On Monday P had his first appointment with a psychologist for counseling. I was dreading it - I felt like I was receiving a prognosis more than a diagnosis. Was this the start of a new label, and a new journey with years of counseling, medication, and hospitalization, like my sister? Or would it head off half a lifetime of self-doubt and worry, like I experienced before I went into therapy?
Actually, as it turns out, neither was true. After the psychologist talked to P she turned to me and said, "Well, if you choose to go ahead, I think we could do this in six, maybe seven sessions." I'm pretty sure my jaw dropped and while I wish I had said something along the lines of, "Well, I appreciate your ambitious timeline and would love to see the change you can make for my son," I'm pretty sure I just blurted out, "Sounds awesome."
I did manage to keep, "You're either very, very good or very, very optimistic" in my head, so points to me for that.
With the spacing of sessions "six or seven sessions" will actually take about five months. P would be wrapping up his therapy right around the time his class takes their huge multi-day field trip, which would be about perfect.
So, we'll go forward with the plan. P had a meltdown at school yesterday and I wished fervently that his next appointment was next week and not two weeks from now, but I'll take what I can get. As much as I love the professionals that I've come to see as P's "team" - his pediatrician, the OTs who work with him in the hospital and at school, teachers he's particularly loved - and would be happy to add another caring adult to his roster, I just want this done with. I want him to be better.