Progress Report

You know how it is when you move, even if it's just from one office to another right down the hall- you do some purging.  I went through all my "stuff" in my desk the other day between moves.  I had a few personal things crammed in with the rest- a Mother's day card Jake made in first grade, a picture here or there, and in with my TB card, I stumbled on one of Cory's progress reports.

Ever since Cory started school, she made excellent grades, and didn't even have to work up a sweat to do it.  She had a beautiful mind to match her beautiful smile, and was one of those students that had their poor mother in tears at their conference...not over academic struggles or behavior, but just due to the swelling pride that had to leak out somewhere or you would bust open right on the spot.

The semester she (I'm not sure what you call it) had her psychotic break, her grades went from straight A's to failing every subject with terrifying speed.  When meeting with school officials to try to get her evaluated as we discovered what was going on- you could look at her school record and pinpoint when the subtle symptoms that could be confused with the rollercoaster of adolescence threw their masks to the side, one after another, and stood still long enough to be recognized for what they really were.

That was the point my girl had to try harder than she ever had in her life to learn, to produce, to keep up, and earn her grades. 

The rug had been pulled out from under her with no warning, and you could see the terror in her eyes as she lost that "student" part of her identity.  It just slipped away, covered up with voices, delusions, fear, and anxiety.  You cannot learn if you don't feel safe.  That is a fact.  Here's another:  Cory felt safe only intermittently for three years.  Who cares about algebra when you think someone is hunting you down to do you harm?

So, her progress report?  Yeah, it wasn't from Battle Creek Public Schools.  No, she was dealing with much bigger things by that point.  This progress report was called "Levels of Recovery From Psychotic Illnesses".  When her illness was at its worst, I had highlighted where she was in yellow.  After the ECT treatment, I went back through and highlighted in pink.  She had hills and valleys, still, but by the time of the accident she had jumped two columns in most areas, going from "severely impaired" to "normalized activity". 

Normalized activity...such beautiful, beautiful words for my girl.  She did that. 

We did that.  Together.  I have never been prouder.  I think I might frame it and hang it up with some of her art.  It was an accomplishment some people never have to make, and others cannot make, even over their whole lives, a lot of which last longer than a mere nineteen years.