Waiting…

Waiting…

            …for a diagnosis. It is frustrating in the extreme.

            …for a phone call, an email, a letter, a report, a response to a report, an appointment, a meeting, a referral…

            …somewhere near the bottom of someone else’s very long list.

Waiting…

            …for permission to attach a word to my son that most people won’t understand; or worse – will misunderstand; a word that some people may fearfully recoil from or simply refuse to acknowledge; a word I can present to his educators in the hope that they will respectfully recognise that I am, first and foremost, advocating for a confused and troubled little boy who is unable to speak up for himself. He is not just shy, quirky and weird and I am not simply neurotic.

Waiting…

            …is anxiety inducing. What if the clinical team don’t see what I see? What if they see something I don’t see? What if the diagnosis is something unexpected; something I’ve never even heard of. A ticker tape of labels and acronyms whirs through my brain. What have I missed? What didn’t I research? I lose my breath in the face of the sheer volume of information. I lose sleep processing it.

Waiting…

            …is also just time. Time to regroup and take stock; time to self-educate, self-evaluate and self-prepare. Time to just be.

Waiting…

            …for the unknown.

            …waiting.

I originally posted Waiting a little under a year ago, elsewhere. I thought I might rework it into something more poetic for “Aspernauts” but, in doing so, I superfluously substituted synonyms and disjointed the text with unnecessary line breaks.

And it lost its authenticity.

So I’ve simply copied and pasted it in its first form as a marker back to the impetus for this blog; and to offer a further clue, if the title were not obvious enough, as to where it will likely go.

This particular waiting is over.