When There Is No School That Is Right For Your Child

As I fill in forms and prepare for my son’s first transition hour at his new high school I find myself being thankful that he has very complex and profound needs. Why? Well because this meant he easily secured a place in a local ‘Additional Support Needs’ high school (known to most as a special needs secondary school).

Next year will be different. His sister has no learning disability or difficulties, but she is autistic and won’t cope in mainstream high school. Having looked at different options it lead me to draw this simple drawing:

Where do children like my daughter go?

Far too often there just isn’t a school that’s right for your child.

This is the story of a child called Miss S written by her mother. This is the story of a child, who due to her autism, no longer fitted into the mould of mainstream school and despite having no learning difficulties she did manage to secure a place (eventually) in a special needs school but this didn’t work either.

Many will say ‘just home school’ but for many children this isn’t the best option. They want to go to school but there just isn’t a school that’s right for them.
———-

“Well, you’ve missed out on a pretty and symbolic sunset” Miss S texted me earlier.

I was out, picking up some fries. For her, to cheer her up. Yes, I’m aware this could be classed as comfort eating, we’ve discussed it… that’s not what this post is about today.

I asked Miss S why the sunset was symbolic. Her reply, via text, was:

“So, the sunset was pretty orange, and while the sun was still visible (from my room), it shone an orange light. When I wasn’t looking at it, it felt kinda like symbolism in the sense that the light at the end of my very dark tunnel was behind me and I couldn’t see it, and when I did see it, it was already gone.”

I asked if I could share her words here, she replied:

“Sure, so long as you say AND THAT IS DEPRESSION FOR YOU, KIDS!”

It’s been a tough day, emotionally. Lots of them are, of late. And today’s upset was despite making it outside for a walk with Miss S, something she’s not done for a very long time now. I should have been over the moon. But the reason we went out was tough….

Last week, an advert popped up on Miss S’s iPad. It was for the local private girls’ school, a picture depicting five girls linking arms and laughing, in their uniform. Miss S sent it to me and said she wanted to talk about it; she had searched it up on the map, seen it was fairly close to our house and so decided she wanted to try it there.

Knowing that the private, academic school would not be suitable for our girl, I tried to steer her thoughts away from it. On the map we saw an even closer school to our house, ten minutes walk away (discounting the closest her sister attends, which takes only a minute to walk to) and so Miss S switched her attention to that. I didn’t want to crush her hopes so I promised her I would speak to the school. Knowing full well that it was highly unlikely they would be interested in being as flexible as they would need to be, I called anyway, but I couldn’t get past the gatekeeper receptionist who told me I should put it all in writing.

Today we took a walk to this mainstream secondary, so that Miss S could get a feeling for where it was and what it looked like. On the way there she was asking me lots of questions, about the uniform, about whether phones were allowed in school, about what subjects she would have to learn. She talked about how she would like to walk to school herself and would listen to her music en route to keep herself calm. She chatted about how she wanted to walk unless it was cold or raining. She spoke at length about lunchtimes, wondering what food would be served and whether she’d get her beloved potatoes which were pretty much the only things she’d only eaten for lunch at her previous two schools. She talked about how the school would be full of ‘normal’ children and so she might stand out for being weird.

We came home, and she asked to buy a new game for the computer – called School Simulator. She acknowledged with a wry smile that it showed how desperate she was, to want to pay £15 to be able to create her own school. Sadly, the game proved too difficult for her to understand, and it just magnified all the feelings of failure which she has. She took herself upstairs to bed, put her face mask on and her soothing piano music on the iPad, and said she wanted to sleep forever until there was any news about a school for her. She then slept for 2 hours in the middle of the day, when she wasn’t even particularly tired. Just upset, emotional, and ‘bored’ of life because she can’t see the point. As she said to me on our walk, she just needs to know something about the future, to have a plan. It’s not a lot to ask, is it?

Of course there’s no point in me putting anything in writing to that mainstream school we walked to today, despite having reams of ‘evidence’ of needs in my SEND parent files. My ideas of what could help are outside of the box, off the wall, not in keeping with the school system. Our girl would be seen as a burden, an issue, unwanted extra work. Mentally, and financially in terms of support and paperwork. Because it all comes down to the cost, and the budgets at the end of the day.

