One hundred and eight. It’s a good number. A couple of weeks ago, had I come across this number, my mind automatically would’ve gone to my address senior year of college: 106/108 Pinehurst Avenue, also known as the greatest address of all time as it’s where I truly grew to know and love the best friends this world has to offer. Eleven college seniors under one roof sounds chaotic, and believe me, it was. Chaotic, usually quite messy, and a hell of a lot of fun. On the second floor, four of us built memories (and a quote wall) to last us a lifetime of inside jokes, many of which we reference daily on our never-ending group text chain. 108 Pinehurst, where we laughed until we cried, danced until we collapsed, and where I shared bedroom walls with the women who are now my daughters’ godmothers. Yes, One-Oh-Eight has been a good number for over ten years…
But now, it’s an even better number. Now, it’s not just an address that paints memories of laughter and growth in my mind. Now, one hundred and eight is a number that will likely be meaningful to me for the foreseeable future… In June of 2018, Clara was assessed for eligibility in Early Intervention using the Battelle Evaluation, a test that looks at five areas of child development. She was found eligible for services due to her delays in both expressive and receptive communication, receiving a score somewhere in the range of 70-75; an average score for each category on the Battelle falls within 85-115, with 100 being the 50th percentile. She was also assessed in the area of adaptive, cognitive, motor, and personal, social, and emotional skills, all of which initially fell within the “normal” range. As my readers know, Clara has been receiving a great deal of support for just about a year now, so this month meant it was time for her annual reevaluation. While her adaptive and social skills fell slightly below the 50th percentile, I was thrilled to learn that all five skill areas fell within the range of what is considered “normal!” Her highest scoring category, you ask? Well, I suppose you don’t really need to ask, and you won’t need more than one guess: Her receptive and expressive communication averaged out to ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHT. As a mom who has worked tirelessly for eleven and a half months on her daughter’s communication, to see a score above the 50th percentile, bordering on above average… there are just no words to describe that feeling. Pride doesn’t encompass it. Relief doesn’t encompass it. Bliss, perhaps? No… still not good enough. I’ll keep searching, but the bottom line is that my kid is amazing in all the ways.
This afternoon, we trekked east on the Mass Pike for Clara’s first check-in at Boston Children’s since her diagnosis in March. I didn’t really know what to expect, mainly because I have been so deeply happy with the progress I’ve been seeing, but I didn’t know if a developmental pediatrician would think similarly. During the drive, I coached Clara on what she would say, reminding her that she could say, “Hi, Doctor Julie!” She repeated it over and over, and genuinely seemed excited to be going to the doctor’s. As we walked down the hall, Clara began to cradle her right arm. A sad and pained expression washed over her face as we entered the office, and with barely a whisper of a greeting, she held her arm up to the doctor. It became immediately clear to me that Clara thought we had driven into Boston so she could have a medical professional examine her bug bite. “Bug bite! It hurts arm. Go to the doctor to fix a bug bite!” she exclaimed, and I burst out in laughter. Without missing a beat, the doctor gently took Clara’s arm in her hands, looked at the bug bite as if it were a genuine injury in need of diagnosing, and reassured Clara that it would be just fine. She told her the bite would be healed if she put a bandaid on it and immediately went to fetch one from the supply closet. Clara watched gleefully as the bandaid (“a big one!”) was applied to her arm, and after she felt that her medical condition had been solved, she moved on to examining all corners of the room.
The rest of the appointment was meaningless for Clara. She was genuinely inconvenienced by the questions and conversation between her parents and the doctor. Her bug bite had been healed, after all, so why were we still there? For me, however, it was beautifully reassuring. Our doctor was also extremely impressed with Clara’s progress, and while there were still a few things that sparked small red flags, overall, Clara’s growth and language acquisition are undeniable. As for the 108? Yeah, she was pretty impressed too. But let’s be honest, who wouldn’t be? At one point, the doctor even exclaimed that Clara isn’t just saying phrases, she speaks in full paragraphs! We made plans for the near future, booked our next follow-up, had our questions addressed, and before we knew it, we were on our way!
As we drove out of the parking garage, Clara exclaimed, “I show a bandaid a big one to Ches!” And with that, we headed for home so she could show Chesie, her beloved black lab, her big, official, hospital bandaid.
