So many things SEN parents have to deal with, emotions, physical difficulties, admin.

Which should I pick?

Then something small bounded into my life.

I knew! Pets!

Father of Pearl and I were both raised with dogs (with, NOT by).

I spent my childhood longing for a cat. Attempts to beguile neighbours cats into the house,and persuade my parents that they were stray were unsuccessful.

When I had moved out and a friend needed to rehome their cat I did not hesitate.

One marriage, several cats, house moves and two children later we had experienced.

Fish.

Now I am phobic about fish. Can’t stand them.

Don’t like looking at them in the supermarket.

Can’t eat in restaurants with ornamental fish tanks.

I say “am”.

I mean was.

Eldest was obsessed with fish and wanted to be a marine biologist.

Two tanks and 5 years later through gradual desensitization no more phobia.

Was still secretly relieved when the last one died.

Gerbils/hamsters.

I know they are different but there were a fair few and they had jolly, short and happy lives I believe.

Turns out I can watch human dissection and see a dead body of a loved one but am unable to deal with handling a dead gerbil.

It’s SO dead.

Stick Insects.

After Pearl had been born we slowed down on animal acquisition, but someone at the kids’ Primary School had very fertile stick insects.

Nearly everyone in Rab’s school year had a tank of them.

One evening my mum was babysitting and heard a crash.

She ignored it.

When we returned the cats had knocked off the tank and chewed the escapees up and spat them out.

That was the end of the stick insect experiment.

Guinea Pigs.

These are excellent sociable little animals.

When Rab was 5 he was diagnosed with anxiety and we bought them for therapeutic purposes.

“I’m going to call mine Happy and then when I’m upset I can go outside and feel Happy,” is one phrase I didn’t expect to hear.

And that brings me neatly onto death.

“Get pets so your children can learn to cope with death.”

This is surely the most ridiculous piece of advice ever given and should be consigned to the scrap heap along with, “God only gives Special Children to Special Parents”.

Dealing with the death of a pet is horrible.

Horrible, particularly if the pet was a therapeutically named Guinea Pig who developed meningitis as a result of an eye infection.

It doesn’t make it easier to cope with the death of a loved one.

Nothing does.

Everything dies, we know everyone dies.

Knowing this in no way aids the grieving process.

Now we have three cats.

One of these is Pearl’s.

We didn’t decide this, the cat did.

It keeps an eye on her, sleeps on her bed when she is out runs to her if she cries, and has made attempts to get on the taxi to school.

It is a cat with immaculate taste.

We also had one small dog, a Yorkie Poo.

A great comfort to Rab who struggles with sleep and night terrors, but is vastly comforted by small dog Herb.

He is such an asset to family life that we felt another one should come along soon to ensure there was no dog gap when the inevitable eventually occurs and to keep him company.

After an awful week when the Black Dog of depression came to sit with me, SEN  and house moving stress seemed overwhelming we thought a bit of pup therapy was due.

And here she is.

She is hilarious, tiring, and happiness inducing and should probably be called serontin, but instead we have called her Tilly and she is just the tonic we needed.

Are you pet happy? Tell us how your animals have helped you on your special needs journey and share a picture, that is, after all, the finest use of the internet!

The others:

“COME on!”

“I said NO!”

“I’m the Mummy.”

These are not the subject of this mini rant, although, some days I don’t honestly feel I say anything else.

As a parent, one of the first things you teach your children is how to share (or ‘play nicely’-which basically means ‘let her have it and don’t bite her when she takes it).

It’s difficult, counterintuitive and no one much likes it, but it eases the way into school and working life and it has to be done.

By the age of about three most children understand what you mean by sharing and they try their little best.

Three!

This seems to me to be all the more extraordinary when you realise that professionals, all of whom are above three, are apparently incapable of sharing anything.

“But” I hear you cry, “what about patient confidentiality and data protection – not to mention safeguarding?”

These are vital things, professionals are important people they must protect us all”.

In the olden days when I was a Speech and Language Therapist a thing called the, “multidisciplinary team” existed.

Meetings happened between all the professionals involved in a person’s care.

Patients were discussed, and staff liaised.

This still happens in hospitals, but in the community is much rarer.

This has a knock on effect for parents of children with multiple needs.

Firstly you have to go through the entire back story of your child when you meet a new professional, knowing that somewhere in the system (perhaps several somewheres) it is already documented.

Secondly and most frustratingly it means that the parent can end up doing all the liaising.

