Monday, May 30, 2011
What percent of your life do you reckon you've spent looking at something like that? ===>
The old OT room. Occupational therapy to those of us in the biz. It's unmistakable, what with all of those brightly colored bouncy things and lack of sharp edges. And lots and lots of swings...and their ropes, chains, ceiling mounts, and carabiners.
I wish I had a series of pictures of Audrey over the years on the platform swing, sort of like those "evolution of man" drawings. Between 1 and 2 years old, she mostly just sat up on the platform with her legs stock-straight out in front of her, white-knuckling it on the ropes. The therapists would have to sing "Brown Bear, Brown Bear" to keep her from seizing in terror. She was petrified, even though the swing is just inches off the ground and they were barely pushing her.
She finally graduated to standing and gradually swinging higher and higher. She's laid on the platform on her belly, crawled over it as part of an obstacle course, and now look at her...she can't fit under it when she stands up. She's come a long way, baby.
For some reason, I've always stayed in the room with Audrey during her OT appointments. It's the one appointment that I can drag myself to when I'm sick or exhausted, knowing that I can prostrate myself on any number of giant bean bags, water beds, hammock swings, and padded...well, anything and everything.
Audrey's had nothing but wonderful therapists over the years, all of whom I've gotten to know pretty well, because, let's face it, that whole swing portion of the program is pretty low overhead for the therapist, and lends itself to lots of shooting the shit. Audrey's OT's have been uniformly young and cute, and over the years I've gotten to hear about social lives, boyfriends, destination wedding plans, and trips to Peru (hi Lisa!). It's nice to live vicariously through them for those 45 minutes before Audrey becomes my sole responsibility once again.
I've sat in my share of waiting rooms over the years as well, but I guess I take after my daughter (or she after me) in my avoidance of certain social situations. Sometimes I'm just not in the mood for the old Disability Story Swap Meet with the other parents, and I'd rather be curled up inside a padded barrel with some headphones on. Now there's a bumper sticker for you.
Posted by Lynn at 7:06 AM