Yesterday we had our final meeting of the year with my son's teacher, the Special Ed Coordinator, and the Principal. The goal of the meeting was to set up a 504 Plan, something his ADHD diagnosis makes possible. The Plan lists a series of accommodations the school and his teachers must take into account while educating our boy. Some of these accommodations are very minor. For instance, the first thing listed is that he should be seated in the front of the classroom near the teacher. More aggressive accommodations are that he's given extra time on writing assignments, as well as opportunities to re-do his homework if necessary. Weekly communication is supposed to occur between the teachers and me and/or my husband. A checklist is supposed to be put in his locker to help him remember to grab his homework. Nothing too taxing for him or the teachers, in my opinion.
The highlight of the meeting was the fact that no one uttered one word about retention. They plan on passing him into Fifth Grade! I'm so relieved. Even though he's only had two D+ this year, there had been talk. Apparently, his efforts during the last marking period and his test scores have shown enough growth that his teacher actually thinks he'd be bored having to repeat the Fourth Grade. Not to mention his grades as of yesterday were all Bs and Cs. I am so proud of him for that!
So the meeting went well. One less thing to worry about...for a few months at least.
This left only one major concern. Our dog. She's 13-years-old and getting rather lumpy. When she developed diarrhea I didn't think much of it. No, I didn't worry until I was cleaning up mess #6 or #7 and noticed that the fecal matter was surrounded by what appeared to be blood. Considering her lumpiness, her age, and recent behavioral changes, my husband and I feared the worse. Cancer.
While we were at the meeting we had left her chained up to the front porch of our house. Sorry, but I couldn't handle cleaning up doggy-do off the carpet one more time. Just. Could. Not. Do. It.
As soon as the school meeting adjourned, we took the dog into the vet. I have to admit I cried a bit. I was so worried they were going to say it was cancer and that we'd have to put her down. Even though she annoys the bloody blazes out of me on a daily basis, she's still my dog. We've had her almost as long as we've been married. She was here before the baby-bug hit. We've lost her to a tornado and managed to bring her home after a week's worth of searching. She's been our pain-in-the-ass and our best friend.
So. I got a bit teary-eyed at the thought of leaving the vet's office without her. Can you blame me?
I think my hubby might have gotten teary-eyed over the $189 we spent on an office visit, lab work, and medicine. Apparently our lovely little mutt ate something that attacked her intestines - some kind of bacteria he kept saying too fast for me or the hubby to decipher. What we did catch is that she might have picked something up in the swamps around our house, by eating a dead carcass, or during some other outdoor adventure. He gave her five shots and four different medicines for home. As long as the medicine works, she should be back to normal within a week. Maybe less.
I'm so grateful for both outcomes. Things could have gone much worse.