the abandonment in hospital.

I was left repeating “Subhan Allah” all day long!

16 Comments

The Mr.’s journey to the butcher

October 16, 2009 at 10:24 pm (His contributions, Memoirs, amusing (hopefully!))

Here we go again, after the attention he got from his last contribution to my blog here, the Mr. chooses to do more of it again. I don’t mind, it’s healthy for him to vent out on someone other than me and something other than FarmVille (his annoying current addiction!)… Enjoy: 

There is a joke in Egyptian about the barber who used to work as a butcher. Well, yesterday this was a reality for me!

I do not shave in barber shops usually, due to personal preservation on the cleanliness of such places. I have invested the money in buying all the shaving tools that I need to carry out the job professionally at home. And yes, that includes the barber “L” shaped razor blade (call me old fashioned, but I don’t use the fancy Gillette razors as they do not give the precision they claim to give !!).

Unfortunately , I had a bad shoulder muscle for a month and couldn’t shave. I was starting to look like a cave man so I had to give in to my wife’s nagging and settle for the local barber shop (though my cave man look ”should” work to her delight because I attract less attention :p).

I stepped into the barbershop, the barber stands up with a big smile on his face, I could clearly see that he is stoned, either due to chewing paan (Indian cannabis) or just watching long Indian movies on the salon TV. As a side story, I once went to a barbershop with my dad. Dad was disturbed by the Indian movie on show, so I took the initiative to flick the channels hoping that I would find something of interest, to my surprise all the channels were Indian !!… and I thought the TV was installed for the guest’s entertainment !!

Anyhow, back to my story, the barber wrapped me in a “yellow stained” towel, smeared my face with shaving gel in an unfashionable manner, while looking away and chatting with the other barber. I could literally taste the gel and could hardly breath without sucking in some of the gel covering my nostrils.

As he shaves my moustache, he takes more from one side in an obvious way. I can only do very little when under the knife, so I sit silent and obedient, hoping he knows what he is doing. He then goes into shaving my neck and hiding every blood drop with a small piece of tissue.

Now my face looks like it has been bashed with a shovel taking part of my moustache away, or like I have a hemi-paralysed face. To fix this, he goes on shaving, with an attempt to move my face centre line half an inch to one side compensating for his mistake (if he was a plastic surgeon he would have probably made an attempt to move my nose too !!)

After finishing his master piece he looks at me with a smile asking if everything looks fine !! whatever I say would not change a thing, I just smile back and leave with plenty of tissue papers to wipe off the blood and an explanation to my wife when she sees me with barely any mustache left.

7 Comments

Two generations on facebook!

October 10, 2009 at 11:37 pm (Discuss, Family, Memoirs, Miscellaneous)

Where do we draw the line? When do we hang the “STOP” poster up?

Facebook (fb) is a social network, it’s also an eye-opener! Through it we’ve seen images of relatives and friends in many forms, whether normal, good or bad. My colleague came to me yesterday, tears filling up her eyes, after she’d discovered (from a family member of hers) the “other” side of her teenage daughter in facebook. Her daughter happens to be in my friends’ list in fb and I sort of knew what she was up to all along. Honestly speaking, I assumed her parents approved of her acts, there were no signs that told me otherwise.

Teens of this era are difficult to understand, they know we’re watching, they know we have a “mouth”, but to draw that connection from A to B, nope?!  The daughter knows I have access to her profile and she knows I have a mouth, wouldn’t she suspect that I may use my mouth to tell her mother of her “hidden” identity? Of course it wasn’t me who exposed the daughter this time, it was someone else, but you get my point?

The world wide web has allowed us to wear masks and hide behind those masks to portray more of our “covert” selves. Either an image of what we really are deep inside but fear to show the world, or more of how we want to be perceived by others. Well, that was achievable to us on some level 10 years ago, because we were the pioneers of Internet users, we had no parent/aunt/uncle watching over us when we’re in our discreet life on line. Youth of this era on the other hand, have us as an older generation watching what they say and do, observing their hidden or “covert” selves unfold, and also view “how” they like to be perceived on the digital world. What happens is that they, unlike us, do not have the privilege of hiding. They cannot maintain that double identity,  they are forced to maintain a mono-identity in the presence of both (1) “us” - those who know the teen within his/her family surroundings (2) plus their social network of friends, to those who they strive to portray a different image in front of!  If the teenager is usually the rebellious character among friends, they’re left with no choice but to continue portraying that image in facebook. The twist is that if an adult in the family or a family friend is part of facebook, the youngster is exposed, we suddenly see their other or rather “hidden” side.

What’s really interesting from what I’ve noticed, is that teens albeit showing off their “cooler” side  to satisfy their friends, do not really care how they’re perceived by the older generation, it does not matter anymore. I’ve seen images that left me dumbfounded and others that shattered my nerves for days! That in itself is another question, why and how do they have the courage to ignore what “we” ( us who can contact their parents if we wish) think of them?    