Pearl has school in one county (budget one) Orthopedics in another (budget two) and we live in another, which is responsible for paying for splints and equipment.

This has led to situations where the Physio responsible for splints, is angry with the decision made by Orthopedic Surgeons and takes it out on me.

“Why does Mr Tightcalf want to do that, did you explain to him what we’re trying to achieve?”

Well no, because after I have had all your ideas explained to me and I’ve left the office, I forget them all, because I am not a Physio, or an Orthopedic surgeon.

WHY DON’T YOU PHONE HIM AND DISCUSS IT?!

(Can I just point out that sadly that isn’t Pearl’s Orthopedic Surgeons name ,and disappointingly I am not that assertive in a conflict situation, choosing instead to go home and weep quietly.)

So, what can be done and who can we blame?

Personally, I blame the Government (I usually do tbh).

Services are terribly over stretched at the moment, faces through doors are a measure of success, and due to austerity and low morale there is a shortage of Therapists and Professions Allied to Medicine.

Non-face to face contact is low on the priority list.

What would I change if I was in charge?

(Oh SO many things)

Basically I think we need a long term shake up rather than a short term shuffle.

Multidisciplinary Teams are a great way to work, team work is satisfying, the client gets a coordinated approach with a single goal.

This should lead to better swifter outcomes, and the patient can be include in goal setting too!

More money in the service would of course lead to less firefighting, but also should save money in the long term.

Every half hour taken redocumenting the same information costs somebody money, and that somebody in the end is the tax payer.

That’s us!

So come on service providers, let’s have some creative thinking in planning services, everyone would benefit.

Didn’t your Mummy ever tell you it’s nice to share?

I am the very image of a late adopter.

I very rarely type straight onto the laptop, preferring instead to scrawl everything down long hand.

In a book! With a pen!

How very, “last season.”

I have a note book in which I write first drafts of blogs, and any ideas or startling insights that occur to me during the day.

I wrote this in it. It is pink,faux leather, with three little birds on it. When I have my midlife crisis – there’s one due any moment – this will be my tattoo.

I love this book, and the birdies – the more I write in it, the more I love it.

The book had a different initial purpose.

When Pearl’s difficulties first became evident I leant on my profession as a coping mechanism. I was a Registered Speech and Language Therapist.

I would observe from a detached distance Pearl’s progress, documenting everything. It would be a fascinating insight into how to fix all her problems.

It would probably be published and I would be held up as a ground breaking exponent of early intervention. Perhaps  I’d get a Masters out of it.

Possibly even a Doctorate?

The first four pages, before the blog kicks in contain Speech Therapy plans, assessments, aims and observation. Underneath each session is a short note.

“Responds well to mirror” says one” Responds well to drawstring bag” another, and yet another “lip closure noted at rest mid-session”

I look back on this with a mixture of fascination and revulsion.

Where was my head? Did I really believe I could fix her?

Pearl in fact had other ideas. She was definitely under the impression I was The Mummy, not The Therapist ,and under her able instruction this short lived experiment

(4 pages of A5) was discontinued.

When Pearl was 4 I had another go, a therapist who was promoting a particular type of therapy came to England and I shelled out a great wodge of cash to attend the course to learn the basics and to have Pearl assessed.

The therapy was extremely intensive articulatory drill which, anecdotally worked phenomenally well.

With evangelical zeal I wrote programmes for school and drilled Pearl within an inch of her life.

She remained resolutely unimpressed. Looking back, she had a lot of other developmental issues that needed dealing with before this could begin to be effective.

Supportive seating was one, her concentration during sessions was entirely taken up with keeping her head and trunk still and upright.

Attention was another, she had very little in the way of an attention span. She couldn’t play easily as her physical difficulties got in the way.

In fact, what she needed was time, fun, Mummy cuddles and play.

Play is an important precursor to language development and I’m firmly of the belief that Play is children’s Work – so much happens during it.

I offer this experience to you for a variety of reasons, particularly if you are a newbie to the art of Special Needs Parenting.

You have one job.

Caring for, loving and parenting your child.

You do not have to fix them.

They are who they are. You will need plenty of energy to love and care for this small person.

It is enough.

It is more than enough.

It is the very thing.

Therapists will come and go with ideas that they feel very passionate about.

Take their advice they have expertise and experience.

BUT!

You decide what you are able to do and commit to at a given moment.

Expect small steps. If it is impinging on your family life, bin it.

Sometimes a Therapy or approach will come along that is intensive and works.

