Dreams and Denial: Meet the Student, Part 1

Meet Laura Fazio Series

When it was time for Laura to leave elementary school, Paul and I scheduled a meeting with the assistant superintendent of Braintree Public schools to plead our case for Laura to attend a small private school, rather than the designated South Middle School. Concerned for Laura on many levels, we made a proposal for Laura to attend the Montessori School in Scituate, and for the school system to pay for this instead of accommodating her in the public school. I felt strongly about proposing this to the school, since her special education teacher and cardiologist agreed that it was a great idea. South Middle School was a big school, with expansive long corridors, double staircases and no elevator. At South, it would be absolutely necessary for Laura to be wheeled from class to class by a paraprofessional. The school might even have to put in a chair lift or find another way to bring second floor learning to Laura on the first floor.  All these accommodations would be expensive for the town, so in our minds, the cost of tuition for a private school might actually be an appealing alternative for the school budget.  

We came together to meet with the assistant superintendent, the director of special education, and Laura’s elementary education team. Paul and I came to the meeting equipped with a doctor's letter from our cardiologist that summarized Laura’s current medical status, ending with a recommendation that Laura might be safer, more comfortable, and better able to navigate a small school setting. I presented the argument that Montessori’s smaller, more manageable building, with less students, and more individualized attention would enable Laura to thrive better than in a bigger school setting. Coming from a small and easy to navigate ranch style elementary school, Laura was not enthusiastic about attending South, both intimidated by the huge building and worried about all of the physical and academic accommodations she would need. Montessori was also appealing since it was known for catering to a student’s own creative ideas, which was what Laura was all about. 

I attended a Montessori school for a few years when I was a student. My good memories of the experience made me imagine Laura there, using her creativity more, mostly “wheelchair free,” walking happily around the classroom and getting to and from a nearby bathroom without the need of a para professional escorting her. Laura was older and more aware of her health condition and differences.  We hoped that a small school setting would help Laura’s disabilities become less glaringly obvious to both herself and to others, without the constant reminders.  Laura could blend in better with the other children at Montessori. This appealed to Laura, a pre-teen who craved independence and normalcy.  Small classes, more individual attention, creative projects, and less hovering felt perfect for Laura. We imagined Laura getting to be more of herself, more of a person and less of a patient if she went to Montessori instead of South Middle School. Even though Paul was less sure that Montessori was the best solution, he supported my idea, saying  I was usually right when it came to anything Laura. After several meetings, cost analysis, and the good hearted and compassionate efforts of the team, the superintendent’s office at the Braintree school system agreed to flip the bill and pay for this special ed student to attend an alternate learning environment. 

In September, Laura entered the sixth grade at the Montessori school. We ventured forth with positive outlooks and expectations of success. At first it all felt wonderful. The teachers accepted Laura with open arms and set out to make this work. Laura was enjoying her new school. Seasoned Montessori children in her mixed grade level classroom were welcoming and friendly. Laura felt  like any other kid in the class for the most part, except for when she needed to occasionally be pushed in a wheelchair across the campus lawn to the music, art and theatre classes that were housed in separate buildings. Laura said school almost felt like being home, since she got to sit on the rug to do work, and they had family style lunches together in the classroom. Laura had extra blocks of time to work on her own creative writing projects. Once the school learned of her singing and acting talents, Laura was cast as Mrs. Cratchit in the school play, A Christmas Carol.

The trouble began within the first few weeks of September, when I was called into school for a meeting after pick up time. I was told that Laura would stay in class with her teacher.  As I drove the long distance from Newton to Scituate, I wondered what the meeting was about. There had been no heads up. I thought back to our acceptance meeting after the leadership team reviewed Laura’s medical letters and school records, recalling the staff’s enthusiasm to take on the challenge of Laura. When I arrived at the school, the principal, school nurse, and psychologist were sitting at a table in the office waiting for me. Their somber faces made me worried.  I quickly asked if Laura was okay. The principal reassured me that Laura was fine, and went on to say how much they all enjoyed her. Then she got to the reason for calling this meeting. 

“ We want to let you know that we all have concerns about what might happen with Laura when the nurse is absent or goes to a planned conference for a few days, which is about to come up actually.” 

“What do you mean by this?”  I piped in right away, impatient for her to get to the point.

“We don’t think Laura should come to school when the nurse is absent. We will call you early on those mornings to let you know, or give advance notice whenever we can. Obviously, you must realize that a nurse needs to be in the building whenever Laura is here… due to her medical condition.”

Shocked, I sat silent and speechless, something that hardly ever happens with me. I saw a sheet of paper being pushed toward me across the table. I immediately noticed the signature line at the bottom of the page, then looked up to the top to read it though. It was essentially a contract for me to sign that showed I agreed to this arrangement. I gathered my thoughts and looked up at the team. 