But our girl wants to be at school. She wants to be part of a community. To feel wanted, to have friends. So much so, that she is prepared to try anything (apart from wearing trousers as part of a school uniform apparently). But that doesn’t mean she would be capable of bending to the system, of becoming that round peg needed to fit in the round hole. And instead of being supported to find an alternative for her, I am left to be the one to break her heart.

It shouldn’t be this difficult, should it? All it would take is a handful of individuals who really care, to come up with some activities and solutions. A chance for Sasha to join in with small group work, music or swimming lessons, anything, to keep her going and think that there is a point in life. She wouldn’t be able to access busy corridors or playgrounds, or the lunch canteen without extra support, but surely the fact that she wants to try should be acknowledged and encouraged?

She is being let down, massively. I’m trying to keep her afloat. Who knows where this will end?

—————————

Miss S is being badly let down by an education system that only seems to allow those with learning disabilities, like my son, to receive specialist provision when so many others, especially those with autism, really need a viable alternative to mainstream too. I’m terrified my own daughter is going to be one of those children who are too clever for special needs school but too autistic to fit in mainstream. Where do children like her and Miss S go?

What do you do when neither mainstream nor special needs school are right for your child?

We need wider provision in the education system so there are no more children, like Miss S, left at home desperate to go to school but with no suitable school to go to.

With special thanks to Steph Curtis from Steph’s Two Girls who writes a wonderful blog about autism and pathological demand avoidance. I would encourage you to read her blog and check out her Facebook page too.

Why I Struggle When My Special Needs Child Gets ‘Star of the Week’

So my 9 year old son came home from school on Friday with a certificate and photograph in his bag. There was no eagerness to show me and no message in his school diary; it was just there. Of course I am proud of him and told him so and absolutely it will be displayed on his bedroom wall to honour his achievements like his sisters are in her room. That is never in doubt. However, I have to be honest and say I really struggle when my son gets ‘star of the week’ and here is why:

1. It reminds me just how far behind he is academically.

It’s a sobering thought that my son has been at school five and a half years and is still working at pre-school levels in many subjects. The very fact he still has no idea that star of the week is any sort of aspirational incentive to even aim for says it all. He isn’t being modest or shy in not showing me his certificate; he honestly still doesn’t get the whole social aspect of celebrating achievement in any way. His twin sister commented on his award saying ‘well done Isaac but…’ and she went on to ask why he is still so far behind her. That’s hard. You see I live with my child daily and I know he struggles but seeing it on paper seems to somehow make it raw. It hurts. I am proud of my son but sad that he is behind so much. I don’t think anyone wants their child to be 7 or so years behind their peers in any way.

2. It makes me scared for the future.

I try not to think of the future. I live everyday and enjoy the moment but wisdom would tell me that I do need to plan for the future too. I shared my sons achievement on social media and today someone asked me in person what happens to children like my son when they finish education. The reality is my son will likely not be suitable for college and academically will never reach the level required for university. Employment is pretty unlikely too so our current options include him living at home and attending day care services. That’s not what I planned for my child when I conceived him and carried him for nine months, and although I do need to be mentally prepared for this seeing his star of the week award just feels like his future is all planned out and that is scary. His options are limited and seeing his academic ability on a laminated sheet makes that a stark reality. I won’t lie, that is hard to accept.

3. It makes me feel he is being defined by his ability to learn.

When I think of my child I think of am energetic, fun loving, teddy chewing, mischievous little brown eyed boy who does the best squeezy hugs and who loves his food. I think of the child who has incredible gifts in communication despite having no spoken language. I get so much joy from singing along to the songs he plays on his iPad and going to lifts with him. I see a child who gets so excited every time Bing Bunny comes on the TV that he bounces in the armchair he is sitting in. I see a child who could go hundreds of miles to places on google street map even though he has significant visual impairment. I don’t see his lack of ability to read or write or speak as an issue and none of those difficulties define him. So when I see his star of the week award I hope that this is not just how society sees my child either.

