THE PSYCHOLOGIST AS PARENT OF A SPECIAL CHILD:
Things I’ve Learned
Melton Strozier, Ph.D.
Mercer University School of Medicine
Macon, GA
(Published in The Georgia Psychologist, 1999)
I am a psychologist, and also the father of a “special” child. Troy just turned 14, and brings as much joy into our lives as he brings stress and concern. There is no coherence to this writing, and no bottom line or clear take-home message, just a few thoughts about things I’ve learned along the way.
The first thing learned is that we are all civilians. Being a psychologist does not keep you or your family from mental impairment. Troy’s birth process was a blur of things happening that shouldn’t happen. Premature labor, hospital staff and physician errors, fetal distress, and the sight of a premature infant whom I knew was in trouble from the start are all parts of the blur of memories about Troy’s birth. The doctor refused to do the tubal that was scheduled. He did not say why but it was obviously related to not knowing if the baby would survive. When I asked if the baby would be normal, he said we probably wouldn’t know until he was three, when we could get more accurate assessment. Being a psychologist in this birth process meant being in shock – these are the kinds of events that happen to my patients, not to me. It also meant the curse of my education – being a psychologist/parent meant I knew too much about what all these things probably meant.
Being a psychologist/parent of a special child means knowing too well about developmental processes. When Troy did not show the normal developmental skills at the appropriate ages, it was hard for us. When he did not sit up by 6 months, when he did not pull up by 10 months, when he did not walk by 12-14 months, we wondered each time how bad it really might be for him. When he did not talk for the longest time, we affectionately called him “Our little mute baby.” Being parents of a “mute” child meant taking turns cancelling classes (her) and rescheduling patients (me) to take him to speech therapy regularly.
Being a parent of a special child meant having to find a special daycare situation since normal daycare could not take him. It meant walking into a room full of Down’s Syndrome children and your heart breaking when you walk out and leave him there, fighting the grief over the realization that he was with his peers.
Being the psychologist/parent of a special child meant learning first hand how strong the denial process was. We had just stopped eating at restaurants, since Troy could not stay in his chair. But when we tried to put him in regular kindergarten, and he could not sit in his desk, and the teacher called and told us we had to do something, I finally decided it was time for a psychological evaluation.
Being the psychologist/father of a special child means calling a friend and asking her to do the psychological evaluation. It means receiving incredible warmth and support as she said, “Ok, now it’s time for you to be the daddy and for you to let me be the psychologist.” It means having the shock of hard-core results finally shared, but it also means experiencing the support of another psychologist. She called and said the test results were in. Of course I asked for a hint. She said, “You and Paula come in and we’ll all look at the results together, then we’ll all cry together.”
Being a psychologist/parent of a special child means friends and family think you’re supposed to change things you can’t. One family member explicitly said, “You’re a psychologist – can’t you make him behave better?”
Being a psychologist/parent of a special child means you experience the systemic split in the marriage that many parents of special children experience – one of you tries to shelter the child because he’s handicapped, the other tries to push the child to make him normal.
Being a psychologist/parent of a special child means facing special education teachers who say, “Look, we don’t care if one of you is a psychologist and one is a teacher – you’ve got to start providing appropriate structure for this child. If you continue to let things slide because he’s handicapped, everyone’s in for a bad time.”
Being a psychologist/parent of a special child means you and your spouse are often exhausted from caretaking duties, and there is too often too little time for the marriage.
Being a psychologist/parent of a special child means you anticipate the future, and you worry about what will happen to an adult handicapped son when you are no longer able to care for him.
Being a psychologist/parent of special child means looking forward to the evening, because there is a child at home who will run and put his arms around your neck and tell you he loves you and you are the most important person in the world to him.
It means you can hang out with someone who only lives in the “Now”. Yesterday doesn’t exist for Troy, so he has no regrets. Tomorrow does not exist for Troy, so he has no worries. There is only the moment, which is usually wonderful. It means Troy can show me how to do what I tell my patients to do – stress management par excellence!
Being a psychologist/parent of a special child means you can go stand in front of Wal-Mart to raise donations for Special Olympics and feel pride when your child sweetly says, “ Would you like to donate to Special Olympics? I’m an athlete!”
Being a psychologist/parent of a special child means seeing various relatives show up for Special Olympics and being proud of them and your child.
Being a psychologist/parent of a special child means the opportunity to learn that applying the term “Special” to children is not just an attempt to make parents and kids feel better – you learn they really, really are special.