“ I understand that it’s unusual for you to have a student with a heart condition at your school. But as I told you before, we have never had any emergencies in her last school or recently at the summer acting camp. That's a lot of years without emergencies.  It’s very unlikely that anything will happen at school. We have only had emergencies at night.” 

“But something could very well happen, and the school nurse is the only one here equipped to handle this,”  the principal counter stated.  

It suddenly became clear to me what was going on here. While Laura was happily settling into a routine, the school officials were freaking out. Reality had hit them hard.

 I offered a solution.  “How about if I contact the cardiologist and ask her to call you and reassure you, or I can ask her for another letter. Would that work?” Visibly upset, my words became choppy as I desperately tried to temper the situation.

“ We have already made the decision that this is the best way to keep your daughter safe at school. That’s our main goal here,” the principal stated. 

As a quick thinker, something inside of me clicked. My thoughts went to my own experiences at Solomon Schechter, the school I had been teaching at for 3 years. 

“ I teach at a private school. We have children with asthma and other medical conditions, and those students come to school when the nurse is absent. I am sure of it. Asthmatic children and kids with bee sting or peanut allergies are at risk for life threatening situations. Don’t you have children with asthma and allergies here at school? Do those children stay home when the nurse is absent?”

“Well yes, we do, and no they do not stay home, but clearly this is different. Your daughter is in another category, she has a serious heart condition,” the nurse added, speaking for the first time.
“ I don’t see it as different.  And what about Laura? How is she going to feel when she is told she can’t come to school when the nurse is absent. What kind of message is that going to send to her? The main reason we wanted Laura to attend this school is so she could be more herself and not feel like a patient. This will do the opposite and she will feel even more different, and more fragile when she is left out and can’t go to school and misses, let’s say music class or whatever is scheduled that day.”  

The room was quiet as I continued to plead my case. I went on to tell the group that I understood this was scary for them, that it's not something they live with every day like we do.  I told them I would take the contract home and think it over, even though I knew in my heart I would never sign it.

“ Okay, let me go home, speak with my husband and work with Laura’s doctor to see if there is a better solution, one that works well for both Laura and the school.”

  We parted in what may have seemed like good terms, but my blood was boiling. I was angry. I felt like I was punched in the gut. Our dream school was turning out to be just that, only a dream and maybe even a nightmare.

After I shared the document with Paul and he said he felt as I did, we both sat there deeply saddened that this was happening. The next day I decided to consult with my own school’s principal. She encouraged me to not give up, and find another way to make it work. She agreed with me, saying to absolutely not sign this contract.  I called  Dr. Mary, Laura’s cardiologist to discuss the situation. We tried to come up with a plan of action for me to propose to the school. Then she thought of something. 

“Wait a minute, don’t you have some kind of a relationship in your own town with the police department or the fire department since you have called an ambulance for Laura a few times in the middle of the night?” Mary asked. 

“I don’t know. I can call them and find out. So what are you proposing?” I inquired, anxious to see where this was going. 

“You can make that same arrangement in the town where the school is located, and I can write a letter if you get me the information as to who where to send it.”

“Oh my God, what a great idea. What will the letter say?” I was feeling some relief.

“I will explain Laura’s medical condition and give them my direct page number. I will also write a letter to the school asking them to keep Laura in school on the days the nurse is absent, suggesting that they call an ambulance if they have any concerns, even if she just has a headache.  This should help the situation. You can get in touch with the Scituate Police Department yourself. Some families provide photos so they can have it up on an alert board, so they are prepared.”

I was blown away by the idea. It sounded like it could actually work. I thanked her and called the Braintree Police Department, and sure enough they actually did have a photo of Laura and a quick summary on the wall in both the police and fire departments. Someone in the Braintree school system had provided a photo to them when Laura was in elementary school. Paul and I had no prior knowledge of these safety measures, but were glad to find this out. I made the phone calls and all the arrangements with the Scituate authorities and then returned to Montessori within a few days with my proposal.  I told them that a policeman would come by the school to pick up a few photos, and reassure the staff that they were only minutes away if there was an emergency. The principal accepted the plan. Finally I could breathe a sigh of relief.

  When I returned home, I tore up the contract and threw it away. Paul and I realized how naive we had been to the fears and realities private schools faced when accommodating students with medical issues. Somehow this Montessori experience plunged us back into our own fears, of our hardcore reality, one we had tried to push aside. This whole situation brought home the direness of our lives, just the opposite of what we hoped for as we tried so hard to live in some degree of normal, laced with a bit of denial most of the time. We chose not to tell Laura about the school's desire to keep her home when the nurse was absent. It would have broken her heart. Even though we couldn’t have this, we were determined to at least let Laura live with a bit of carefree denial and enjoy her new school.