Now this colleague of mine is blaming me for not telling her long ago, and is now expecting me to spill the beans whenever I see anything again. I would like to deal with matters in my own way if something like this is to ever come up again, because I wouldn’t like to break trust with the daughter or any other. I have youngsters in my list, with pictures of actions that would not please their parents much, but so far I’ve resorted to disapproval within myself or in certain circumstances discuss it with my significant others.

What do you usually do in situations as such? Do you approach the teen or their parent?

When do you usually take action? When they’ve crossed certain boundaries or do you issue warnings before?

19 Comments

Blog – behind the scenes!

October 8, 2009 at 1:33 pm (Blogging, Casual notes)

Teeth whitening? Weight loss? Money making? Baby making, and many other immoral ones! What’s up with this new outbreak of SPAM in my blog?

You don’t see them among other comments because every single day I’ve got to delete at least 2 spam comments. Annoying!

Do you get them too?

8 Comments

I chickened out

October 5, 2009 at 11:47 pm (Blogging, Casual notes, Emotional reservoir, Memoirs, Miscellaneous, the World and I)

Oh yes I did. I feel like a failure. I feel betrayed and defeated by my own self. I’m still in denial and I like to blame the circumstances for this withdrawal from such a courageous act. How I wish I could just go back and … do it!
 

Let me explain. On my trip back to Muscat from England, I felt the urge to write, to fill a piece of paper with the most powerful tool in the world, with words. The Mr. was sitting beside me, his eyes fixated on a tiny screen in front of him, indulged in what appeared to be the “monsters against aliens” movie. I asked him to bring me the notebook from the overhead locker, he laughed hysterically to what I thought was on my request, apparently it was on something he’d seen on the screen, a monster fell down or something close to that. I politely asked again if he could get me my notebook from the overhead locker, another laughter, a very deep one this time. My compassionate self chose to let go of my urge to write and let the Mr. focus. There must be something more important after all, the monster again ready to take a serious step forward, maybe?

It’s difficult to suppress an urge, I’ve never thought it would that difficult. Alas, you learn a lot when the one and only person you know among some 200 others, on a place above ground, on air,  chooses a monster over you!

I felt lonely and I seriously needed to vent out. I saw nothing but a pile of magazines hidden inside a pocket in the seat in front of me. There, my eye glittered, I produced a gentle squeak of laughter that only echoed back to me, because again the Mr. was deeply entertained with monsters and aliens! I picked the “duty free” magazine, and started searching like a nurse trying to look for a good vain in a fleshy area for a prick. I found it!! Spacious, colourful and inviting… and I wrote……

words..

words..

 

I spilled those words out, put the magazine back in it’s pocket to rest in peace, covered myself with the blanket provided and sighed in relief. I’ve always imagined I’ll write something in a bottle and drop it at the sea to see where it goes. That was kinda unrealistic, this thing I did was very realistic. It could easily reach a reader’s hand, I was really eager to see what happens next. If you notice, my blog link was there, so the reader could and hopefully would get back to me, sometime!

Just after this courageous act, I knocked gently on the Mr.’s shoulder, told him what I intend to do, he laughed, looked at me and said ”I like the idea, but you can’t do it!… you simply won’t”, I said “WHAT?! Why not? you’ll see…”

The captain announced that we have started descending. My mind was on auto-pilot at the moment, driven by innate powers, I took the magazine and had it resting on my lap. The last thing I remember was this piece of paper (the picture above), with my words on, on my lap. We arrived safely, came home, I opened my handbag to take my contact lens solution out, and………. the paper was  in my handbag! My courageous act was……..in my handbag!

I know…. I feel like such a coward! I’ve turned one of my fantasies down, I feel hopeless. I came back from this experience, with 3 words, “I chickened out…”!

 

7 Comments

I: on London

October 1, 2009 at 6:46 pm (Memoirs, Miscellaneous, Photography, Through my Eyes, the World and I)
Tags: ,

Somewhere over the rainbow!
Somewhere over the rainbow!
Where we stayed. Just outside our building
Where we stayed. Just outside our building
Home away from home
Home away from home

 

It was Ramadhan, we broke our fast with strawberries :)
It was Ramadhan, we broke our fast with strawberries :)

 

Exploratory walks around London:

Random alley, close to our area in Borough
Random alley, close to our area in Borough

 

Supposedly, the biggest in the world and the finest in London. (We should start marketing Souq Mawaleh in Oman, dont you think?)
Supposedly, the biggest market in the world and the finest in Uk. (We should start marketing Souq Mawaleh in Oman, don’t you think?)