Grab it, make everyone in your circle use it, and be prepared to run with it while it shows progress.

If it begins ruining your mental health your, child’s relationship with you and progress slows, it’s probably time to stop.

Remember; you have not caused your child’s problems, and you do not have to fix them.

Your child’s developmental trajectory, and where it will end up is likely to be very different from your expectations and from their peers.

Change your expectations, find other parents in the same boat and do your best to enjoy the ride.

Fellow traveller, I write this as if it was easy.

Adjusting expectation and coming to terms with a new normal is never going to be simple.

It takes time.

Be kind to yourself, cut your child some slack.

Fine tune your eyes to seeing the progress they make.

Rejoice in the small steps, because they are astonishing achievements.

Words are a mixed blessing.

Some can really resonate, a quote from an author, a word of scripture from a holy book.

Some can irritate.

Some are just plain wrong, I’m pretty sure that Winnie the Pooh didn’t make the, “I have a dream”, speech, and the things that Oscar Wilde, “reportedly said”, well, just don’t get me started.

Hand in hand with this come the helpful little phrases people choose to share with parents of children with additional needs.

Most of this comes from the right place, although, “God only gives special children to special parents”, should be shoved somewhere else altogether.

I have compiled, for your reading pleasure a short summary of some of the most common.

You probably have some favourites of your own.

If any come to mind that help you/make you want to punch somebody please get in touch!

Don’t sweat the small stuff, and it’s all small stuff.

In parenting a child with disabilities, as in life generally, this is not entirely true.

We brush up against mortality, severe illness, pain and struggle on a regular basis, plus the big questions of faith, meaning, love and loss.

It’s not all small stuff.

Whether you have enough likes on your Facebook Page, if you have sent a birthday card a bit late, if your house is a bit untidy this, my friend, is the small stuff.

You have my permission not to sweat it.

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

This has always been one of my favourites.

However, now I wonder whether to replace it with, “What doesn’t kill you makes you exhausted, sleep deprived, clinically depressed, the possessor of a fierce and dark humour, snappy and reliant on alcohol”.

Self-care suggests the first reading is preferable.

On the days where the second is more accurate be kind to yourself.

Which brings us neatly to:

Be kind for everyone is fighting a hard battle.

You my fellow parent, if you care for a child with additional needs you are fighting a hard battle.

The person who has parked in a disabled space with no badge, I have less sympathy for.

The Local Authority responsible for providing care and support for you, your family and your child?

Well, they are paid, and should be working on your behalf.

For most special parents this could be adapted to Be Kind for everybody is fighting a hard battle with the Local Authority.

It shouldn’t be accurate but there we are.

What cannot be cured must be endured

Must it?

Well in reality yes, and emotional resilience, the ability to bounce back and keep on keeping on is useful tool in the special parents armour.

I would argue however that you need to find people who get you, family friends, parents in the same position, so you can endure it with a better grace together.

It may be that you can (whisper it quietly) even enjoy it!

I will leave you with my current personal favourite, which happens to be biblical but I think describes us, our children and our struggles well no matter what beliefs we do or do not have.

But we have this treasure in jars of clay,

to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.

We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair, persecuted, but not forsaken, struck down, but not destroyed.

(2 Corinthians 4:7-9; The Bible)

As I frequently find myself perplexed, despairing and feeling forsaken this curiously helps me.

Despite all this I am a treasure in my 47 year old body, as is my beauteous daughter in her tricky, muscle weakened, wobbly, treacherous, one.

We are all the same no matter what our abilities or disabilities and that,to me is rather wonderful.

Four of us, Father-to-be of Pearl, a small Rab and preteen Glory on holiday. Visiting a highly recommended gastropub. A treat.

As this is not trip advisor and was eleven years ago I shan’t share the location.

The manager did not seem keen on customers, the service was at a snail’s pace, nothing on the menu appeared to be available, and according to F-t-boP, the floor in the mens toilets was not safe for sandals wearers. Lovely.

As we sat fuming a couple arrived. A man, in a wheelchair with a neurological condition, and his partner.

As we longed for distraction from the diabolical service, and we are inveterate people watchers, we were fascinated to see him using his computer to communicate.

Ten years ago this was even more unusual than it would be today.

Of course, I mentioned it to the children, I was a Speech Therapist who specialized in neurological conditions, it was a break from moaning about the service, and it was educational.

After an argument about whether ice cream was available on its own, as well as with apple pie, we paid up, relieved to be escaping.

