Treatment providers know that good decisions about the treatment procedures selected for your child will affect the quality of life for your child, for you and for your family.

At the top of the checklist for every parent making treatment decisions on behalf of their child is to make sure the treatment has the most constructive, and least restrictive, impact on your child’s life. Make sure you are thinking long-term, with those whole-life considerations. Therapists don’t always think 20 years down the road, the way we parents do.

We want the best life for our child. As a result, you should actively participate in the planning of any treatment procedure. As your child grows and becomes more aware of the services being provided, start thinking about ways that he/she can participate in the planning as well.

Ask questions about the treatment procedure. How will it be assessed? Look for ongoing measures. What will the evidence be and how will it be evaluated? Look for principled thinking and wisdom, not just the latest-greatest-newest.

Then you can be sure you are giving informed consent.

Decisions that keep family preservation in mind can positively affect your child’s quality life.

That ethical consideration almost seems like a no-brainer until you think about families that have put everything on hold in order to help their child. That kind of self-sacrifice seems noble at first, but on closer examination shows its flaws.

Most of us are dealing with something that lasts a lifetime, not a few years. Decisions need to keep in mind that this is about the rest of your life, your child’s life, your family’s life.

Be sure to communicate your unique family values and culture to the caregivers in your life. Give them a chance to honor those and reinforce what is important to your family.

Everyone will have to learn skills to support the child, and figure out ways to include your child in family and community life, while still honoring the needs of the whole family.

As you plan for your family, short and long term goals and procedures need to think about current settings for the family and the community, as well as transition processes for future settings.

Final thoughts on Guidepost Three …

About 15 years ago, we had a little trouble with our arrangements for occupational therapy when Sam was in elementary school.

I had managed to find a clinician who knew enough about sensory integration to afford Sam weekly sessions. She was a professor at Texas Woman’s University and ran the clinical program for the students. We’d go once a week and Sam’s 50-minute session would be led by one of the two students in the practicum, with the professor supervising.

It was a bargain for the school district — $20 a session — and Sam enjoyed the time there. It was easy for me to shuttle him there after school, since I worked across town at the University of North Texas. And, most importantly, we saw progress over the months and years he was there (from about age 5-12).

Somewhere along the line the professor and the district’s director of special education got crosswise with each other. The special ed director decided it was time to pull the plug on the arrangement. We had a sense there were reasons for the conflict on both sides — reasons that were never disclosed to us, which to this day still bothers me. The director made arrangements for clinic therapy with another professional in another town, at about four times the price by the way. That was that.

We’d heard of this OT’s work. Another parent raved about what her son had accomplished in her care, so we knew the director had put some careful thought into the change.

However, it was not possible for me to shuttle Sam there and back without negatively affecting my work schedule. If we allowed the school to bus him there, they would surely cut into his class time to make it happen.

Most importantly, though, we were concerned that Sam would have to learn to interact with a new person and new routine. That isn’t always a bad thing. But we’d just gone through several upheavals with speech therapists and these had cost him months in progress. While he was motivated to learn to talk, OT was another matter. He was, and remains, very defensive about challenging his senses, his balance, his way of moving in time and space. We thought he would lose a year just trying to get to trust this new person.

To this day, I have to ask permission for a hug. I don’t always get it.

We refused the change and insisted that the director renew the contract with TWU. The battle lines had been drawn with us, and the school superintendent, and the special ed director.

We sat down to negotiate. The special ed director never gave a compelling reason for the change. The superintendent sided with us.

This is perhaps the best example I have from our family history showing how the quality of social interactions affected decision-making. We couldn’t know whether we made the right decision, given that we weren’t afforded all the facts. We could only take comfort in knowing that Sam continued to flourish at TWU’s OT clinic and has very few sensory integration problems as an adult.

He also enjoys a connection with the professor, who has long since retired and moved to North Carolina.

Don’t underestimate the value of those social connections. At our core, we are social beings, much more like cows, horses, goats and other herd animals than the loners, like owls and eagles.