My son will always struggle with some things. Professionals and medical specialists have told me it is unlikely my son will ever speak to me. Education have told me he won’t ever attend a mainstream school and college or further education is unlikely. It’s a very sobering thought but with that comes my absolute determination that my son should never ever be defined by his struggles.

So I will stick his award on his bedroom wall and smile. It’s great he has been recognised. It’s great he is making progress but I never forget that for everyone of us life is much more than our ability to learn or how far we go in education.

I struggle when my son gets star of the week because his ability to achieve should never be limited to traditional education. I am raising a remarkable, brave and wonderful child who is breaking the mould in life. He is a star in so many more ways than just trying to write the digit 2. One of the many reasons I write about him is to help others see beyond his academically ability (or lack of) so I will stick that award up and get back to celebrating my son in every other way I do daily.

Don’t ever let educational achievement define anyone. We are much more than our ability to learn.

The One Thing I Want in Life for My Autistic Son

My son has lots of difficulties in life. He can not talk, he can not read, he can not write. He struggles to join in anything others are doing, preferring instead to flap at lift doors opening and closing or turning hand dryers on and off repeatedly. There is a long list of things I would love him to be able to do including communicate his needs, be more independent, understand what people are saying to him or even use cutlery.

Yet two days ago a photograph sent home in his school bag made me suddenly realise that all I really want for my son is one thing: to be included.

My son attends a school for children with severe and complex needs. Many of his ‘friends’ are wheelchair users, or non verbal or perhaps require to be fed differently via a tube. Some have behaviour challenges and others have genetic conditions or learning delays, but they all have unique and wonderful personalities. The small class sizes and increased staffing are necessary for all of the children, most, if not all, of whom will require support all of their lives.

However his school building is modern and custom built. One of the most remarkable things about the building is that it is shared with another school. This is a new and innovative idea where I live but one that seems to have huge benefits not just for complex needs schools and mainstreams but for schools of different faiths too. The building announces proudly to the community that we are all one and we are all the same even if we appear to others as different.

I have to be honest and say I would rather my son did not have some of the physical and cognitive challenges he faces daily. I wish he could speak, I wish he could read and write not because it would make me feel proud as a parent, but more so because it would benefit him so much. I wish he could attend mainstream school like his sister does because he would be known in the community and have friends locally he could play with, not because I have any issues at all with the challenges he faces. He is loved immensely for who he is but it would be beautiful if he was with his peers much more rather than separated and educated so far from home.

So getting the photograph sent home with him spoke so much to me. The photograph shows my son with children from a mainstream school playing a game. He is being supported not by specialist trained teachers or support staff but by another child. He is being included.

That is what I want above anything else for my son. I want him included as equal in society.

I don’t want him pitied.

I don’t want him ignored.

I don’t want him excluded.

I don’t want him mocked.

He has had enough of those things already.

Yes there are things my child can’t do, but there are things every one of us can’t do either!

The children in the photograph had no need to know the list of diagnosis my son has. They didn’t need training in the latest model of therapy for those with autism or have to have hours of training in physical therapy. They didn’t see a child who can not speak or who is unable to read. They saw a child called Isaac and did what they could to have him join in to the best of his ability.

See my child. See him for who he is and not all the things he can not do. See him as a child who is worthy just as every other child is. See him as a peer.

Please let this photograph help change society. Please let this be the generation who sees people as equal.

Please give me hope that the one thing I want for my autistic son may actually happen one day.

Maybe you can’t include MY son but you won’t have to look far for a child who may also have autism, or a genetic condition or who struggles. Send them that party invite. Encourage them to join in the game. Offer to push them on the swing at the park.

Every act of inclusion is an act of love. I promise you it is worth it. I promise you everyone will gain from this.

A Day In Mainstream School For My Autistic Daughter

I am so grateful that my daughter can talk and that she shares freely with me her worries and stresses of school. This day in the life has been written with her full consent and approval to help others see how challenging mainstream can be for some children with autism and how they can perhaps ‘hold it together’ all day but explode at home. 
Morning preparation 

I wake up and come downstairs and try not to think about school too much. I get my iPad or toys and set them up just how I like it. I know I need to get dressed and eat but until things are ‘right’ I can’t think about those things. I need to do one thing at a time so please leave me alone. Let me do it my way. Constantly asking me questions is so stressful as is nagging me about time. By the time we need to leave I am already stressed and anxious.