The children got up and ran over to the couple and stood smiling at them shyly and looking at the computer. I quickly joined them.

“I’m sorry they are interested in your communicator”

Mrs. scowled angrily at me.

“We are trying to eat”

We left, tails between our legs, a horrid end to an awful trip.

I’ve thought about this incident a lot since having Pearl. At the time I was deeply hurt, couldn’t they see we were really interested and trying to make a connection?

Now I think I was probably unforgivably ableist.

Does every trip out for a disabled adult or child have to be an educational experience for society at large?

Do ‘the disabled’ (and if you hear anyone refer to a people group in that way, draw your own conclusions) have a responsibility to be charming, well presented, and approachable at all times?

Should they be expected to represent not just themselves, but the whole disabled community every time they venture out to the supermarket? Hell no.

Personally I want the freedom to be messy, tidy, made up, fresh faced, happy, miserable, charming or sweary as the mood takes me.

If I become disabled (and a fair percentage of us will, through ageing alone) I don’t think that is going to change.

The first time we had personal experience of this was during Pearl’s statementing process.

I was speaking to the lovely Educational Psychologist and telling her I was fearful that Pearl’s mainstream nursery would struggle, as they had no experience of disability.

Her response, that it would be a very good experience for all of them, was no doubt true, but not what I wanted to hear.

‘I don’t want her to be a poster girl for disability, I just want her to be a little girl” I told Father of Pearl when I got home.

Like it or not, wherever we go, whatever we do, we do attract interest.

Admitedly this is added to by Pearl patting people on the shoulder or grabbing women’s handbags (I taught her well…)

So how do we deal with it?

I do not want to sit at home avoiding stares and questions. Nor do I always want to explain Pearl’s communication book or diagnosis, but I would rather she was out there in the world, than tucked away out of sight.

I suppose a balance has to be struck

A wise researcher once asked me what I wanted the world to be like in terms of inclusion.

“A CBeebies world” I answered.

Shortly before Pearl was born, thanks largely to Something Special and Mr Tumble, different abilities have been very well represented on childrens BBC.

In all CBeebies programmes there is a huge range of children, glorious to behold, with frames, crutches, white sticks, hearing aids and all manner of genetic conditions.

Graduate to adult TV and there are articles on how inclusive this soap is to have this or that actor, with a disability. Not on CBeebies. They are just there. No fanfare, no overt educational message, just included.

That in the end is what I want for my Pearl, her friends and the Pearls of this world.

Not the constant requirement to be an ambassador for disability.

Acceptance.

Inclusion.

A CBeebies world.

All of us (bar Pearl) had flu, colds, infections and stomach bugs, with hardly a day off in between.

I couldn’t exercise and found (who knew?) that if you eat more than usual while doing precisely nothing your clothes inexplicably shrink.

It was with some relief that January and better health rolled around.

The first hospital appointment of the year, on the second of January, seemed like a return to normality.

As Pearl grows older it seems likely that she has a degree of ASD in with the mix of physical, cognitive and sensory problems. She is very routine dependent and her understanding is very experienced based.

We are well used to seeing Pearl’s marvelous orthopaedic surgeon, and Pearl is usually very cooperative. We park up, she gets into her wheelchair (it’s a long walk from the car park to outpatients).

The first working day of 2018 was different. Pearl’s Kaye walker (a kind of a walking frame on wheels) was just visible in the back of the car.

On the hour-long journey, she insistently pointed at it and shouted.

“Do you want to walk when we get there?”

She deploys her only recognizable word.

“Yeah”

“OK. We’ll see if we have time.”

How blithely I make this throwaway comment.

We arrived. There was time. Pearl was insistent.

Now usually when I say Pearl goes in the wheelchair, actually we go straight to the shop and buy fruit and a biscuit for distraction purposes.

Pearl set off in her walker. I hadn’t realized how much she’d grown over Christmas and it wasn’t providing her with much support.

At some points, she was carrying it around her. It was frankly not ideal.

After getting to the front of the hospital with some difficulty she stopped and signed biscuit. We still had at least another 5 minutes before even entering the hospital, let alone booking in and getting to the clinic.

I looked at my watch.

“I have some biscuits with me” (I was a Girl Guide and the motto, “Be Prepared” is engraved on my heart)

“We’ll have them when we get to the waiting room”

This is clearly not the right answer. Screaming, suddenly and out of nowhere, starts. Proper blood curdling, being murdered screaming, emanating from my usually biddable and cheerful child.

