Cotton Balls

I can't heeeeeaaar you. When you tell me my child's diagnosis is bunk, when you tell me about this other diagnosis that your friend's mother's beautician's sister's son got, when you claim my kid's not making enough progress, when you insist the progress made means there was nothing really wrong in the first place, when you tell me we're seeing the wrong doctor, when you say all therapy is a crock, when you say only the kind of therapy that you read about in a magazine is worthwhile, when you tell me about the chain e-mail that said the treatment we're using is quackery, when you're sure you know more about my child than I do, I can't heeeeeaaar you.