Let My Words Be Few

He's driving me nuts. I admit it.

First it was English. Then we added algebra. Then we started on the driver's handbook. Then about three weeks into a lovely lazy summer, the school sent home papers explaining a summer reading project and poster that the kids had to complete and bring back to school with them, so we had to pick a book and start reading that together.

Now that the algebra dropped out, I'm okay with teaching all that other stuff. I was never a big math afficionado to start with, so I couldn't have been happier once the school figured out how to resolve that situation. (See January's posts "Baby Einstein" and "No More Mama Einstein.")

But now Charlie has come home from karate camp, where he spent a week with hearing people, and he has reached a momentous decision: He wants to learn speechreading.

But wait--there's more! He doesn't just want to learn to READ it--he wants to learn to SPEAK!!

We've already gone there with the school. They evaluated him and said he is so profoundly deaf that he does't have enough residual hearing left to work with, and they agreed with me that since he is so smart, his energies were best used to focus on his academic subjects rather than hours and hours of speech therapy just to get out a few understandable phrases.

So I reminded him of all this--they aren't going to put him in that program since he wants to go to college.

Yeah, yeah, I know all that. That's why YOU'RE going to teach me.

'Scuse me? Do I LOOK like a freakin' speech teacher????

So now, in addition to the English, and the summer book and poster, and the driver's handbook, I am being shanghaied into teaching Charlie to speak.

Can I just point out that I'm not exactly TRAINED for this?

Sometimes I have no idea how to explain to him how to make a particular sound. It's a little frustrating for both of us, because he will run through every possible permutation of sound that he can think of making with that particular mouth/tongue position until he stumbles across the right combination, and then when I get excited and say "That's it!" he doesn't remember what it was he was doing to get that sound.

So far he has learned to say Aymom and Pop-Pop (his grandparents' nicknames that Rick gave them), Mama, mooooo, Bama (his best friend's name), and he's working on "How are you?" He has the "how" part down, but r's and y's are a little harder and we need some more practice there.

The day he learned to say "Aymom," it was hard to keep him from putting a glottal stop in betwen the two syllables. At one point, we decided we needed a break, so I leashed up the dogs and headed outside for a while. The dogs and I strolled onto the path that leads back around behind our house, and as we were approaching the house from the back, I heard what sounded like someone vomiting. As I got closer and could see up alongside the house, I realized it was Charlie. He had gone outside to practice so he didn't disturb Rick, and he was vomiting the word Aymom--the A sound was coming from deep in his stomach, and the mom sound was the projectile. I very quickly turned away so he wouldn't see me howling. I had just about gotten myself back under control by the end of the walk, but then I tried to explain it to Rick, and the giggles started all over again.

Today we started on the "how are you" stuff, and he had no trouble getting the how down pat. But then he started playing with it. He would say it in a variety of ways, and sometimes it would sound like a kid who had just sucked helium out of a balloon, and sometimes it would sound like a guy trying to project a deep, sexy voice. I'm sitting in my chair with my back to him while he's in the dining room practicing, and I'm hoping he can't see my shoulders shaking from the laughter. It just sounds so damned CUTE!

Maybe I DO look like a freakin' speech teacher--to him, anyway.

Down-Time - Part II

I dropped Charlie off at school yesterday (Sunday) around noon for football camp. By about 5 pm, I get a text message that says, "I feeling boring." Wow--big change from his excitement over karate camp!

Later, before bed, I get another text message that says, "I hard work football."

I'm not sure how to interpret that one. Is he saying he's working hard at it? Or that he feels it's hard work? Hmmmm....

Today at work, I got a call from the athletic trainer saying I need to come pick him up. What the huh?????

It seems he was complaining that his hip was hurting him. That surprised me--the wound had been healed up, and the doctor had cleared him for both karate camp and football camp. And Charlie had successfully finished out the entire week of karate camp without complaining of it hurting so why all of a sudden is it starting now? Is it just that he doesn't care for football camp and this is his way of getting out of it? She said it seemed like he was putting his all into it, and she was sorry to see him go, because he was showing some real promise.

