Amy Signs: A Mother, Her Daughter, and their Stories

8. Twenty Minutes of Torture

56 8 Twenty Minutes of Torture Rebecca At ten-thirty Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings, Amy has language therapy with Charmaine, the speech and language therapist at Connell School whom I observed through the one-way mirror weeks ago. Today is Friday, Amy’s twelfth session. I thought I’d feel better once Amy started therapy, but I don’t. My life is more complicated and stressful than before. For the past two weeks, when I park in front of Connell and remove Amy from her carseat, she begins to cry and my stomach cramps. I make a conscious effort to relax my clenched teeth. “Here, John.” I hand him a cloth bag filled with small toys and books. “Carry this for Mommy.” He shakes it. “What’s in here?” “I don’t remember.” I placed the items in the bag fifteen minutes ago, but my short-term memory is overloaded. I grab Amy and hurry toward the door. Once inside, I take slower steps as I walk up the ramp so John’s short legs can keep pace with me. Walking up is slow, but John and Amy love going down the slope, which allows them to run faster than they could on flat ground. Shrieks always accompany their tumbling charge, and I worry their screams will disrupt the children in the classrooms or they will fail to make the U-turn and smash into the wall. As we enter the now-familiar therapist’s office, Amy hides behind my skirt. I hear rhythmic sucking sounds and know her fingers are being transformed into shriveled, wet digits. I make no effort to Amy Signs Main Pgs 1-320.indd 56 6/27/2012 10:37:41 AM Twenty Minutes of Torture 57 stop her finger-sucking; this is the least of my worries. Amy avoids Charmaine’s outstretched hand. My eyes brim with tears as Amy pulls several tissues from a box and follows Charmaine down the hall for language therapy. I know Amy will return in twenty minutes, and the therapy is necessary, but Amy doesn’t. Explaining this separation to a sixteenmonth -old hearing child would be difficult; to a deaf child it’s impossible . After Charmaine and Amy are in the therapy room, John and I enter the observation room.Two speakers fill the room with Amy’s cries. Piping in sound from the therapy room isn’t necessary; I see her distress through the one-way mirror and hear her gut-wrenching cries through the glass. I stare at my reflection in the glass and tell myself, I am doing the right thing. I am doing the right thing. But, if this is the right thing, why does it hurt so much? I am doing the right thing. “Why is Amy crying?” John asks. “She . . . she’s unhappy.” John presses his nose against the mirror.“Why? They have lots of toys. Why doesn’t Amy play with the toys? Huh, why?” John prefaces many of his questions with “why.”Usually I have an answer for his “why”questions, but when his questions concern Amy, I have too many “why” questions of my own to give him reasonable answers. “I don’t think she notices the toys, John.” “Why not?” “Because she’s too busy crying.” “Why?” “Because she doesn’t like being away from me.” “Why?” “Children like to be with their mommy or daddy, don’t you?” “Yeah, but why?” My only hope to stop the incessant questions is to change the subject or to ignore them. I choose the latter and feel guilty, but John does not notice. He changes the subject. “Amy goes to school so she can learn to talk, right?” John repeats what he’s heard me tell him numerous times. “Yes.”I wonder if that will ever happen. I open the book Goldilocks and the Three Bears. “Come away from the window, John, and sit by me.” Amy Signs Main Pgs 1-320.indd 57 6/27/2012 10:37:41 AM 58 Amy Signs He climbs upon a chair and I read,“Once upon a time . . .”I enjoy giving each character a distinct voice, but today I read with little expression. “Wait, Mommy. That’s not how the Papa Bears talks.” “What?” My attention is focused on Amy’s mournful cries. “He sounds like this.” John lowers his voice. “Who’s been sitting in my chair...