“Mom, pleeeease help me!” These were the pleading words of my 6 year old son. We were sitting at his desk in his room, struggling through some simple math equations. I would ask him to solve 3+2= ? and he would look at his fingers and try real hard to figure it out. It would take minutes with me encouraging him every so often until he came up with the right answer. I would say a forced “yeah” he would smile and fidget around a bit, obviously unhappy about it all. Then I would ask him another equation 3+3=? thinking this would be easy now, but I noticed that he had to start all over again. He couldn’t remember anything about the previous equation and in fact was on the verge of a break down. I just hugged him and quietly said: “I love you sweet heart, you are a precious little boy!”
That’s when he turned to me with big intense eyes and equally quietly from deep inside I heard him say: “Mom, please help me!” Never had I heard him speak like that before. Obviously the past 6 months of being singled out, tested, labeled, scrutinized and yelled at had been overwhelming. Holding back my own tears I told him: “Don’t worry, I promise I will help you. Everything will be good!”
This was the beginning of what I call our “Healing Journey”, a journey that lasted for several years and may never be quite over. A journey that involved talking to various therapists and doctors, given more labels, being reprimanded on several occasions for being an irresponsible mother… until we got the final diagnosis which was so bad, it couldn’t get any worse. The new pediatrician suspected my son was retarded and had a genetic illness, which could cause him to die by the age of 21 years old. He actually said these words right in front of my child! Back in the car, my son asked me anxiously: “Mom, is it true that I will die when I am 21?” In my fury I yelled: “Absolutely not! Open up the window, we’ll throw that thought right out!” In screaming catharsis we drove away from the parking lot. That night I decided to start doing research myself to figure out what was going on with my son. Then very carefully I started to pick out the experts I wanted to consult with.
Slowly, over the next two years, a different picture emerged: A doctor friend in Germany stressed to find an experienced homeopath to “treat the whole child”. A pediatric physical therapist in England offered crucial insights into the motor problems we were observing. CranioSacral Therapy “switched on” his reading skills. Lymph Drainage helped remove the heavy metals in his body. A neuro-feedback program helped him increase his attention span and math skills, and an organization on the mainland called NACD (National Association for Child Development), which brilliantly focuses on teaching the parents to pursue home therapy, finally put all my worries to rest.
In a relatively short period of time we had found wholesome ways to address the problems while encouraging my son to be his imaginative and creative self. The therapists we had chosen all created a respectful, intelligent, friendly and inspiring environment for him. There was no more speculation of death, retardation and medication, but a clear path toward healing and wellbeing.
Now, nine years later, I can say, the journey was totally worth it! My son thrives in every way. He loves sports, loves his school, and loves filming, surfing, art, and his friends. Life is exciting and promising. He never forgot what he went through and has learned to become astutely aware of cognitive, mood or physical variations within himself and his friends. Sometimes he asks: “Mom, can you help my friend?” The answer is always the same: “Sure, I can try!”
Image Credit: Lychee Therapeutics