Marti Leimbach
Blog
Books
The Man from Saigon
Daniel Isn't Talking
Dying Young
Sun Dial Street
Love And Houses
Falling Backwards

 
 
The Great School Escape
 
Out there in the world are these incredibly enlightened people who see something I don’t about the merits of being a parent to a child with special needs. I mean, all of us with SN kids LOVE the kids. Even I, who complain at length publicly about the trials of having a child with autism, would rather be with him (and my other child) than with anyone else in the world. That’s just how it is. But I’ve never thought an SN mother has any distinct advantages over a non-SN mother, until Friday of last week when the heavens opened, flooding great expanses of England in an almost unprecedented manner.

The day started all right. There was a little rain as I took Nick to school. No big deal; I parked in the usual place, walked the dog, told Nick I’d get him at the end of the day. However, as the morning continued and the rain increased, I became very uneasy.

I don’t know, maybe I’m just more wary, seeing in the smallest inconvenience the potential for unexpected catastrophes. Maybe after so many years of things going terribly, often catastrophically wrong, I can sniff out potential disaster. Whatever it was, I didn’t like how much rain was coming down. So I phoned the school and explained my concerns. I thought I better drive over and get Nicholas. After all, it looked like we were in for some floods.

They told me not to worry. It was fine. No need to pick Nicholas up. There was a lot rain but they were sure – yes, absolutely sure – that everything was all right.

The school is just over five miles from my house. I thought, Oh well, they say it’s safe, so it must be. Then I thought of all those other marvelous reassuring words I’ve had from authorities. Like, “He’s just a slow talker” or “There’s nothing wrong with this child.” Or “It’s only a virus. If he had appendicitis, he’d be screaming louder.” Or, my favorite one, “This reaction to the vaccinations is not worth worrying about.”

Right, so, they told me the rain was nothing to be concerned about and it suddenly seemed to me that the ease and comfort with which they made such an assurance was itself probably enough reason to go get the child. I phoned them and told them I was on my way.

Which I was, or tried to be. I got in the car and went down the road about a quarter of a mile before I saw such a flood that I dared not cross it. A tractor coming the opposite way kicked up water so high it went over the tractor wheels. The driver, a young guy I know well, said, “Uh, you better turn back, I think, ‘cos like there’s an even bigger flood at the bottom.”

So I turned around, went back to the house and got out my three and a half ton truck (you thought I was going to say I gave up….are you kidding? Leave him at the school with people so casual about his welfare that they saw no reason I should come and get him even though the tractor man was worried?).

My truck isn’t really a truck. It’s a horsebox, but nevermind. It has bigger wheels and the engine is high up. I went a different route to the school and it was very, very harrowing. I actually worried I was going to have to abandon the truck at any moment as the water was so deep and the debris in the road so unpredictable (stones, branches, garbage) that I considered I would probably get a flat tire before the day was through. I pulled into the school parking lot, ran to Reception, and the staff looked at me like I was completely crazy to be taking Nick home.

“It’s just a little water,” one said.

“I’m sure we’d have heard if there were any real dangers,” said another.

We aimed for home as quickly as I could bundle Nick into the truck. I brought spare coats and bottled water, a phone and a flare that I don’t know how to use. We splashed through rivers that had been country lanes only a few hours previously, coming at one point to a place so deep I thought we’d never make it and I had to drive up on the sidewalk, on the wrong side of the road. For miles I drove into and out of tea-colored water so high that even my truck complained.

You might think this was all a great adventure, but really it was plain scary. I hated it. I am still kind of recovering from it. I didn't like being in the position of having to scare myself in order to satisfy the other part of my fear, which is to have a child someplace else during a crisis. The hardest part was being jolly for Nick so he saw it nothing to worry about. In fact, he loved it.

The staff at the school – the ones who behaved as though I were nuts to pick him up early -- must have had a quick change of mind when they discovered they couldn't get home, themselves. I heard this morning that one of the teacher's lost her car. It floated across a field.

So, yes, I think if you are an SN mother you are more alert to danger. You are more independently minded. You’ve long since given up caring what other people think of you. You are going to go get that child. You are going to take whatever risks you have to take. And you are not going to leave him at the mercy of people who do not understand the nature of tragedy – that it happens suddenly, unpredictably. Everything is always just fine, until it isn’t.

