This morning, while it was still dark, I left the house to go to CRI and mark an appointment for Rayane from Aningas, with a neurologist. CRI is the Center of Children’s rehab.
Rayane has autism, but needs an official diagnosis so that she can go to school. She’s 7 years old. Her mom and I have been working on this for over two years.
CRI opens at 7:00 a.m., but I was told to get there by 5:00 a.m., because the line would be long. Even then, the line was so long, it snaked down the street. By 7:30, the line had not moved, but the sun was getting hot. Moms holding children, children in wheelchairs, children lying on the sidewalk, children screaming, all surrounded me.
At 9:00 a.m., the local news arrived to document this horror. They were set up in time to hear that all 160 available spots for the month were taken and the rest of us needed to leave. One of the moms right in front of me started sobbing and she told me that her child’s case was urgent. She needs the neurologist to write a prescription for a medicine that stops her daughter’s bleeding through her nose and mouth.
No one left, even after they heard no one else would be able to schedule an appointment. I stood there unable to process the consequences for these children, feeling so helpless and sad.
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