This is the true story of a boy I'll call "Sam". Sam has a speech problem. On good days he can put some words together in a way his parents understand. On bad days he chatters away and no one can understand a word. On worse days he clams up altogether. He is 13 years old, writes Heather Ingham
When Sam was about 18 months old his parents began to be uneasy about his language development. They contacted the health service (this was in England), a health visitor came round, and they were slotted into a system which gave Sam occupational therapy, a psychological assessment, a place in a nursery school and speech therapy once a week. It should have been daily. Sam was a happy, cheerful child, though shy of putting himself forward in a group.
At the age of four-and-a-half Sam entered mainstream primary school. He now had weekly speech therapy in school. It should have been daily. He was a happy, cheerful child who got invited to a lot of parties. By this time Sam could say "b'oo" (blue) and, on a good day, "chuss" (juice). Mostly he just pointed.
Resource teacher
As Sam grew older his lack of speech affected his progress with reading and writing. He was given a part-time resource teacher to help him in the classroom. His parents helped him at home with the work he hadn't been able to finish in class. Fortunately Sam's was one of the few schools in England that surreptitiously defied government orders and taught reading using synthetic phonics, a system that has been shown to work well with dyslexics and dyspraxics.
Sam's reading abilities shot ahead. By this time he was attending a special language unit twice a week for speech therapy. It should have been daily. This was an exhausting time for him. Missing two afternoons of school because he was at the language unit meant he had even more work to catch up on at home. He remained a remarkably cheerful child, though understandably frustrated at times. Who wouldn't be in a world that takes speech for granted?
When Sam was nine, the other children started to mind his difference. Party invitations dropped off. The best friend he'd had since nursery drifted away, perhaps embarrassed by the strange sounds that came out of Sam's mouth instead of words. By this time Sam could pronounce about 10 words that were intelligible to his parents, his younger brother and his resource teacher. No one else, not grandparents, not his class teacher, could understand a thing he was saying. It was suggested he learn sign language. His parents and his resource teacher attended classes. They learned Makaton, then moved on to Paget-Gorman. Eventually the work Sam was doing at school became too complex for his sign language. Besides which, no one outside his family and his teacher understood the signs. For a while he had a machine that talked for him but it was a heavy, bulky thing which took up too much room in class and "spoke" in a grown-up American accent which made the other children laugh.
Sam was entered for the Scholastic Aptitude Tests (SAT) that the British government sets such store by. The pressure was on. He had to leave the language unit. He was back to weekly speech therapy which his resource teacher tried valiantly to follow up in the 10-minute gaps left available from the National Curriculum.
Playtime torment
Sam often found himself staying in at break to do his exercises. Not that he altogether minded. Playtime was becoming a bit of a torment. The other children wouldn't let him join in their games because he slowed them up. The head teacher explained that children between the ages of 9 and 11 go through a stage of noticing difference and shunning it. Sam and Sam's parents would just have to live through it.
It would be untrue to say that Sam was still a cheerful child. When he came home from school, he would run upstairs and slam his door. This was a bad time for Sam and his parents, who couldn't believe that their happy child could have turned into one so sullen and withdrawn. They thought he was going through adolescence early.
When Sam was 11, the family moved to Ireland. Sam landed on his feet. He attended a special language unit run by a devoted teacher wonderfully skilled in dealing with children with language problems. There are 45 such units in the country. Many of them are currently unstaffed. Sam became a happy, cheerful child again. He found friends. He had daily speech therapy. It's easy to undervalue the work of speech therapists. It consists of the patient, daily repetition of often mind-bogglingly dull exercises, but it can make all the difference to someone's life, as Sam's parents can testify. After two years, Sam could now regularly speak in short sentences. His life opened up. For the first time he could communicate with his grandparents. He spoke to strangers in shops. He was able to tell his parents about his day.
Speech therapists
I wish I could say this story has a happy ending but that is unlikely. It is now time for Sam to move on to secondary school. His parents are battling to get him the speech therapy he needs in this new context. If he doesn't get it, they can see his life breaking down again. The problem is there just aren't enough speech therapists in this State.
Speech therapy matters, not only to Sam, but to all of us. We need a properly funded service with a clear career structure. The Celtic Tiger gave Ireland a surge of national pride, but the Ireland I knew 20 years ago prided itself on compassion and on being the first in line when it came to helping victims of famine. What a field this would be to excel in - decent provision of services to every person with special needs; and how characteristic of the Irish nation's capacity for compassion.
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