 

Policewomen on duty!
I asked if I can go on their horses, pretending to be a naive tourist, no.. just kidding ;)

 

London...
London…

 

Some Muslim lost his hat in London! I really hope there was nothing under it :O
Some Muslim lost his hat in London! I really hope there was nothing under it :O

 

 

A small garden within a church, Maybe??
A small garden within a church, Maybe??

 

Colourful London
Peeking at the crowd from over a bridge. Colourful London..

 

Just walking and snapping..
Just walking and snapping..

 

River Thames
Walking by River Thames
Sitting by the river, enjoying the breeze
Sitting by the river, enjoying the breeze
Sipping my last cuppa coffee in London, from somewhere over the rainbows again!
Sipping my last cuppa’ coffee in London, from somewhere over the rainbow again!

15 Comments

Back. Wolverhampton. London. Courses. Eid

September 27, 2009 at 2:17 pm (Casual notes, Family, Memoirs, Miscellaneous, me, the speech therapist!, the World and I)
Tags: , , ,

I had a good break, fully rejuvenated and fresh to start blogging again. Also, packed with great knowledge and a good boost of confidence to go back to work next week!

This is what my journey looked like, I’ll try to make it short and simple for you readers, so respect that and read on ;)

Have you ever used all modes of transportation in one single day, I proudly did for my trip from Muscat to Wolverhampton! Do I recommend it, a clear cut ”NO”, it’s exhausting… but was great fun I must admit. We (the Mr. and I) were dropped off by car to the airport early morning, the 8th of September, took a comfortable flight to Birmingham airport, the tram to the train station, the train to Wolverhampton and our legs on a rainy evening to the hotel.

Wolverhampton:I expected a small town, I was mistaken it was a lively city just outside Birmingham. Fairly new, with shiny buildings, very different from those of old cities in the UK. The course was a 15-min walk from the hotel, not too bad, quite refreshing to start your day walking, considering the good weather of course. We’ve been quite lucky with the weather during our two week stay in UK this time, it doesn’t usually go that way!

The 2-day “Adult Stammering Intervention” course by two respected and well-known professionals in the field was phenomenal, in fact they declared that this was the last course they do together as one of them had already retired, call me “lucky”.

On the 12th, 4 days post-arrival, we took the train to London.

London:the city of diversity I’ll happily name it. You walk and hear 101 languages echoing back and forth, you do not feel outcast, you just fit in wherever you go. I remember hating London so much when I was younger, the last time I was there was with family, I was say 15 at the time. My father is not exactly calm, just imagine what he’d be like in an underground station trying to catch the next tube, with children roaming around fascinated by things they’d never seen before. His temper evaporates, then condensates on me to give me a tainted image of London for some 11 years, an image of rush and fury that is. London has definitely managed to erase that old image, I actually now understand why people go head over heels in London. I cannot imagine myself living in London, it’s too ”hype” for my liking, but I totally understand those who love it. The city has changed drastically, it’s become exceptionally diverse.  Walking and staring that’s what you do when you’re going around. You just enjoy looking at people rushing, hugging their plastic cups of coffee in one hand (here we go with the love of coffee again!) and a bagful of papers or a laptop in the other! All minding their own business. I particularly liked the formal looks on people from head to toe, actually from head to ankles (in suits), their foots in casual trainers for a comfortable run to and from work place! What a sight. Love life, love London! 

Why was I in London again? Oh the course! The second course was the Palin PCI (Parent Child Interaction) for early childhood stammering, in simple language, Stammering therapy for preschoolers. The course was top notch, well structured and beautifully presented.

Practical for Omani culture? I don’t know! From the title you can tell what it’s all about; the aim of this therapy is to promote parent-child interaction, it’s achieved by recording video tapes of each parent playing with the child. Mother playing with her child (acceptable, but video recording this interaction, typically not!). Father playing with the child (not culturally acceptable, recording it, no problem). Go figure! I’ll have a hard time applying this exact strategy, I’ll have to make a few adaptions, until we’re more open to this notion of video recording the Ma’s and convincing the Fa’s that going down to your child’s level and actually playing can help in stammering. We’re a practical nation, the first thing parents usually ask in clinic after my long session of reassuring, explaining and choosing a therapy method is: ”shai duyaat?” (Any medicine?). You just love them, so simple, get the medicine and go home!   

On the 20th of Sept, Eid was announced in London, we broke our fast one day earlier than family in Oman! I could’ve made it to Oman for eid, but it would have been extremely tiring to celebrate eid right after an 8-hour travel. Another reason or the “hidden agenda” to be more precise is because I had made plans to meet some special cousins namely; Miss.W, the well-known Kamakazy and Soulmate -yes, she’s behind the comments around this blog-!