Now I’m in trouble.

Is she in pain? It is a long walk, the walker isn’t supporting her.

Is she expecting the biscuit we usually buy?

Is she suffering sensory overload? A lot of people are leaving the hospital and streaming past us. It is very noisy.

Or is she just in a bad mood?

I have no idea, I can’t use her PODD communication book because my hands are full of the stuff we might need for any and every eventuality.

I can’t take her back to the car for her chair, it’s too far and we’ll be late. Pearl will not move an inch forward and now she is grabbing random passing strangers.

It had all been going so well.

Suddenly a woman with blue hair, piercings, and fabulous boots walks straight towards us.

I get ready to stop Pearl grabbing her when this stylish angel looks straight at me and says, “Can I help?”

This is only the second time this has only happened to me in eleven years and thousands of meltdowns, so I’m a little nonplussed.

My immediate, and rather pathetic response.

“I don’t know. I’d love some help, but I don’t know what’s wrong, I don’t know what you could do”

Resourceful. I know.

Then the inner Girl Guide kicks in. I have an idea.

This amazing stranger agrees to stand with a completely hysterical child while I run back to the car, at some speed, for the wheelchair.

I explain all this to Pearl, who is really beyond hearing at this point.

I check again with this magical apparition.

“Are you sure?”

She is!

I leave them with the emergency biscuits and make a run for it.,

In the distance, I can hear her, gently explaining.

“Mum will be back in a minute. Would you like a biscuit? No? You want a hug?”

I turn to see Pearl fling herself into this person’s arms and sob messily on her shoulder.

When I return, she is still cuddling a calmed Pearl and speaking to her with great gentleness.

This extraordinary individual then proceeds to apologize for not knowing how to help Pearl into her chair, which is really not a problem at all, and suggests she stays with her while I take the walker back to the car.

She does.

By the time I return, everything has returned to normal.

Biscuits have been consumed, legs are rested. All is well

So, when a blue-haired angel appears on the front drive of Stoke City University Hospital, how do you show your appreciation?

She deserved an Oscar, a Damehood, at the very least a cup of coffee, but we had an appointment to attend.

Instead, I touch her arm look her in the eye, and say.

“You have no idea how grateful I am for your help”

“S’alright, no bother”

She smiles, turns and fades into the crowd.

So, oh stylish one, wherever you are, whatever your experience that led you to help this child, on this day, I thank you from the bottom of my tired, overwrought mothers heart.

You saw through all the screaming to exactly the wonderful person my small girl is.

Saw through all my attempts to remain calm and capable to exactly where I was.

For this, I salute you, and will never forget you.

Thank you.

I mainly blame my mother for this tendency. I was exposed at a tender age to every Hollywood musical known to man.

Family members were routinely subjected to yearly attendance at a 3 hour pantomime.

My dancing teacher was a huge believer in inclusion. Ability and talent mattered not a jot.

Everyone should have a chance to shine. Everyone. It was quite a large dancing school. She was not gifted with editing or quality control skills.

Apart from giving me a lifelong fear of amateur dramatics, because of resurfacing guilt, it has only reinforced the feeling that singing everything is definitely the way forward.

Fortunately, my family tend to agree (the slow drip approach of brain washing works well I find).

Pearl’s school is run on Conductive Education principles, which rely on repetitive movements paired with simple repetitive songs.

The die is cast. Entering our house is like a second class, badly written version of Calamity Jane (which is, incidentally, also what I’m considering changing my name to).

On the naming front, I can highly recommend calling your child Pearl. It is relatively unusual, meaning naming labels don’t require a surname.

Pearl is remembered and her record easily traced by all hospital departments, as they don’t tend to have another under the age of 80.

Most importantly Pearl is easily replaced in songs.

“I kissed a Pearl and I liked it”

“My Pearl’s mad at me”

You get the picture.

And then courtesy of Elkie Brooks she has a song of her very own. (“Pearl’s a Singer” for anybody under 40). Pearl does indeed often “stand up when she plays the piano”

The lyrics can be changed on uncooperative days to “Pearls a whinger”

I hope this is character building, it usually distracts her and makes her laugh. Whatever gets you through the day.

I have recently been ‘enjoying’ a particularly long-lasting flu virus with a very bad grace.

In the middle of this a cock up from our Local Authority, landed me with a call suggesting that my nonverbal, doubly incontinent child could have her secondary education effectively provided at our local High School.

