Why Tom's Lessons exists

The beginning

After Tom was born, we had to stay in hospital a night longer, because Tom wouldn't feed. When we were finally allowed home, the drive was decorated by family, friends and neighbours. During the visits we noticed that Tom's little face was red. Naive as we were, we thought nothing of it.

That evening my wife went to check on him. I can still hear her cry out: “Sander, Tom's not breathing!” I thought it wouldn't be so bad. It was: he had turned grey-blue. I called 999… Twenty minutes later we were racing to the hospital, sirens blaring.

There the paediatrician found blood in his cerebrospinal fluid. When we were allowed in for a moment, my wife saw the convulsions coming again: “it's happening again!” Seconds later a whole team was around his cot. That same night he was rushed to a specialist children's hospital. We sat in a Ronald McDonald House room, waiting for news.

Only after days of waiting did we hear the doctors say the words that everything hinged on: Tom would survive. The rest of that conversation passed us by completely.

The boy who proved otherwise

Despite the good news, we were prepared for a hard road ahead: an adapted home, behavioural problems, a motor delay. It turned out differently. Tom recovered remarkably. He went to a mainstream primary school, played football, made friends and grew up as if nothing had happened. The epilepsy was the only thing that still tied him to that first week.

He went on to secondary school and the first two years went fine. Until Year 9. His marks began to slip. He struggled to make connections and with questions that asked for insight, and the moment a question was phrased even slightly differently, he lost the thread. A cognitive assessment showed big differences between his abilities, a picture that, according to the neurologist, fit his epilepsy.

The painful part was: it wasn't Tom's fault. He worked hard, and truly did his best. But the schoolwork came in a form that didn't fit how his brain works. And no one at school had the time or the means to rebuild that for him every day, for every subject.

Through the neurologist we ended up at a specialist centre. There, the support worker said something I have never forgotten:

“What a shame you've only come now. There really are ways to help Tom succeed, without him having to drop down a level.”

On the one hand a relief, because there was a way after all. And at the same time a disappointment in the system. Because if those ways exist, why aren't they available to everyone?

Knowledge that can help a child should never come down to chance.

This is why we built it

Tom's Lessons is our answer. A place where schoolwork (the real homework, the real worksheet) is reshaped to the way a child learns. In small steps, in a calm setting, at their own pace. For children with epilepsy, a brain injury or autism, who have everything it takes to succeed once the material is brought to their brain, instead of the other way round.

We hope it helps your family too!

Sander, founder