I'm an Aware Parent and I Missed This

“Come on, honey, we’ve got to leave for school now. ” It’s 8:00 a.m. and my middle son is dragging his feet again. He is always like this before school.

“I don’t feel good. I don’t know what’s wrong again, but I feel sick.” His eyes look into mine, and he seems baffled. It’s been ten days now that he’s complained, always a sudden onset in the morning right before school starts. I know I sometimes feel that way in the morning, so I try to fix him by suggesting another piece of toast. He was doing fine up until the time that I announced it was time to leave for school.

“Are you the same kind of sick?” I wonder, maybe nausea from the morning vitamin? “You missed all last week already, I don’t want you to have to make up more work.” I think how all the extra work will just make him fall more behind. I watch my 10 year old son up and run to the bathroom, where he vomits. He’s been vomiting for 15 days.

“Honey, you have to stay home again. You can’t go like this. I’ll call the doctor, and we’ll go in again.”

I’m stumped. This will be our third visit to the doctor this month, and it probably is a long standing flu. One without a fever and no aches or pains, but more than likely, a persistent bug.

I call and get an appointment for mid morning. We head to the clinic and the doctor sees us again for the third time in three weeks. But, this time, he asks me to wait outside his examination office so he can talk to my son alone. Now I’m the one that feels sick. What does the doctor sense that I’ve missed? My reaction is to ask why, but my son seems tense enough as it is. I know I’ll be right outside the door, if he needs me. I’ve never been asked to leave the office before, and it’s uncomfortable. I stand outside the door, worrying, perhaps a medical work ups need to be done, maybe blood work? I wait to find out while chewing on my fingernail.

The doctor opens the exam room door and asks me to come in. My son is sitting up on the examining table, looking down at his feet. My heart pounds. I can feel it in the air, they’ve talked about something. I feel light headed. My son has a funny look on his face, one I haven’t seen before, and I don’t like not recognizing it.

The doctor begins his discussion. I focus, h*** o* his face, so I can hear everything. He says, “Your son is under a great deal of stress,” I have to interrupt, “From me? What did I do? I’m sorry, what was I doing? Why didn’t you tell me, honey. Is it too hard to do your laundry alone? I can help…”

The doctor stops me, and asks quietly, to finish. “No, no, it’s not home. It’s a situation at school.” I breathe in hard. He turns to my son, “Why don’t you tell your mother what you told me.”

I hear a shrill buzz in my ears, and I am so afraid of what he is going to say. I feel queasy and hot.I put my hand over my mouth, and my son keeps looking down. He begins in a small voice, crackling from the weight of the position he’s in, “I don’t know why I get sick when it’s time to go to school.”

The doctor encourages him, “Go on…”

My son still doesn’t look up, “I just don’t want to go to school anymore. Not there.”

His doctor takes over, kindness in his voice, “Your son is getting teased daily. Some of it is bullying. I’m going to tell you something right now. He needs to be kept home for awhile until things settle down.”

I begin to cry. Hard, and a lot. I know a lot of things about myself and one thing I’ve always been sure of is what is happening in my children’s lives. But this? How could I have missed this? I am an aware mother. An aware mother. I keep repeating that in my head. I am an aware mother.

I fall into the chair behind me in disbelief.

Now, of course, I see it. The vomiting at the mention of school, the excuses to get picked up at noon with a stomachache, the full lunches coming home, never any food eaten. The weight loss I had been noticing. The quiet rides to and from school, without conversation. Never a birthday party invitation in the almost two years at the school. The standing alone at the playground at recess time when I’d pop in for a visit. The angry outbursts at home, along with the short fuse. The waking up at 3 a.m. telling me he just didn’t want to sleep anymore. All of these thoughts fill my head within seconds.

How could I not have known? How could I have not seen this and put the pieces together? How? I think because no one expects their child to be bullied.

We left the doctor’s office, some names in my hand that he had written on a slip of paper for further help if I needed. We went home, we rested. And I pulled him out of school that afternoon. We began homeschooling after a week of field trips, playing, quiet time and peace. We homeschooled for the rest of the year. He did well, and gained back six pounds within two months. He ate entire breakfasts, full lunches, and asked for dinner early. His vomiting immediately stopped. His insomnia, disappeared.

When I called the parents in the classroom to find out what they knew, most told me that their children had told them that my son was being bullied daily. Daily. It was hard not to burst into tears with every phone call where I heard that word. Why hadn’t anyone told me? Why hadn’t he told me?

He was taunted for his name, it’s unusual in the culture here. He was taunted for his ways. He is a quiet child, who does not participate in sports to the degree of other boys his age. He was taunted for being unusual, and not like the rest of the kids. He was taunted because he was different.

This happened seven years ago, and our son is completely healed now. He is doing so very well, and has found a group of friends who enjoy his company. He tells me often how much he likes his life.He’s forgotten what happened. I don’t like to bring it up, or talk about it. But I know, I still have to. Because I still think about it when I see the kids who were in his class at the time, in our small town, and their parents.

Seven years later, I remain grateful for an astute physician who recognized what I didn’t. I’ve had to forgive myself for that. I’m grateful I was able to keep him home, and be here to teach him. I’m grateful that this story has a happy ending.

But it makes me think what of a family, where a parent is not able to keep the child home and remove him from the caustic environment of bullying? What if there is no doctor to see what a parent misses? What if the bullying had been physical and he had been injured? What if the bullying had become something other than what we had? What if the bullying had been something that he could not have worked his way out of, the way we were able to? We had access to exceptional health care, we had access to my having a free schedule to be home. We are fortunate.

These are critical questions to ask. And both sides need to be involved; the ones being bullied, and the ones doing the bullying. We need to recognize the signs of being bullied and parents need to ask their children, “Are YOU doing any bullying?”

Bullying has to be talked about. I never thought to ask my son, “Are you okay at school?” Bullying can happen to any child, to any family – even when you think you would not be a target. Everyone is equally able to be a target and everyone is just as able to do the bullying.

Your child could be bullied, or be a bully. We need to ask both sides the questions now.

October is Bully Prevention Awarness Month. For more information visit www.stopbullying.gov.

Alexandra Rosas is a national storyteller and mother of three. She lives in a small town where she tries hard to go unnoticed. She fails miserably. You can follow her on Twitter or keep up with her blog, Good Day, Regular People.