The same High School that had been unable to cope with our articulate, high functioning, academically able, son with Asperger’s.

It seemed unlikely (yes really!) for this placement to be successful.

I had in fact attended a two hour meeting a fortnight previously where I had discussed and agreed the perfect setting with a Local Authority staff member. I was not happy.

Incandescent rage goes some way to describing the way I reacted to the news, and was apparently a good negotiating tool, the problem was quickly resolved.

Entering Pearl’s bedroom the day after this fiasco, and still feeling lousy I was greeted with charm, panache and a cheery hello (one of two of her recognizable words).

She was warm, giggly and cuddly the perfect, cheering, combination.

As I began the usual, dressing and washing procedure, which is not without its challenges, all I could hear in my head was a paraphrased JayZee.

“I’ve got 99 problems but my Pearl ain’t one”.

Life with a disability can be a struggle, but it is often the environment the lack of support, and the daily grind that is disabling.

Filing cabinets of admin and frequent appointments can really leech the joy out of your life.

A friend of mine not in the Special Need Parents Club, looked in fear at the severe and complex disability and health needs of a mutual friend’s disabled child.

“But what does she think when she looks at him?” She asked.

I thought of the Mother/Carers face when she looked at her son, full of love, knowing, and shared stories.

I think she usually thinks “That’s my boy” I replied.

And on days when love isn’t enough and the physical and emotional strain and reality of Caring is overwhelming, there’s always song.

I’ll see you Somewhere over the Rainbow, the skies there, well you know the rest.

Until then So Long, Farewell, Auf Weidersehn, goodbye.

I, Dear Reader, was one of these children.

Studying for my degree a little later how I cursed this educational approach. Introduced to linguistics, nouns and adverbs had been mythical creatures to me, the like of which I’d never encountered.

I longed for my privately educated friends awareness of the present participle as I feebly attempted to understand sentence structure.

Well now it’s back, and what madness is this? Children under eleven are going to be expected to understand fronted adverbials and split diagraphs (no me either and I apparently have some linguistic ability).

Surely unless you are studying language at least undergraduate degree level, these terms are little more than a waste of ink. If you are under eleven, what possible use could thy be to you?

I have three children.

For experimental purposes (I jest) I sent one to Mainstream, one to Special School and put one into mainstream before removing him to home for a year and then popping him into Special Ed, just to compare.

Special school education can bring many conflicting emotions to a newbie parent of an additional needs child.

Sadness, a sense of failure, concern about stigma and general fear of the unknown.

In this litigious society parents have to fill in a lot of forms.

Can he wear a plaster?

Can we apply sunscreen?

Can she be photographed for the school website?

When Pearl started Special School my favourite form came home.

Can she stroke, groom and feed the school donkeys?

This distilled is the difference between Special Ed and mainstream.

The essence of Special Ed is a diversified curriculum.

You take the child as the centre of the process and fit all the things they need to learn around them in a way that is compatible with their learning style and strengths.

Pearl is very good at Science it runs in the family.

Her Dad is a Software Engineer, and my degree is Science based.

Big sister (aka The Glory) is heading for University to study Biology.

Has Pearl passed tests that show she is a scientist?

Has she completed worksheets?

Is she preparing for her Year 6 SATS?

Well no. She loves gardening, caring for animals, examining plants and flowers.

She likes to plant, learn how seeds propagate and experience textures and structures of species.

Her interaction with the natural world in this way piques her curiosity and encourages interaction with others through her PODD communication book (Linguistics and Language).

It teaches her about texture, form and colour (Design).

She learns about nurturing growth and caring.

It opens the door to teaching English, Chemistry, Maths and Physics.

It has value.

Not measurable, box ticking, league table value it’s true, but value none the less.

I watch the Mainstream sub group of my experimental cohort, I mean family, fear she is stupid, as she has not received one A * at A level, as she struggles with feelings of low self-esteem and depression I wonder if mainstream education is all it’s cracked up to be.

We seem to be valuing academic achievement over mental health, and creating a well-rounded person. CAMHS (children and adolescent mental health services) are overwhelmed with referrals.

I would like all schools to be Special.

To allow children to benefit from a diversified curriculum, would allow teachers to teach creatively and loosen the ties on the reliance on league tables.

Maybe it’s time to work out what we really value as a society, an ability to recognize a split infinitive, or a creative, emotionally resilient learner who enjoys knowledge for its own sake, and can apply that learning in real world situations.