 
In the playground

I am scanning. This is so hard to see who I need to see when everyone is dressed the same and moving around. The noise, the unpredictable movements, the bags on the ground…that’s a lot to take in for me. I only want to find my best friend and the longer it takes to find her the more I get worried. What if she is off sick? What if she has an appointment today?

The bell

Bells panic me. They mean I have to move somewhere quickly and I sometimes get stressed. Bells mean pressure and children running and they might push me over. I stand in my line and face forwards making sure I don’t look at anyone. The teachers shout about not talking and standing straight but I am doing those already and not sure what I should be doing differently. I turn to see if everyone else is doing what I am doing and now my class is pulled up for me facing the wrong way! I feel to blame. I feel so anxious. I feel different. 

 
Getting to class

I have to remember to put my bag one place, my packed lunch somewhere else and then hang my coat on the right peg. It can be confusing to remember all that while others are talking and moving all around me and the lights are so bright inside. Sometimes I wait until most of the others are in the class but then I worry I will get shouted at for taking too long! Sometimes I forget I have my school bag as it is on my back and I can’t see it! How can everyone else do this so quickly and easily and I can’t?

Class

I listen so much. In fact I listen so hard to everything that sometimes I can’t do my work because I need to stop and listen to everything the teacher says in case she is talking to me. I want to write neat because I don’t want a row but then they say I need to work faster and I can’t do fast and neat. It is hard to concentrate with others so close to me. They move about and talk and turn pages and it is so distracting sometimes. The walls have so much stuff on them, I can hear the tap dripping and I can hear people walking about.

I am scared to talk in case I get in trouble.

Sometimes I just can’t do the work. Yesterday they wanted us to do a senses poem about fireworks. They told me to imagine being at a bonfire with fireworks but how can you do that if you have never been to a bonfire before? I haven’t. They told me to write about what I would touch but you are not allowed to touch fireworks so I can’t write anything. They told me to write what I can smell but all I can smell right now is disgusting school dinners and I can’t even spell that. I just leave that one too.

Then the teacher gets me in trouble for not doing the task. I want to cry. The tears won’t come out.

Playtime

I don’t understand this bit. You play with toys so why call it playtime when there are no toys? Just call it ‘talk time’ or ‘stand in the playground time’ instead. I take my own toys out. Then it rains and we have to come inside and I can’t play with my toys and it is so confusing for me. I don’t like changing things. I get cold at playtime because it is hard to fasten my coat and if I take my time the people tell me to hurry up and go outside so I just can’t fasten it up now. I have one area I like to stand and play with my one friend. We play the same game every day. We like it that way. I want to play with others but I can’t because I don’t understand what they are playing. They don’t have toys. I can’t work out made up games like that.

Lunchtime

Lunchtime is horrible. We have a short time for everyone in the whole school to eat and they want us all to line up and take turns and sit at huge tables with other children I don’t know. I just want to sit down and get time to eat and not have to hear chatter chatter and smell what everyone else has that I don’t like. It is far too noisy and busy and yet no-one will open my yoghurt or peel my banana. I feel lost and confused and just want out of there. 

P.E

I hate PE so much. I never know what we are going to do. Sometimes we do balls and sometimes running and sometimes sports. I hate it all. I know I can’t do it and people laugh. How can I catch a ball when there is so much else going on in the same hall at the same time? I can’t focus. I am so cold. My legs don’t like not having trousers on. My arms miss my cardigan so much. I once fell and hurt myself in PE so I don’t run now because running is dangerous plus they said at assembly to not run in school so I don’t run. Then they tell me to run and I want to ask ‘but you said not to run in school’ but my voice won’t work. I want to cry. The tears won’t come.

I do like school. I like learning and I like doing work. I like having a desk and I really want to be star of the week. I like the other children though I don’t know if they like me. I want to tell you about things that have bothered me like being told to work quicker or not eating. I am tired from it all and now I feel safe. I want to cry. This time the tears will come so please let them. 

