scribblechic

The doctor’s couch is deceptively inviting. Rather than soothed by its familiar comfort I feel trapped, my balance lost as my feet stretch toward the floor seeking the reassurance of resistance. Our doctor’s tone is calm, his words carefully measured in long eloquent loops. I place questions between us trying to piece together greater comprehension.

This place, the couch and company, are familiar landmarks on the landscape of our family’s story. The small waiting room scattered with magazines and brightly colored furniture a nesting place for families waiting to collect their marked minutes with the doctor. We return here at regular intervals to name my son’s needs and measure growth. New concerns have challenged old assumptions and I find myself overwhelmed by the unknown.

Cautiously and lovingly we must embrace new information while honoring old truths. This boy, whole, long before we knew his diagnoses and named his needs is unchanged. It is us, his parents, that are forever reaching towards understanding.

Tagged: Musings, Son