Such an interesting process, all of this. I have spent the last probably week just feeling very flat and having trouble knowing what, if anything, I was feeling. Today, I feel hopeful. Yep. I wrote it down- I feel hopeful. It's okay if I pay for that later, because feeling this feeling right now is worth it.
We saw N's therapist W today, and she's lovely and cares a lot for N. We got to talk about some contextual things, like his drawings, and how we (his parents) can focus on one tiny thing and think it has a lot of meaning, forgetting that he's a teenager who is still going to have teen-agery interests and feelings and moods. W advised that we look at the bigger picture. If he's drawing dark things, is he withdrawing, moodier, angry, cutting, etc.? Or is he happy, relaxed, communicative, etc.? It helps to think about things in this way sot hat we don't get triggered every time an 'old' behavior pops up. He's still a kid, having that experience, along with the rest of this.
So we're driving to the coffee shop after his appointment and I just have this sense of, "new normal" wash over me. There's my sweet boy, his music bumping through the speakers, a little crooked smile on his face, the sun washing through the sunroof, and he's alive and he's okay. And we're all okay too. We're definitely looking a little rough these days, but we're still clinging to each other and supporting each other. We're still a family, and we're intact, even if a little torn for it. I'll take it. :)
Thursday, April 30, 2015
Wednesday, April 29, 2015
Mostly successful
Today I made a pact with myself to just enjoy the day. I think it was pretty successful. I had lunch with my friend and our clients who are due almost any day now, and got some work done that needed tending. When E got home we snuggled and played for a long time, which it seems like we haven't done in a while. It felt good to just sniff her and see her big jack-o-lantern smile light up, and look deep in her eyes. It feels like a luxury to have the time to do that and just relax into it. It was sunny and beautiful and it felt good.
Unfortunately N walked in the door from school saying he'd had a lot of intrusive thoughts today. He looked troubled. He had an 'episode' (I say in quotes because we have a hard time buying into new symptoms after he's fresh from the psychiatrist, but we're always wrong. I don't know.) today on the bus consisting of I don't even know what now. The second he starts saying this kind of thing I think my bowels want to empty, I want to run, and then I get flat inside. I can't worry about what's not happening, and the inclination is to tell stories about what everything means. I'm gotta stop it.
I can't even describe how I'm coping right now. I feel like I have to just sort of ignore everything that's happening to stay sane. Son losing his shit? That's okay. I'm buttering toast. Husband venting his rage about how helpless he feels? That's okay, I'll wash this plate. I ask myself how I feel and I can't find anything. I don't actually know. I just know I shake a lot and my chest hurts almost all the time, but that's okay as long as I don't stroke out. Now I'll vacuum.
At the end of the day, it'll be a process. We have to get better support for us so that we can keep taking care of N, and not lose sight of E's needs in the process. Right now the whole family structure rests on top of us like a very heavy hammock and we just aren't bolstered and knotted to be able to hold it all. If we drop it, our kid is going to hurt himself or someone else. If we drop it, we might snap at our own seams and lose each other. If we drop it, E might be damaged by all of this too. D is conveniently living somewhere else for a couple of weeks and isn't in the mix of all this. I'm sort of grateful for that, even though I miss him a lot.
A part of me wonders if returning him to the hospital wouldn't be a better thing for him, and then I wonder if I think so because I'm so exhausted of having to be the safety net all the time, and this is my brain's way of asking for a break. Like when I'm with a client and I start hoping she'll say she wants an epidural because I just need a nap so freaking badly. I'd never suggest it to her, but that doesn't mean I'm not chanting it in my own head to make myself feel better. So maybe this is my own emotional epidural - he goes to the hospital so we can get a break, and hopefully gets more attention on his meds. I don't know. I don't know what's right, we're reliant on others to tell us, but they're not here for every single thing. And we're hanging on to each other, R and me, and I worry about what that will do to us over time, too.
How did this happen?? I don't even know.
Unfortunately N walked in the door from school saying he'd had a lot of intrusive thoughts today. He looked troubled. He had an 'episode' (I say in quotes because we have a hard time buying into new symptoms after he's fresh from the psychiatrist, but we're always wrong. I don't know.) today on the bus consisting of I don't even know what now. The second he starts saying this kind of thing I think my bowels want to empty, I want to run, and then I get flat inside. I can't worry about what's not happening, and the inclination is to tell stories about what everything means. I'm gotta stop it.