I am ok. I just need to let the day at school wash away so I can rest.

School can be hard but then everyday can sometimes be hard when you have autism like me. 

What are schools really saying when they reward 100% attendance?

I sat at the back of the hall at my daughter’s school end of year assembly smiling as the choir sang, the oldest class performed and finally the awards were given out. As a parent it is such a proud moment to hear your child’s name called out and their achievements recognised. Awards for academic achievement, endeavour, sports, star of the year and citizenship had me cheering, smiling and clapping. Then one final reward which made me so angry I actually wanted to get up and walk out: 100% attendance! 

 
What? You mean they actually reward children with a certificate for not missing a single day at school? Yes it is actually common place and, in my opinion, absolutely awful!

 
To put this in context the average attendance in my local authority this year is over 95% so hardly a huge issue. I do understand some children are absent for reasons that are unacceptable but is this really something to penalise the child for or is this not something that would be better dealt with via education of the parents or guardians?

 
So what are schools really saying when they reward 100% attendance?

 
1. They are telling children ‘we want you here even if you a sick’. 

Surely this goes against all health and safety and human rights of the child and others in the school? This is telling children that coming to school comes before their own physical and mental well being which is appalling. The entire point of education is that the welfare of the child should be central. By rewarding attendance you encourage children to come even when contagious to other staff and children or when they are in no fit state to learn. Stop and think…if an employer put attendance of higher value than human rights would we not be calling our union and going to the press? Then why do we praise schools when they do this?

 
2. They are telling children ‘school comes before your own family.’

Yes children are put down as ‘unauthorised absence’ when they are off due to a family funeral or when there is a family crisis. A few years ago a good friend of mine lost her entire home and possessions in an awful house fire and as a result of being homeless and having no access to uniform or a roof over their head the children lost out on attendance awards! That, to me, is saying to children that even if you have no home, no clothing and no bed to sleep in you should still come to school. In other words, we just don’t care about your home life as long as you attend, even if you are in no state to learn! 

My own family had a sudden death in the family this year and as the immediate relatives it was down to us to make all the funeral arrangements and deal with the estate. The problem was the relative (my children’s gran) lived over 400 miles away. Did school really expect me to say to the undertaker ‘I’m so sorry but as this is term time could you keep the body until the next school holiday?’ Life does not run to school timetables and children are part of wider families where death, hospital stays, separation and unexpected events happen. Do we actually want to live in a society that places school attendance above the welfare of our own children?

 
3. They are telling children ‘turning up is just as important as learning’ 

That sounds good doesn’t it. They will claim this is an award ‘that all can achieve’ wether they are academic or even have additional support needs. You don’t need to be sporty or overly confident or even the ‘teacher’s pet’ to get attendance so what’s the problem? The issue here is that children come to school not simply to have their name ticked on a register as having attended but to learn and develop. We are supposed to be preparing children for the future but what employer would want someone turning up to work doing nothing? If a child has managed to keep up with the pace of learning and tried their best all year is this not of much more long term value than just being there?

 
I get that schools want children there. I understand they are accountable to the local authority for attendance. I understand they want to be seen as inclusive and have awards for children that struggle academically or do not overtly shine out in any subject, but why pick attendance?

 
Make school a safe haven, a place of significance and fun where children want to be. Educate parents on the importance of helping your child to attend as much as possible. But please, do NOT reward children for coming in when unwell, for putting school above family or for just merely having their name ticked on a register. 

 
I thought we were all about having the child at the centre or getting it right for every child or whatever else they wish to call it?

 
Oh and while I am here: not one of the staff members in her school this year would have gained an attendance certificate so why should the children not be treated the same? 

I blogged, you shared and together we won!

Over 1200 read about my boy being denied a school placement to meet his needs. So it is only right that the same people get to hear what happened today.

We won!

And here’s the details:

We had the letter arrive to say our placing request for a local special needs school had been declined on the legal grounds that the school would need to employ another teacher. To you and I that means the school is full.

We had also asked for the original decision to place him in a unit within a very busy mainstream to be reviewed. The review also came back as the original decision being upheld.

