Now, that’s something I think all new parents — particularly parents of kids with Down syndrome — could use. A little coaching through the process of envisioning the future, jumping ahead, fretting over something that might (or might not) happen years or decades from now.

But that’s not what I’m talking about here.

Last October, Sophie passed her vision test with relatively flying colors. (What are flying colors, anyway?) She’s a little far sighted and has an astigmatism, just like me (well, not exactly like me, I was wearing glasses at 4, she doesn’t have them — yet) but no serious problems, the doctor reported. We do have the clogged tear duct issue, but that’s a separate thing.

Clearly separate from what happened just a couple weeks after Sophie passed that vision test in October. Her physical therapist asked, “Do you notice Sophie cocking her head to one side when she reads, or focuses on something?”

Come to think of it, yes. It started after that appointment, though, so I hadn’t asked the doctor about it. The PT talked about referring Sophie to a developmental eye doctor or therapist. Then Sophie’s occupational therapist brought it up. She was even more concerned — talked about Sophie “lacking vision” in certain places.

Crap. Somehow (and here’s where I need my own form of vision therapy) my mind raced ahead to surgery, which no one had mentioned but still, I figured, was inevitable. So I did what I do best: I put my blinders on.

This went on for months. The PT and the OT were insistent, so I finally made an appointment with the opthamologist. Again. Good timing; the school nurse left a message the day before the appointment, expressing her concern about the cock-eyed thing.

OK, OK, we’ll take care of it. Well, maybe. Why can’t anything be simple? Turns out, the therapists want Sophie to have “vision therapy.” And, it turns out, vision therapy is quite controversial — I know parents who have been through it with their kids, and were disgusted by the expense and lack of results. Yet I have incredible faith in our PT and OT. And Sophie IS cock-eyed. You’ve probably noticed it in recent pictures, the way her eyes wander up and to the side.

The appointment was yesterday. Ray insisted on taking her, which was nice, since I’m having a particularly bad week at work. Before they left yesterday morning, I repeated the concerns several times.

“I’ve never seen her do that,” Ray said.

Seriously? And it’s not like he doesn’t read with her and play with her. In the end, the appointment wound up being two seconds of cock-eyed vision therapy (“We don’t believe in vision therapy,” the doctor told him) and an hour of removing the tubes from Sophie’s eyes — placed there years ago, to try to unblock her blocked tear ducts.

She still doesn’t need glasses, Ray reported. They gave her a thorough vision test. The doctor pooh-poohed the cock-eyed thing entirely. To be fair to the doctor, Ray didn’t push the issue.

“Did you have her read a book for the doctor?” I asked.

No, he said, because he had Sophie read a book for him before the appointment and she didn’t cock her head a bit.

“I think you’re too focused on this,” he said.

Maybe. And the therapists think I’m not focused enough. Why do I constantly find myself in this position – right in the middle, failing on both sides? Tomorrow is Sophie’s birthday. I desperately need to be at work. But how can I not be there to pick her up at 1:30 from school? It’s her BIRTHDAY. Then again, the most insistent therapists will be seeing her at the house tomorrow after school; she’ll be horrified that nothing happened at that appointment. Maybe I should hide at work.  

So now what? Seriously, folks, I’m putting this one out here with the hope that as always, you’ll share your sage advice. Not about whether or not I should go to work tomorrow, of course. What do you think about vision therapy?