This may sound harsh for some or illogical to many, but I enjoy Eid abroad just as much as I enjoy it at home. Eid has its special scent that follows you wherever you go! As long as I’ve got some family members around, I do not mind it one bit. We’ve had waffles and coffee for breakfast, instead of the meat and rice ( Arsiya- usually served on breakfast, day one of eid). Then, had the best shawarma anyone can ever dream of, in fact I’ve read reviews on the internet suggesting that it is the best Shawarma in the whole world. HEAVEN… Shahrayar can tell you all about it, he secretly got himself another bite of that heaven the next day (while I was shopping with Soulmate)!  

Not to bore you and prolong this post longer than it is now, I’ll leave you with the taste of shawarma in your mouth. Don’t bother getting one from wherever you are, that London shawarma was exceptional!

I’ll get back with more stories about this trip, oh and pictures also coming soon. No not of the shawarma unfortunately, I wouldn’t share the mouth-watering Tehini with my camera ;)

11 Comments

Posting from England

September 11, 2009 at 1:03 am (Blogging, Memoirs, Through my Eyes, me, the speech therapist!)

GoodBye

Goodbye

 

Goodbye…. wait, I’m still blogging, I just won’t be posting much for the next couple of weeks! I’m in the UK for a course, guessed it? Yup a stuttering course, thinking about it makes me freak out, because I’ve travelled an 8-hour flight for stuttering and it’s becoming the last thing I think about late at night. I seriously need help, I think I’ve gone beyond the “crush” or “infatuation” stage, I’m in a serious relationship with stuttering!!! I know I know I’m married, I feel bad but rest assured I’m now working on a strategy to open-up to my husband, I should really tell him about this new love, don’t you think?

8 Comments

Ouch.. my speech hurts!

September 7, 2009 at 12:49 pm (Memoirs, me, the speech therapist!)
Tags: ,

I’m on cloud 9, a package I’ve ordered from the States a month ago has FINALLY arrived! I was eagerly waiting for it all month, literally counting the minutes. I’ve actually sent the company 2 emails requesting an explanation for the delay! Well, I’m sure you ALL (without exceptions) start counting down the minute you press the “order” button for an online purchase. It takes your patience to the limits, to the point of mental breakdown for some people, really! Don’t we all LOVE packages?

Anyway, the package is from ”The Stuttering Foundation“, they have amazing stuff, ones that make your mouth drool and your eyes glitter. I hope you never need such material, ever Inshallah… I do need them, because I’m in love with speech disorders, I actually have a crush on stuttering! The knowledge of it and the therapy of it. If you’ve been surfing my blog long enough, you’d notice that I’m a Speech therapist, I may not be the best I admit but I work with passion, it makes me happy….and satisfied.  

Just imagine the two scenarios (in an attempt to give you a taste of how parents end up in my clinic) :

A new baby is born, physical abnormalities (a health condition like a heart defect, or more obvious like a missing limb) are noticed on-spot by specialists and treated accordingly. Right away, parents start their grieving process from denial to acceptance.  The child receives medical attention instantly and intervention pathway is all set, it’s all standard. In developed/ing countries parents may have all the counselling they need even before they actually care to memorise the ”medical term” of that physical disability.

On the other hand, when the problem is “invisible” or rather “gradually inclining” like speech, it’s a totally different story. Take “stuttering” for example, the developing child will never come to say: “Mama, ouch.. my speech hurts”, a parent has to have speech detecting capabilities to notice that her child speaks somewhat different than his peers. Next, with all the reassurance a parent gets from the grandparent, the uncle, the housemaid, the neighbour and also the random lady who happened to observe the child speak and generously gave a healing recipe of garlic, some cardamom and a dash of fresh turmeric powder for the definite cure. The child either lives with his speech impediment until something more dramatic happens for the parent to pursue their investigations. Or maybe the more ”active” parent chooses to ignore the reassurance received and makes it to the Paediatrician. Now if the parent has met a too-much-know Dr. (there are a lot of them by the way), the parent gets even more reassurance and heads back home, thanks God and sleeps, the child is left to suffer for the rest of his life. Or the Dr. happens to be the down-to-earth type, realises his limitations and refers the child to a speech therapist, and that’s where the rescue comes in!

This is just a perfect scenario, the stories of how the parent ends up knocking my door are intriguing, to say the least. I guess you’ve realised by now the choices a parent has to make  or the chances a parent has to encounter before they start knocking my door. It’s not a straight forward nor a standard journey.  

Whatever pathway the parent has chosen to take, he/she are not to be blamed. With an ”invisible” handicap, by that I mean not physical, or one that is not necessarily perceived as a disorder by everyone, the parent is left to discover, evaluate and sometimes even attempt to treat on their own, of course only to grieve their failures when their humbly chosen methods do not work. It’s traumatising for the parent and for the child alike.

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