My son was 13 when he was diagnosed with a chronic disease. We almost didn’t want to tell his school, because we knew we’d get a chronic response. But – before we get too far – let me say a) his diagnosis is comparatively mild; b) his school has much improved by now; and c) there’s so much more to tell (but I’m saving that for the health care issue).
At school, we noticed that our son was indeed becoming more and more miserable. We’d met with various mentors, trying to find an explanation. And finally we had one! A chronic disease. Effectively we’d branded him with a scarlet letter P for ‘Problem Child,’ aka probleemkind.
The school replied with an epic game of Pass the Buck. One mentor said he was too busy to handle our son’s case. The other mentor was now not really his mentor. We asked to talk to the principal, de Directeur. Since she was new on the job and still learning her way, we were shunted over to the Assistant Directeur, who was also new. Only months later did we finally make contact with the School Nurse schoolarts. As parents, we were now developing a case of chronic depression.