I can't even describe how I'm coping right now. I feel like I have to just sort of ignore everything that's happening to stay sane. Son losing his shit? That's okay. I'm buttering toast. Husband venting his rage about how helpless he feels? That's okay, I'll wash this plate. I ask myself how I feel and I can't find anything. I don't actually know. I just know I shake a lot and my chest hurts almost all the time, but that's okay as long as I don't stroke out. Now I'll vacuum.
At the end of the day, it'll be a process. We have to get better support for us so that we can keep taking care of N, and not lose sight of E's needs in the process. Right now the whole family structure rests on top of us like a very heavy hammock and we just aren't bolstered and knotted to be able to hold it all. If we drop it, our kid is going to hurt himself or someone else. If we drop it, we might snap at our own seams and lose each other. If we drop it, E might be damaged by all of this too. D is conveniently living somewhere else for a couple of weeks and isn't in the mix of all this. I'm sort of grateful for that, even though I miss him a lot.
A part of me wonders if returning him to the hospital wouldn't be a better thing for him, and then I wonder if I think so because I'm so exhausted of having to be the safety net all the time, and this is my brain's way of asking for a break. Like when I'm with a client and I start hoping she'll say she wants an epidural because I just need a nap so freaking badly. I'd never suggest it to her, but that doesn't mean I'm not chanting it in my own head to make myself feel better. So maybe this is my own emotional epidural - he goes to the hospital so we can get a break, and hopefully gets more attention on his meds. I don't know. I don't know what's right, we're reliant on others to tell us, but they're not here for every single thing. And we're hanging on to each other, R and me, and I worry about what that will do to us over time, too.
How did this happen?? I don't even know.
Letting it flow
Time to just start relaxing. I think. I'm scared to, but it is starting to feel safer. N is getting really good success with his medications. He hasn't had suicidal ideations in weeks, and the other harmful thoughts are greatly diminished. He feels he is sleeping much better and without waking up, and the nightmares are more fuzzy and less vivid which is a goal.
As I understand it the Prozac kind of catches the symptoms and eases them. Sometimes some will fall through the cracks, like suicidal thoughts, nightmares, etc. The olanzapine has been added to catch what is falling through. We want him on the olanzapine for as short a time as possible as it has some pretty scary side effects (over time). So far, four nights in, we're just seeing the good things.
We had a decent appointment with the psychiatrist. I'm not 100% confident he's our guy. I don't like him, he rubs me in the wrong ways and so I don't necessarily trust his intentions. Not that he's out to do anything but help N, but there's a little bit of a manipulative side of him that keeps me feeling on-guard. Our appointment yesterday went fairly well - Dr. G had brought in a nurse who is on staff there with a lot of experience but (this rankles me, which is why I'm writing it) didn't ask us if it was okay, he just said she'd be joining us. I swear, for a guy who likes to tell us how experienced he is, he sure doesn't know shit about making safe space. We went through N's symptoms and noted that there is lots of improvement, and R peppered him with really good questions. Dr. G is very forthcoming and there is no mystery for the most part, which is nice.
As we wrapped the appointment, the nurse and N stepped out so she could get a baseline weight on him, and Dr. G started talking about scheduling our next appointment, which brought a question from R about frequency. Dr. G said, "Oh... I'm sorry, I misunderstand. I thought you were unhappy with my services and asked to be moved to another provider." *shudder* It wasn't said with confidence or curiosity, it was more like... blech. I don't know. Icky. Anyway, that prompted me to say, "Can we talk about our last appointment?" I was intending to give bullet points of our experience in a 'compliment sandwich'. I might have accomplished it in a fast-food kind of sloppy burger kind of way, but the nurse and N walked in mid-stream and I didn't know what to do - so I kept talking, ugh! I feel badly about that. I don't think there's a purpose in giving feedback if you aren't going to be heard, and I certainly didn't participate in a safe environment to make that happen. (That's probably what I should say when I speak with him.) We basically back-pedaled and acknowledged that N really likes and seems to trust him an that we do trust his information (we definitely do), but that we'd understand if he didn't want to work with us. He just kept repeating, "GHC has decided we aren't to work together." I was really confused because that's not how it works, and maybe because he's new he doesn't know that, I don't know. I've been chewing on the appointment ever since and I'm glad that I've had time to sleep on it. I do actually think we should move to someone else- I don't like having to guard myself every time I go in there and worry about the little ways he delivers information that feels so gross to me.