So here we were with the following options:

1. Take the council to tribunal through the summer. We were very very unlikely to win a tribunal if the school is full. 

2. Consider a late deferral and hope to find a suitable school next year. there are only two special needs schools for our whole area. We would have had to go through the whole process next year again with no guarantee of getting it right again.

3. Home school.

4. Do something totally radical and ask strangers to help.

5. Send him to the school they wanted (Not a chance!)

I must be crazy but options 1-3 (let’s rule out option 5 straight away) did not appeal and as we had nothing to lose I wrote my usual weekly blog. And put it on my usual social media outlets. Except this time I begged people to share it. And ask others to share it. Get it out there. Make it public. 

So I blogged. And you shared.

And I emailed the press. Then I called the council. And they got worried. So I sent them the blog too. 

And a few hours later they called to say they wanted to talk. Great. I was delighted to listen. And an arrangement was formed. We could still not have a place in our local special needs school but we COULD have a place in the other school. In other words: WE WON!!!!!

So can I say THANK YOU!

Thank you for playing your part in changing a decision that would have been detrimental to the health and welfare of my son. Thank you for being part of our miracle. Thank you for reading, sharing, talking about it and praying. Thank you for caring enough about a little 4 year old boy you didn’t know. 

Thank you for changing this boy’s future.

I blogged, you shared and together we won! Please feel free to celebrate with me. He has his first induction this Wednesday!!!

Hallelujah.

 

Special child denied special school

I can just see the headline now on the national newspaper. 4 year old boy with tumours has no school to go to. Disabled boy denied the education he deserves. However it reads it will be a riveting story. A story of a young boy who can not talk and is completely incontinent with medical and developmental needs denied the education he deserves by his local council. Shocking. Appalling. Outrageous. But true.

Far too true and way too close to home.

Because this is the child I am talking about:

This is my son!

Isaac has severe and complex needs. He has a diagnosis of classic autism, global developmental delay, learning difficulties and a medical diagnosis of neurofibromatosis type 1. He has no speech and he still wears nappies. He did not learn to walk until he was 3. He is still being tested for a number of genetic conditions. And the law says he has to go to school at a certain age.

Isaac is due to start school in August this year. The law says he has to be enrolled in his local mainstream school which although heartbreaking, I did in January this year along with every other parent of pre-school children in Scotland. I knew he would never attend that school but had to go through the motions of producing all the necessary documents and signing all the necessary forms. But Isaac had already been put forward to the ‘forum’ back at the beginning of December the year before for the council to make a decision on where best he should be educated.

This ‘forum’ did not meet until March/April and at the end of April we were allocated a place in a very busy mainstream school with a unit attached.

We went to view it but it was very unsuitable for Isaac’s needs so we appealed and also put in a placing request for our local special school. We waited a long and agonising two months to find out today that our appeal AND our placing request have both been refused.

So we are expected to send our precious baby to a school with stairs when he can only ascend stairs with one to one support or else he crawls up. We are expected to send him to a school where he would not be getting one-to-one support. We are expected to send him to a school where he would be expected to have his lunch with almost 300 mainstream children and share a playground with the same children. Where there is no on-site nurse to be there in the event of his medical needs requiring attention. Where he would be one of 6 children with only one qualified teacher and perhaps one member of support staff.

As hard as it is for me to write, this is a boy I adore and treasure more than life itself after all, I know within my heart that my sons needs are profound. He self harms and harms others. He can escape within seconds, he eats and chews everything so presents a choking hazard at all times, he has challenging behaviour, he self stimulates, he eats his clothes, he is non-verbal and can not use sign language or pictures to communicate yet. He is completely incontinent and needs changed regularly. He has sight problems and balance problems. He has very little awareness of his surroundings. He can not call or ask for help. He can only use a spoon and his fingers to eat. He can not hold a pencil. He can only understand a few key words. He has no sense of danger.

He is a special boy and all the professionals agree he requires special education. But a group of people who hold the power within the education department, who only know about this boy through written reports, feel it is ok to deny him the education he deserves.

Could you deny this baby boy a special school? I couldn’t!