I am honored to present a Guest Blog by my new friend and fellow, Anna Scott Thorsen. I loved the way she made the analogy so perfectly descriptive of so many of our experiences with dyslexia's treatment in schools. The following is her original work. I'm calling it, The Broccoli Story.
I was asked today by someone I admire in [local school district] Special Education
Department how I felt my friend's S Team meeting went Tuesday. Here is
how I answered:
"Imagine that your beloved 7 year old son has
just be diagnosed with cancer by a specialist. It doesn't matter what
kind of cancer or how severe. You go your doctor scared and needing help
for your ailing child. When you get to the hospital, you are surprised
to be met with a room full of experts, but you are just so thankful they
will help your poor, sick boy. However, once you walk in, they grab
your sweet child and give him a cursory and cold look over. The person
who seems to be the head doctor pronounces: "Well, it doesn't look like
he has cancer. He is not sick enough to have cancer. We can't treat
him." You are left speechless. You know how tired your son has been. You
see how he can't keep up with his friends on the playground. Anyone
who knew him would know that he is not what he could be. If anyone
would look at the tests, the would see it plain as day...cancer.
Textbook case. But the doctors refuse to see it, all they see is a boy
who looks like all the other boys. He can still walk. He can still talk.
He can still stand. You think "What do they mean that he is not sick
enough to treat...who will help him if they won't...." But before you
get a chance to say those words, your doctor, the one you have known for
years, the one who you trusted and were sure would help your son, says
slowly and with authority "We are going to give him broccoli. Broccoli
helps prevent cancer in lots of children."
Your gut wretches at the
absurdity of it. You are left thunderstruck by this response. Finally,
your numbness subsides enough for you get your words out..."Broccoli?!
My son has CANCER. He has already been diagnosed. He can't run. He
can't play. You know perfectly well that the only thing that will save
him is chemo!" Your tone and your outrage cause a stir and the doctors
mutter amongst themselves and shuffle papers. One, who up until now has
not spoken says, "Well, in this hospital, we don't recognize "cancer" so
what we are going to do is give your son broccoli. But, because you are
so concerned, we will give it to him everyday." Still astonished, you
say with all the calmness you can muster "but he already eats
broccoli...it hasn't worked. He has cancer. Cancer is a real thing -
help him! He can't run, he can't keep up with his friends, he is tired -
he needs chemo and you know that. You are DOCTORS for god sakes!"
You
are met this time with a condescending and shrill voice that says "Well,
maybe you did not give your son enough broccoli. We will give him
more. Then, we will wait and see if the broccoli works. If it doesn't
work after 8 weeks, will try giving him broccoli in a different way for
10 to 12 weeks. Perhaps, if the broccoli doesn't work after that we can
meet again to discuss whether this hospital will do an evaluation to see
if he is 'ill'." "Ill!?! Only then will they look to see if he is
'ill'?" Your are dumbfounded. The same shrill voice adds "You are really
being unfair not to give the broccoli a chance. It does work for lots
of kids, you know. The kids that stick with it eventually don't have to
eat the broccoli anymore. That is what you want for your son, isn't
it?" By this time, you are hysterical, you shout, enraged, "but the
other kids don't have CANCER!" Finally, tired of listening to you, they
gather their papers hurriedly and begin to walk out of the door. It
seems your meeting is over, as abruptly as it started. On the way out,
the social worker from the hospital says over her shoulder in a voice
full of scorn "You don't really want your son to be labeled as having
'cancer'...do you?"
There is nothing else you can do. No words
to say. It has been decided. You are left to watch over the weeks and
months as your son grows weaker and weaker while they, the doctors,
stand there and dole out their worthless solution and measure and record
and report its lack of affects. They tell you he simply needs to try
harder to eat the broccoli, and he will be fine. How can they not see
how frail he has become under their "care"? Your heart breaks to see
your once strong and healthy son so slow, so weak and so scared. You
know he could be saved...you know that they know how to save him....the
one thing you can never understand and will never forgive is why they
won't."
This seems against science and rationality, but it is what happens to parents of children with dyslexic every single day. Why?