I asked her to take a look at his hip and tell me how it looked. She hadn't realized he had something wrong there, she just thought it was hurting. When she saw his surgical wound, I heard a little gasp. She said it looked scabbed over.

There was no scab when I dropped him off. His skin had been smooth and healed--a red scar, but healed. But I couldn't seem to get to the bottom of it by questioning her and having her question him. I was going to have to see the words come off his hands in person.

Rick and I piled into the car tonight and headed out to Frederick to get him.

Poor Charlie. It turns out that the hip had opened up last night during their first session, but he didn't say anything to anyone. He soaked off the scab in the shower and hoped it would get better overnight. But the next morning, they were practicing tackles, and he was getting hit repeatedly right on that spot. When he decided he couldn't finish the drill, the coach asked him if he didn't like football, and Charlie finally showed him the wound. Coach told him he couldn't keep playing on that, it would just keep getting worse. So Charlie made the sensible decision that he would have to come home. Wasn't a problem at karate camp, because he wasn't getting hit and was careful to lead off with his other side while fighting so he didn't get kicked there.

I thought he would be really disappointed about it, because he had been talking nonstop about wanting to join the football team, but he seems to be taking it very matter-of-factly. He's not even sure he will go back to it next summer, because there is an age limit of 18 to play during the season, and if he goes next year, he will be playing JV, and then will turn 18 before getting to the varsity team.

I guess I won't be a football mom after all, and Charlie will never have one of those multi-million dollar contracts with the NFL.

That's okay--I'm a karate mom at heart, anyway. And it sure will make our schedule this fall easier to coordinate.

So much for the down time and that list...

Down Time - Part I

So Charlie left on August 2 for karate camp--a whole week of nothing but eat, sleep, karate; 3-4 workouts every day. I wasn't entirely sure about this, because he would be there for a whole week with all hearing people and no interpreter, not able to understand when an instructor was speaking to a whole group of people.

Yes, I know--he grew UP in that kind of environment, what's the big problem? Well, he can actually communicate now and has things to say and an insatiable curiosity to know what's going on around him. How will it affect him, being thrust back into an environment where he can't get his point across clearly? Will it frustrate him?

You wouldn't know I had any reservations when I was on the phone trying to convince the lady running the thing that it would be fine, and I'd explain the schedule to him ahead of time, and teach him all the important words I could think of so that he could spell them if it came down to trying to write back and forth. She had misgivings, but I encouraged her to speak with Charlie's head instructor and a few others who had worked with him and let me know her decision--he'd be fine.

She bought it.

I had a list of things as long as my arm I wanted to accomplish during the down-time while he was away. It can be incredibly draining sometimes with Charlie around. There is no down-time. The minute I look like I'm just reading for pleasure or playing with e-mails rather than working or studying, he is prodding me to do something with him: "Help me study the driving book. Help me read my story for the summer reading program. Help me learn algebra. Help me...."

And you know what? I help him. I would feel immensely guilty if I didn't, because he takes such joy in learning. This is what I adopted him for--to give him every opportunity it is in my power to give him, just as I gave to Rick.

And after I dropped him off in Rockville at the bus that would take him four hours away, I sat at home biting my nails down to nubs, and accomplished not a single thing on that list.

What was I thinkin'? He was fine.

When I picked him up today, every other sign off the boy's hands was "wonderful" and "awesome." He had the time of his life! He came back knowing the forms he needed for the next two belt tests and part of the first black-belt form, and he learned how to use several weapons, and someone apparently beat him enough that he learned how to look mean while doing his forms, and his team won third place in the team competition so he has (another) trophy to add to his little collection, and....

According to one of the adults I talked to, Charlie was the darling of the camp, and in no time at all was teaching sign language classes. There were two ladies there who knew fingerspelling and some basic signs, so he taught them some more, and they became his own personal little harem of Charlie's Angels.