We got home safely. We had a lovely afternoon. A few hours later, at a primary school three miles from my house, they evacuated children out the windows into life rafts. The parents were unable to get their children at all as the village was completely isolated. I wonder what reassuring words they had for the children and parents in that situation? Just a bit of water? Everyone tells us how great the rescue teams were (and I agree) but nobody is mentioning the negligence of the schools themselves, who not only failed to alert parents to the fact they needed to come and get their children, but who discouraged those of us who went ahead and got the children anyway.

It’s a phone text, an email. I get them from the school all the time over small matters. But what about big floods? Oh well, that’s nothing to be concerned about.
 
Monday, July 23, 2007 | 19:24:47
Comment by Sylvia Willett
 
Always, always, always trust your "gut" instinct. I have found this to be so very true even though it took me many years to to do so. So I say, "Right on, Marti"! I also say, "Write on, Marti". . . . from one of your admirers in Tucson, Arizona where it is also raining!
 
Tuesday, July 24, 2007 | 00:48:09
Comment by
 
Thanks so much for that, Sylvia -- I am writing another book, but it takes so loooong. By the way, we are preparing for yet more rain at the end of the week. We''ve got something like 10,000 people evacuated from their homes at the moment. About a quarter of a million no longer have running water. It''s a disaster. But luckily our particular house is okay (so far). I don''t think you can even buy sandbags anymore but you can bet I''ll be buying them up for the next time this happens. Okay, okay, maybe I''ll have a lot of useless sandbags sitting around for decades but I''m willing to risk it! Marti
 
Tuesday, July 24, 2007 | 19:51:28
Comment by Sylvia Willett
 
Having lived in the state of Washington for many years before moving here to Tucson, I can understand how serious the flooding is for you all. Even here in Tucson there is what is known as the "Monsoon" season. July and August are the heaviest rains here and it comes in buckets! One does not want to be in a low spot when it starts. Everyone is advised to get things done in the morning and head for home! But that long, drawn out rain, rain, and more rain is a disaster. You are all in my thoughts and prayers. Buy those sandbags when you can, Marti . . . if nothing else the children will have fun making "forts" with them! :-) My husband and I will be in England and Scotland from September 20th through October 11th! We are hoping for good weather. It is our first trip "abroad". I am getting so excited about it. Take care and stay dry. Oh, and I don't know how in the world you authors can write such wonderful books. I LOVE to read. Have all my life . . . but still cannot figure out how you do it! Again, with admiration, Sylvia
 
Sunday, July 29, 2007 | 16:38:53
Comment by Kathleen
 
Marti- I started your book yesterday and am 3/4 of the way through it.
Came across your blog when i was looking to see what else you have
written. I live in an old neighborhood just North of Seattle and, like
Sylvia says, flooding can be an annual event in many places here.
(Although an earthquake is more likely near us, since we are on a hill.}
I took a class this summer at Mt. Rainier called "Living at the Foot of
a Volcano" - I am a junior high science teacher - and learned about a
new technology called "reverse 911" that I think should be implemented
in as many places as possible. The system uses the emergency telephone
system to make automated calls to areas in danger for whatever reason,
flood, tsunami, loose gunman, etc., and to warn or give instructions to
everyone who is on the 911 system. (Is it 999 in England? I can''t
remember!) A person can look at a computer screen map, draw lines,
record a message and send it out to all homes and businesses in that
area in a few minutes. Not a bad idea! As a teacher I can''t imagine 860
families calling our school office after a major disaster and wondering
if their kids are in danger. We practice keeping kids safe during a
disaster but not what to do after it happens! Kathleen
 
Sunday, August 05, 2007 | 23:18:19
Add Comment
Name
Email (will not be displayed)
URL
Comments
 
Verify
 
 

Please enter the code you see above into the box below (making sure that letters are entered in lower case or upper case just as you see them) before you press the submit button. This helps to distinguish legitimate comments from spam. If you enter an incorrect code you may lose your comment and need to write it again.

 
 
Thank You.
 
Back to the top

 
    web design london : pedalo limited