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Vincent Van Gogh responded
to a nurse when she asked why his painting depicting death and dying was
so bright and not dark. His response to her was that death comes at all
times of the day. It was a little like this while we lived in the house we
bought. Surely there had to be higher forces at work, both good and evil.
There was a change coming about as far as the treatment and care of the
disabled but all the evil forces who found these children to be such an
easy target must not have been happy that we were in a battle with them, I
felt.
We were so pleased with our
little row house. It was tiny but clean and new. The floors were shiny
oak, walls were clean and the fixtures all new. However, we were only to
enjoy the hope for a normal life a short time.
One after another events of
such large proportions began to come down on us. One of which was the
testing of how sonic booms affected the population. No one asked me my
opinion but I can tell you it was horrible. The children could be at play
on the swing set when the shattering sound came down upon them and it
could happen at any time. I never timed them but wished that my
documentation of events had included that. It seemed to me there was no
pattern. Sometimes, it was as if there were more than other times but they
kept a person so unbalanced that there was no getting used to them. About
the time a peaceful activity was being enjoy down would come the explosion
from some place high above as an airplane broke the speed barrier. I felt
like an animal in a jungle for whom the mighty lion roars causing them to
run in all directions because they don’t know from where the sound is
coming. The impact of the noise did not bring depression on me but anger
and that could have brought depression because there was absolutely
nothing the individual could do about it. That was a defeating emotion
which was certainly something I didn’t need at the time. I remember the
woman next door had two children, one with a hearing impairment. The
mother knew he couldn’t hear the noise but the sudden bursts of sounds
seemed to cause her extreme fear about where the child was and what he was
doing. She knew he couldn’t hear them but there must have been some
psychological thing tied up with her anxiety. Why would a tiny little
woman who was so conscientious about her appearance, children and house
suddenly be so unsettled by the noise?
A change in the way the
doctors were willing to work with Rhonda was happening. One of the doctors
had a child like Rhonda who he had institutionalized and I think he got
too emotionally involved with the situation. We had little to do with him
but evidently he was looking on from afar. Whatever demons he was having
to live with were causing him to have poor judgement. I’m thankful I was
able to stand up to that group for as long as possible because Rhonda was
in the speech and hearing clinic everyday, too. They were teaching her to
talk, one day at a time and that was wonderful. All the exercises with
peanut butter in the roof of her mouth to make her use her tongue, blowing
a ping pong ball suspended from a string were just a game for her but this
was working to strengthen the muscles in her mouth and slowly words began
to come. It was wonderful and no one cared that she was four years old
before she could begin to speak.
I was waiting for Rhonda to
have her one hour play time with a small group of children. The gentleman
beside me in the room had a c.p. child and he was friendly. We began to
visit. Our children were our mutual concern. He was a doctor whose wife
had divorced him to leave to him to care for his child, alone. This was
just the opposite of what usually happened.
“How are you doing with her
physical therapy?” The question was a loaded one because, in fact, I was
at a real hard place with the doctors at the university.
“Funny, you should ask.” I
laughed probably because it was the only way I could cover up my real
feelings. Do you have an hour or so, doctor? |
