Unreliable Witness

Yesterday I received a call from Emma’s school saying she was crying and her ears hurt.  She was inconsolable.  By the time I arrived to pick her up, she was cheerful and eager to, “Go see Doctor, you have to say ahhhh.”

“No I don’t think so, Em.  I think she’ll want to check your ears, make sure you don’t have an ear infection,” I told her.

When we were ushered into the doctor’s office, Dr. K. said to Emma, “Emma, can you shut my door?”  To which Emma immediately got up, ran over to the door and shut it.

“Thank you, Emma,” the doctor said.  She then proceeded to check Emma’s ears, which were fine.  After the exam I discussed some of our concerns regarding Emma’s progress.

“But she’s doing really well,” Dr. K. said.  “Her language…  She’s speaking more each time I see her,” she added.

I thought about a conversation I had with my brother, Andy a couple of weeks ago.  Andy is a physicist, whose thoughtful opinion I have come to rely on.  He called one morning, as he often does, while on his way to work.  I began crying as I told him how worried I was about Emma.  “I just don’t know that increased eye contact is enough to warrant another round of stem cell treatments,” I said.

Andy reminded me eye contact was the manifestation of a great deal more than “just eye contact”.  He went on to say that an increase in eye contact was significant as it suggested an increase in relatedness as well as cognitive awareness.  He told me he saw it as extremely positive and advised me to not be quite so easily discouraged.  By the time we ended our conversation, I felt much better.  I felt a tremor of hope.

As I sat listening to Dr. K., I realized – I am an unreliable witness.  Whether it is because I am impatient, have high expectations or am too emotionally caught up in the daily struggle to see the improvements others see, it is clear to me, I cannot entirely trust my perceptions of my daughter.

I have mentioned this before, but whenever we go to Colorado, about four times a year, my mother can be counted on to say, “You know, she’s better.”

To which I predictably respond, “Really!  Do you think so?  In what way?”  I cannot say how many times my mother and I have had the above conversation.  One that is repeated with many of our close Coloradoan friends as well.

I am reminded of my recent post regarding Emma.  How my favorite times spent with her are when I have no agenda, no expectations.

How’s Emma?

Emma is.