This therapist is a very nice woman.
I won't say anything critical of her.
However, I will say, if you are bothered by people who talk to disabled adults using squeaky baby voices and enormous facial expressions, you might find it difficult to be around her for any length of time.
If she gets frustrated (and I am not sure that she does), the therapist only expresses it as an intensifying of her enthusiasm, a tightening of her happy screws.
How is it possible to sustain such enthusiasm in the face of repetitious defeat?
I couldn't do it. I' be a lousy speech therapist.
Not really. They are nice people. Good, dependable people you can set your watch by.
Though I don't like it how her mom gets upset if we have not removed her daughter's jacket the instant she has arrived at school.
I wish I was a holy fool of something.
Over the summer, I was almost a holy fool of butt wiping.
It had been awhile. During the year, my class is almost all girls, so most of the butts I see are by accident and very embarrassing.
The discipline of the senses required to effectively clean another person's shit plastered backside had grown flabby on me; I was all over the place, seeing and smelling everything.
But as the long summer wore on, a kind of bathroom confidence blossomed in me.