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Monday 15 July 2013

The "Inclusive" Preschool

I saw something yesterday that really bothered me and took me back to a very difficult time for The Bubbly One, and for me. We were in the car driving to the shops and we drove past a preschool which I always stare at with a mixture of anger and regret. The anger part you'll understand soon enough, the regret is that I was too weak and fragile at the time to do something more, and what I saw yesterday brought all of that back again.

As we drove I observed a mother, her shoulders rigid and her face looking like she was near tears. I spotted the little girl next, and it was the awkward gait with a little jump in her step that made me look closer. I saw her raise her hand to her mother and push the car door that was open and waiting for her closed. She jumped on the spot a few times and the hand went up again, her face contorted as she screamed and cried. This probably would've got my attention anyway as it was pretty clear that the little girl was autistic, but I realised that it was only 11am and the mother had probably been called to pick her daughter up by a service that I knew from experience was not suitable to take on children with special needs.

The Bubbly One's first preschool was one that advertised itself as catering to children with additional needs. We'd been totally transparent on enrolment that he would more than likely be diagnosed with autism in a month's time. Coming from a special needs background I gave them detailed information on our son; on where he was at developmentally, his behaviour, his sensory issues and what strategies worked for him. The Director said that they were experienced at supporting children with autism and special needs and I heard the word "inclusive" a lot. I also heard a lot of criticism of other  preschools in the area, and of local early intervention services. She spoke of her own son, now an adult, with high functioning autism and told me that she understood what we were going through. We thought we had our boy in the right place, and from what we'd just heard, the only place that could cater to him. I cringe at how naïve we were, but we were in survival mode, and we just wanted somewhere to give our son the best start to his education.

A month went by and we had a diagnosis. We got some funding for intervention services and therapies. He was increasingly happy everywhere- except for at preschool. He struggled to separate and I got call after call to pick him up, not because they couldn't cope, they assured me, but because he had a runny nose (unusual when you cry apparently), or he had a temperature (but was still wearing his winter jacket inside with the heating on). Miraculously, all of the ailments they called me over were healed once I put him in my car. I was paying full fees for partial days but they assured me that it would only be a little longer before he settled into the routine and could manage a full day. I made suggestions, and they were all knocked back, because they weren't "inclusive". Anything that would involve my son being treated any differently to any of the other children was unacceptable for this reason she said.

Now there was one teacher, with whom he never had any of these issues and she left suddenly and without explanation. She was much loved by the children and parents alike and apparently people expressed that she was missed. The director sent a note home telling the parents that the staff member had walked out on the children, that the children hadn't even noticed she was gone and that the parents should stop upsetting their children by talking about her. We were warned (as we often were), that discussing preschool business with other parents would see enrolment cancelled. I knew that my son certainly hadn't moved on. He was missing his favourite teacher and he grew more unsettled each time he had to go to preschool. I also realised that she had often acted as a buffer between the director and I as our relationship began to deteriorate as I called her on what I saw as a big difference between the service she had promised and what she was actually providing. This was the beginning of the end.

I watched my son retreat further and further into himself each time he'd been at preschool. He'd sit in the car and cry silent tears after hearing the staff tell me that he'd thrown tantrums all day, been uncooperative and that he'd tried to hit out at them when they tried to force him to participate. The kids told me that he cried all day when I went to pick him up. To see him go deeper into his own sad and silent world was devastating, and the motivation that I needed to really begin to speak up. The director then told me that parents should be busy grieving at this stage, not advocating. Really.  Believe it or not, this woman had an adult son on the spectrum, and she was telling me to stop advocating for my child because I wasn't grief stricken enough.

Then the Bubbly One started OT with a sensory integration specialist and made massive progress in just two sessions. I saw my child engage with someone who wasn't family, and talk and laugh for the first time. Yet when the preschool was asked to support him in the strategies that the OT had recommended to help him to cope with preschool we were told that it was too basic and that what the director was doing was way more advanced. She also accused the OT and I of lying about his sensory needs in a bid to get him more staff support that she couldn't afford to give him. She claimed that she was not receiving any extra funding for his service, but I later learned that she was receiving enough to give him one on one support but wasn't putting the staff on. The director sent me long emails telling me how difficult my son was and how they were doing everything right. She'd write in his communication book all of the things that he wouldn't do, but wouldn't change her approach. She realised that I was keeping records of our contact and she refused to use his communication book, so I had no feedback on my non-verbal son's day other than a few stilted sentences spoken at the wall each afternoon.

In desperation one day I spoke to a friend whose daughter also went to the same preschool and learned that she too was having issues with the director. She told me that there were a lot of parents also not happy and that some families had withdrawn their kids and gotten placements elsewhere. She had a friend who worked at a preschool I'd been told by the director (who was a former employee) wasn't the greatest, even though it had a great reputation for special needs programs. She called her friend and I went to visit the other preschool the next day. This preschool was kind, caring and open. They were run by a committee of parents, and they had a great relationship with my son's new OT, who had done training with their staff in how to work with kids with sensory issues. I applied for enrolment on the spot and a couple of months later got the call that my Bubbly Boy had a spot the next year. We stuck it out until the end of third term when things became unbearable after I told her where The Bubbly One was going the next year. We had a calm but nasty showdown when I gave the director two weeks notice, and I never saw her again- she hid in the office every time I entered the building. I cut back at work and just played with my boy for the next four months. We did extra therapy and went to a play group where I met some other autism parents, and I got my happy little boy back again. 

Both of us entered early intervention and the attached preschool the next year battle weary and anxious, and we found a second home. I saw my son given 1:1 support with no resentment or mention of the cost, I saw his therapists collaborated with, and above all saw my little boy feel loved and valued by people who celebrated every bit of progress he made as though he were their own child. I was also supported and encouraged every step of the way by the director of the preschool and their early intervention coordinator as we navigated school applications, developmental assessments, and the everyday rollercoaster that is raising a child with high support needs. It was hard to say goodbye when he started school- there were tears on both sides, and when I thanked them so very inadequately for the gift they had given our child and family every day their response was "Thank you for sharing him with us".

So back to that mother I saw yesterday. I'm so sorry.

I wish I'd taken things further. I wish I'd made a complaint. I wish I'd done more than warn those I knew not to send their kids there. I wish I'd raised hell so that another parent didn't have to go through what we did.

I wish I'd stopped the car yesterday. That I could've given that mother a phone number for a better place, and I wish I could've given her some hope. Because I walked in her shoes, and when we were free of that place I just couldn't do it anymore. I had no fight left and I needed those months of play time with my boy to recover as much as he did.

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