Monday, September 10, 2012

One or the other.

I just feel like it's a never ending cycle.
Master S was referred to Speech Therapy in 2010. A hearing test was required. We had endless drama, hearing tests, referrals being lost, waiting lists, appointments demanding more referrals, more referrals being lost, phone calls, phone calls, phone calls, until finally, he got his grommets.

Things have improved ten fold since he's had them, but we've been advised he'll still need Speech Therapy to get him to where he needs to be.

So we're back to where we've started. Haven't heard anything from Speech Pathology since they told me he needed a hearing test and I gave them the results of the hearing test, so I decided, after yet ANOTHER updated referral had been faxed through, while I watched and got another three copies printed out, just in case it got lost between one fax machine to another, I'd give them a call.

So I did.
And I'm pissed off.

I was listening ever so patiently while I heard some dip shit, who had to have Master S' full name spelled to him three times, going through what sounded like a never ending filing cabinet before he finally found, not one, but TWO referrals, one from July 2010, and one from June, 2012, sitting there.

He then went on to ask if I'd received a phone call to move his application to the 'next level'. Next level being NOT IN A FUCKING FILING CABINET.

No, I hadn't. Hence my call.

So after unsuccessfully trying to brush me off the phone by warning me that it could take a while to go over his application with me, in order to get him to the next level, while I assured him several times that I have all the time in the world to go through the process.

Dip Shit: 'Has he had a hearing test?'
Me: 'Yes. In fact, he's had four, and he's had grommets inserted in the time we've been waiting!'
*It suddenly dawns on Dip Shit that I'm not just another mother who thinks their child should be pushed through regardless of the fact they've waited three weeks. Dip Shit is surprised at the fact he is a dip shit, and Master S isn't just another name in a filing cabinet. He is a child. With a mother. A mother who isn't going to accept his dip shit excuses for why her son has been waiting so long*

And it's done.
He's now level two.

Which means I'll receive a phone call when a spot becomes available.

Or so he thinks.

He'll be receiving another phone call in two weeks, just like I promised, because of the 44 children on the Speech Therapy waiting list, I can guarantee no-one has been on it as long as Master S has.

I can, also, guarantee no-one has a mother who will do nothing but pester them until she's blue in the face & something is done.

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