Turned Over Two Pages

I feel like I’ve turned over two pages at once. Again.

I really ought to be used to the feeling by now. I shouldn’t be in shock but I am and think that’s what makes me most angry. The knowledge that I ought to be used to this by now.

I didn’t feel like this when J was diagnosed. Like most parents of ASN children that was more of a slow realisation that something was wrong followed by the long hard slog to get him diagnosed with something. Anything.

By comparison to that his diagnosis of Aspergers syndrome was almost a relief. Almost.

The first time I felt it was the day I was called to the school in the middle of the day to talk to the head. “We need to talk about J.” She said. And that’s never a good start.

“He’s being bullied.” She said and glared at me like it was my fault.

“Well that’s a common problem that all ASN children have to face.” I said. I wasn’t sure what she expected of me. “I have confidence in your ability to deal with it.”

“He’s being bullied because of his inappropriate enuresis.” She said.

“His what now?”

“He’s been urinating in inappropriate places.” She said.

“How inappropriate?”

“The corner of the playground.” She said.

“Well obviously I’ll need to have a talk with him.”

“I wasn’t finished.” She said.

“Oh.” I said.

“The games cupboard, under the stairs to the first floor and in the music cupboard if it’s unlocked.”

“Oh dear.” I said.

“Two other boys found out about it and made fun of him.”

“I hope you’ve called their mothers in.” I said.

“They’ve already gone to casualty with their sons.” She said.

“Oh my God.”

“We’re not sure exactly what happened but when Mr Smith found them J had W by the head and was smashing him into the wall. F was found hiding in the boys toilets.” She said.

I resisted to the urge to point out that it was an ironic choice of hiding place under the circumstances. “How badly are they hurt?”

“It’s too early to tell. W’s nose may be broken, there could be head injuries. At the very least he is badly cut and bruised and will need a few stitches. F seems to be less severely injured but we’ll have to wait for x-rays to be sure.”

“Is J hurt.” It seemed too late to ask about my own son but I had to know.

“We can’t tell. He refuses to let anyone near him. He’s in the quiet room with Mr Smith on the door.”

It took a while to get J to talk even to me. He swore that the other boys had attacked him first but of course there was no proof of that. And even if we could have proved it his reaction was still completely unacceptable.

And that’s how the Dingo came into our lives.

I haven’t even got to the hearing but I’m too tired to go on. More later.