He is already looking forward to next year.

I have to learn to let go. This week was hard. I was so depressed, I nearly started the process for adopting another one. And it's about to get worse--he is only home for one night, and then leaves tomorrow morning for football camp at school. He will be there for 3 whole weeks. Not as nerve-wracking, since it's a deaf camp and he will be in his own element communication-wise, but certainly every bit as lonely here on the home front.

I have a list as long as my arm of things to do during the down-time...

Finally able to breathe again

*
"That bump is starting to look funny."
What bump?
"The bump on my hip."

A few months ago, Charlie had shown me what looked like a mosquito bite on his hip. Who gets bent out of shape about a mosquito bite? Not this mommy--I grew up covered in bug bites 'cause I didn't have the sense to go in when the sun went down. So I told him to keep it clean and it should go away in a couple of days, try not to scratch at it.

Never heard anything more about it. Until two weeks ago when the above conversation kicked things off.

I examined it, and decided we had cause for concern. It had grown to about the size of 2-3 peas clustered together, it was hard as a rock, and it had turned purple. And you could move it around in there. Time for professional help.

One small problem--I couldn't find a dermatologist at Hopkins (where I work) who could see him in a reasonable time frame. An adult dermatologist could have gotten him in, but because his legal age was only 16, he has to go to a pediatric dermatologist. (Remember, there is a discrepancy between his physical age and his legal adoption age.) The pediatric dermatologist was booked up into late September already. And they refused to let me schedule him with an adult dermatologist, even when I explained that physically he is already an adult.

Okay, phooey on Hopkins (maybe not in those exact words). I started looking outside the hallowed halls of Hopkins. And it seems like every dermatologic surgeon in Baltimore City and surrounding region was booked into September for new patient appointments.

I finally got the bright idea of going farther afield and found a dermatology practice in Frederick that could actually see him the coming week for the initial appointment.

The wonderful news was that when the doctor heard how far we had come and understood that we already knew it would have to be surgically removed, he actually agreed to do the surgery ON THE SPOT!!! That's practically unheard-of.

They excised the mass that same afternoon. The chunk of tissue he took out looked huge to me--he took really wide margins all around the mass just in case, so the incision was very long. Charlie went home feeling no pain. The local anesthetic they had given him lasted a long time. He didn't start feeling pain until just before bedtime. Once it hit, though, he wasn't real happy. It was reasonably well controlled with just ibuprofen, but it was a week before Charlie stopped asking for pain medicine.

And a week later, the pathology came back: Dermatofibroma. Benign.

Whew. I didn't realize that I'd been pretty much holding my breath for a week.

Charlie is doing great now, chafing a bit because he can't practice his karate for 2 weeks while the incision heals, but behaving himself for the most part and healing very well.

No more "mosquito bites," please!

Shredding his little heart out

Charlie likes taking things apart. Sometimes he takes apart things I really don't want taken apart. We finally came to a compromise. I would keep an eye out on my local freecycle list and when someone advertised a non-working appliance of some sort, I would go fetch it. Charlie could take those apart, and then once he figured out whatever he was trying to figure out, he could just toss them.

The problem is, Charlie is starting to fix things. I picked up a portable boom-box that the owner said the CD player was broken on. I have no idea what he did, but all it took was a screwdriver. The CD player on the boom box works.

Hmmm, this could get interesting.

I was tired of taking mail with my address on it to work to shred, but too cheap to buy a paper shredder. Yesterday someone put up a shredder on freecycle saying that it was working, but all of a sudden now it wasn't, didn't know why, not interested in trying to find a repairman, wasn't worth the cost to fix, and if anyone wanted it, come get it, maybe the trash can it sits on would still be of use.

So I answered the post and went out to get it today after church. I told Charlie that he could do whatever he wanted to it, but once he was done and ready to throw it out, don't throw out the trash can, I can use that.

