Maybe we do okay

Alex was normal today. The typical nine-year-old boy I had before this all happened.

Maybe normal life overtook him.

There are so many, many people that truly care about him in our daily life.

This week he spent most of his waking hours at my office. We check in at the guard station to begin our day. They all know him. There is a city policeman that emigrated from Russia that does extra shifts at our site that has always gone out of his way to help me with the kids. He was the one that told me to be prepared for Alex to swear like a sailor (or a marine) when he first came home. He is the one whose family gave me a place to stay in Russia while I was in the process of adopting Alex's sister. He always comes out to check on Alex and see if he is okay. He has been such an amazing support through all of this. When his mother-in-law came out last summer I missed her because I was sick but these are people that will stay with you always.

All the security staff know about us. They are so amazingly kind towards Alex. Many of them have done time in the military and have a firsthand knowledge about PTSD. To a person they go out of their way to be normal with him, yet so kind.

Alex notices. He quietly watches them and asks when they are allowed to go home. I think he feels seriously safe and treasured in a building surrounded by what he considers "policemen."

He then sits in my office while I pop in and out to deal with all the stuff I deal with. Sometimes people stop by to say hi to him. Mostly I just do what seems to a kid to be boring work. This afternoon I was supposed to leave early, and we were going to play at a public water work, but a couple of legal deadlines were dropped on my desk so the day got interesting. Alex watched me sweat through the stress and work and get it all done.

He walked with me through an empty office to confer with others while I coordinated the last minute filings.

He saw normal life. He did not complain.

Alex also saw a sweet Russian immigrant at my work who insists of speaking Russian to him. That amazing lady is so terribly kind to my son. She knows. Alex peeks up under his lashes to see if she is really that kind. She is.

So maybe we do okay. It is like the kid that came to our house late last May has left. My son a slightly, more happy version, is back. I don't know how we did it, but I think we all did.

It wasn't the recent doctors. I got the medical records from the residential treatment center and the fact that they spelled his name right is amazing. They got everything else wrong. Everything. I feel overwhelmed. Insurance fraud for sure. Medical malpractice definitely. I think we are not an isolated case for this kind of treatment by this facility. I wonder how others cope with them. These people have farms way far away that I think kids in the residential system are eventually transferred to - well outside of any caring adult sight.

I shudder to think what might have happened if Alex and I had not had an excellent communication system.

It was the rest of us that were there for Alex and he came back to himself. His long term treating doctors are back manning the helm and it is good. Family and friends continue to just be okay and help as we need. The school is doing an attempt to fix the problem they started. The better placement and additional support is good but the end of this week things have kind of lagged. I have my support staff at work on alert that I may be spending next week at Alex's new school until everything is okay. The team is good to go.

In the end, we do okay. All of us.

And maybe, just maybe we are all learning about the effects of bullying. It causes significant harm. It has to be stopped.

I told the school district this week that disfigured children are in harms way in their system and they need to address it. I told them in addition to Alex's situation I have seen a child literally turn around in a line and hit my daughter in the face - for no reason. And yes, I did something about that too.

When I began adopting cleft children, I did it because I wanted to help a special needs child. I innocently thought to myself when the first special needs child that God picked out for me was cleft, it was all about the medical issues. I did not realize the societal harm that I would be forced to fight and endure because I mothered a cleft child. I have learned differently. I still would not change my acceptance of the children God has bestowed upon me and our home. They are a blessing that is joyful every day.

I will stand and fight. My children are just kids, still so very young and hopeful of a happy life. They still believe they have a chance at life - because I believe.

Maybe we do okay. Everyone sleeps peaceably tonight and that is good enough for me.