Chapter 5 #2
Dr. Wilde searches the back end of the file. “Aha. Found it.” She spins to face us, her question directed at me. “And do you feel like these accommodations have been helpful?”
“To be honest, I see very little improvement. The tactile accommodations help temporarily, but I’m not sure I see them equating to her long-term success. But again, I’m no doctor.”
For the first time, I don’t feel adequate enough to be the parent sitting here. My schedule is inconsistent, and I hardly know what Addie eats for lunch every day. But I love my daughter, and I believe she’s capable of thriving. I do know that.
I glance at Addie, finding her gap-toothed smile turned up at me, and my heart breaks for my little girl. She’s the brightest light in every room, yet this—this difference she has from other kids—is affecting her ability to do just that.
Be a kid. I want so badly to help her. To see how much she thrives with answers and support.
Adjusting her glasses with a small push, Dr. Wilde tells me with the utmost sincerity, “I understand completely, Mr. Briggs. Since we’re now in the second half of the school year, I was able to review her statewide test from this year to last. Thank you for signing off on your approval, by the way. ”
“Of course.”
She continues, “In a perfect world, we would love to see Queen Adeline’s scores improve with consistent utilization of the given accommodations, but I’m not sure these results are something that I’m comfortable with.
I mean this in terms of sending Addie off to second grade without any hesitation that she won’t regress. ”
I know what she’s insinuating, and I appreciate her choice to filter her words so Addie doesn’t feel out of place. “I understand. We were hopeful the tutoring would help, but I think it’s more than that.”
A soft smile crests her lips. “I think so, too. Can I ask you something, Queen Adeline?”
“Mhm!” Addie answers.
“When you wake up in the morning, which animal does your brain feel like the most? As fast as a cheetah or as slow as a tortoise?”
I’m beginning to realize Dr. Wilde might just be the next best thing. Maybe the exact thing we need.
Her ability to get on Addie’s level is extraordinary. It’s not often I’m impressed by people, but right now, I could have a radiant five-star review drafted in minutes.
Addie doesn’t hesitate. “A cheetah. It goes so, so fast all day long.”
My stomach sinks. There’s nothing worse than hearing the struggle she feels, knowing there’s nothing I can do to fix it for her. I’m her dad. It’s my job. But handing over the reins to someone educated enough to properly help, feels like maybe I still am.
Dr. Wilde stands and walks toward a cabinet behind her, before reaching inside and pulling out a plastic toy cheetah. She hands it to Addie, lighting up as she inspects it. “You know, a cheetah is the world’s fastest animal. They’re strong, agile, and smart.”
“What’s agile mean?” Addie asks, pronouncing it wrong.
“It means they’re quick to think and adapt to things very quickly. Do you ever feel like that sometimes?”
Addie nods fast. “When Mrs. Sheffield makes me take tests. Tests are really hard, and John makes weird farting noises with his chair. One time, I got in trouble because I yelled at him.”
I chuckle. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard that story.”
“I bet that was really hard to focus on your test with John making noises, huh?”
Addie nods repeatedly. “Yeah, it was.”
Dr. Wilde leans forward, putting her eye level with Addie and telling her calmly, “What if I told you there was this thing called ‘smartie beans’ that helps the cheetah in your brain slow down just a bit? Not stop completely, because we know cheetahs need exercise. But they would help you focus. How does something like that sound?”
“That sounds amazing! Daddy, did you hear Dr. Wilde? I get to take smartie beans to help my cheetah focus.”
“I heard her, Doodle,” I say, pulling her small body into my side and facing Dr. Wilde. “Decisions like these are hard, Doc. Not gonna lie, I’m struggling with doing the right thing. Is this the right thing?”
She simply nods. “Totally understandable, and I’d be worried if you weren’t hesitant, especially considering Queen Adeline’s age.
But I’ve been doing this for some time now, and I can tell you with full confidence that watching your child begin to succeed will make all of the worries you once had fade away.
We would start her on the lowest dose possible, and if, in time, you feel that’s enough, then great.
We can stay there. If not, we re-evaluate and increase as necessary.
It’s important for this not to be a crutch, Mr. Briggs, but a tool to help set her up for long-term success.
There are many studied cases where patients stay on them for a few years and slowly wean off.
This doesn’t have to be forever, but the early childhood years are critical, and it’s important we support that growth for her however necessary. ”
I remember six months ago when we tried natural supplements for a few months: fish oil, lion’s mane mushroom, rhodiola root, magnesium glycinate, saffron—too many odd fucking names to count. Addie slept better, but her school performance remained the same.
I know the hyperactivity part of the diagnosis is left out for some children, but not for Adeline Harmony Briggs. The curly-haired queen runs on a one-way track until it’s lights out, and her head hits the pillow.
She sleeps like a brick unless hunger strikes in the middle of the night. Which happens a lot.
I guess this is the option we’re left with in helping her, and knowing Hilary is on board with it gives me more reason to trust Dr. Wilde’s expertise and take the chance. “Alright. We can try it out.”
“Yay! Smartie beans!” Addie jumps for joy.
“Wonderful,” Dr. Wilde proclaims. “I’ve got some forms for you to fill out and sign, Dad.
Let me know if you have any questions. This just basically confirms the diagnosis and gives my staff consent to treat.
Although coming from a teacher referral, I’m sending a form home with you to have her teacher fill out and bring it back to me when we follow up in two weeks. Okay?”
“Sure,” I agree, grabbing the stack of papers.
Dr. Wilde pats the padded table beside her, ready for Addie’s exam, and says, “Hop on up here, little queen. Time to check and see how healthy and strong you are. Being royalty can’t be easy.”
“Not at all!” The drama. “Oh! Can I hear my heartbeat in the long thingy?” Addie sputters off quickly. I’d like to entertain her childlike zeal, but I’m too distracted by the confirmed diagnosis staring back at me, titling the stack of white papers in my hands.
Attention deficit hyperactivity disorder.
Seeing it written doesn’t hurt like I thought it would. Maybe because I know we’re making steps in the right direction. Or maybe it’s because I have a newfound confidence in the professional giving us hands-on support.
Dr. Wilde.
Yeah, that must be it.