We picked up groceries after picking up the shredder. When we got home, he was so eager to crack that thing open, he ran in the house and started looking for the screwdriver. Yo! China Boy!!!! Get your butt out here and help mama with the groceries!

After he finished helping out, he found the screwdriver and went to town. Next thing I know, there are little screws and pieces spread out all over the dining room table. I decide I'm going to just ignore the whole thing and let him have his fun. I started peeling and chopping veggies that I was putting into a pot of homemade chicken soup. After a few minutes, Charlie gets up and moves across the room. I figured he'd gotten bored with it....then I heard a button click and a loud whirrrr, and Charlie signs and shouts PAH!!! He had gotten it working. I pointed at the basket where the mail remains go to wait for transport to the office shredder, and he was overjoyed to have something to shred in his new toy. This is a nice shredder!

The boy is now 2 for 2.

Got any appliances you want fixed?

Busted Buses

For the past week, Charlie and I have been poring over bus schedules for the Howard County Transit System, learning which lines come near our development and where they go, how to read the schedule charts so he can figure out when they go and come back. Tonight it was time for our first field trip.

The whole idea is to make him more independent. He's home all day with nothing to do but talk to his friends on the videophone and watch TV or read (and his reading level is still somewhat limited), so I thought it would be nice if he could get out and about somewhat. Especially since the libraries are some of his favorite haunts.

Older brother Rick warned us the buses aren't always reliable, sometimes early, sometimes late, sometimes don't show up at all. He would know; after all, he used to depend on those buses to get to work. That makes him an expert.

So, when I got home from work tonight, Charlie met me at the front of the development and we went out to the bus stop. I showed him the correlation between the schedule printout and the different color lines shown on the sign for the bus stop. He gets it.

We get on the bus and pay the fare. He gets it.

We get off the bus at the library. He gets it.

Finished our business at the library, and go back outside to catch the return bus. He read the schedule correctly to figure out what time to be at the bus stop.

But the bus didn't come. And Charlie didn't get it.

There was a guy waiting there with us who had been waiting for the previous bus, as well, and THAT one never showed up, either. After waiting (and chatting) a while, I decided phooey on this, because the next (and last) bus wasn't due for another hour and a half. I called Rick, the expert, and asked him if he could come fetch us.

He had just finished cooking his dinner, and had to shove it in the fridge to heat up again once we got back. This made him none too happy. I braced myself for the inevitable "I-told-you-so's."

While we were waiting for Rick, the guy called the 1-800 number for customer service for the bus line, and they told him the bus had been in an accident. Yeah, sure--wonder how many times a day they use that excuse!

When he pulled up, I asked if he could give our new friend a ride to the MARC train station--it was only one exit out of our way and would take 3 minutes, tops. He was rather surly about it, which is unusual for him. Then as he peeled out of the parking lot, he made the comment, "...and don't say jack about my driving. I'm doing you a favor."

Really not like him to be so overtly rude, especially in front of other people like that, so I said, "You're in a really foul mood, aren't you?"

He complained, "Well, I had the fork halfway to my mouth. I'm starving!"

I merely nodded and said, "So are we...that's why we called. Next bus isn't due until after 9 pm and we haven't had dinner, either." He grumbled, but shut up and drove.

We got to the train station, and I directed him to the proper building and then turned around to the back seat, where the guy was sitting with Charlie, and I said (and signed, for Charlie's benefit) "Bye, I hope you get your car back!" (It had been towed.)

He said, "Me, too, and thank you so much for the ride to the train!"

Whereupon Rick turned around and yelled, "Holy crap, you can HEAR!!!!"

The whole time Rick was sitting there bitching about being hungry and having to come get us, he thought the guy was some deaf friend of Charlie's who couldn't hear him.

He laughed halfway home. Thank God it put him in a better mood. It improved his driving, too. :P

Am I Blue?

Tonight was Charlie's blue belt test. Needless to say.....