Onward, we were able to talk about how much N has improved and I just felt like the breath started to expand in my chest a little bit, for the first time in a long time. This has been going on steadily, a daily trial, since a year ago in March, and most intensely since this last March. I want to believe that this can shift, he can feel better, that we can wean off these drugs eventually, and that I won't have to spend his entire life wondering if he's going to have an impulse to kill himself again and take it. I have to just let myself believe that's possible sometimes, and increasingly, so I can not live at this level of adrenaline and fear. So today that's what I'm working on- believing another future is possible. Believing we can get through today with no emergencies and acknowledging that yesterday there were no emergencies. That soon I'll have a son in a bad mood and be able to trust that he's not going to go hurt himself because he's mad at me. That I can pull up in my driveway without taking a deep breath to steady myself, and talking myself into walking through the door and not driving away. That I can take deep breaths for the hell of it, and not because I can't breathe all the time. It feels good to think so. :)
As I understand it the Prozac kind of catches the symptoms and eases them. Sometimes some will fall through the cracks, like suicidal thoughts, nightmares, etc. The olanzapine has been added to catch what is falling through. We want him on the olanzapine for as short a time as possible as it has some pretty scary side effects (over time). So far, four nights in, we're just seeing the good things.
We had a decent appointment with the psychiatrist. I'm not 100% confident he's our guy. I don't like him, he rubs me in the wrong ways and so I don't necessarily trust his intentions. Not that he's out to do anything but help N, but there's a little bit of a manipulative side of him that keeps me feeling on-guard. Our appointment yesterday went fairly well - Dr. G had brought in a nurse who is on staff there with a lot of experience but (this rankles me, which is why I'm writing it) didn't ask us if it was okay, he just said she'd be joining us. I swear, for a guy who likes to tell us how experienced he is, he sure doesn't know shit about making safe space. We went through N's symptoms and noted that there is lots of improvement, and R peppered him with really good questions. Dr. G is very forthcoming and there is no mystery for the most part, which is nice.
As we wrapped the appointment, the nurse and N stepped out so she could get a baseline weight on him, and Dr. G started talking about scheduling our next appointment, which brought a question from R about frequency. Dr. G said, "Oh... I'm sorry, I misunderstand. I thought you were unhappy with my services and asked to be moved to another provider." *shudder* It wasn't said with confidence or curiosity, it was more like... blech. I don't know. Icky. Anyway, that prompted me to say, "Can we talk about our last appointment?" I was intending to give bullet points of our experience in a 'compliment sandwich'. I might have accomplished it in a fast-food kind of sloppy burger kind of way, but the nurse and N walked in mid-stream and I didn't know what to do - so I kept talking, ugh! I feel badly about that. I don't think there's a purpose in giving feedback if you aren't going to be heard, and I certainly didn't participate in a safe environment to make that happen. (That's probably what I should say when I speak with him.) We basically back-pedaled and acknowledged that N really likes and seems to trust him an that we do trust his information (we definitely do), but that we'd understand if he didn't want to work with us. He just kept repeating, "GHC has decided we aren't to work together." I was really confused because that's not how it works, and maybe because he's new he doesn't know that, I don't know. I've been chewing on the appointment ever since and I'm glad that I've had time to sleep on it. I do actually think we should move to someone else- I don't like having to guard myself every time I go in there and worry about the little ways he delivers information that feels so gross to me.
Onward, we were able to talk about how much N has improved and I just felt like the breath started to expand in my chest a little bit, for the first time in a long time. This has been going on steadily, a daily trial, since a year ago in March, and most intensely since this last March. I want to believe that this can shift, he can feel better, that we can wean off these drugs eventually, and that I won't have to spend his entire life wondering if he's going to have an impulse to kill himself again and take it. I have to just let myself believe that's possible sometimes, and increasingly, so I can not live at this level of adrenaline and fear. So today that's what I'm working on- believing another future is possible. Believing we can get through today with no emergencies and acknowledging that yesterday there were no emergencies. That soon I'll have a son in a bad mood and be able to trust that he's not going to go hurt himself because he's mad at me. That I can pull up in my driveway without taking a deep breath to steady myself, and talking myself into walking through the door and not driving away. That I can take deep breaths for the hell of it, and not because I can't breathe all the time. It feels good to think so. :)
Monday, April 27, 2015
Laughing at myself
Just taking a moment to laugh at the crazy Kristina who showed up last night. I get to laugh because it turned out to be nothing but my imagination- sounds in the night, house creaking, things falling off of shelves turned into drug-crazed teenagers who would stumble down the stairs and accidentally go crazy. Fortunately I had a good doula last night and after my ridiculous freak out was able to be entertained by it all. Going to consciously work at just feeling my breath. I need to not give myself a stroke.
Today's gratitude- I slept awesome. And my husband comes home this morning, woooot!
Today's gratitude- I slept awesome. And my husband comes home this morning, woooot!
Sunday, April 26, 2015
Tempting the Gods
There's something particularly fucked up when you write a blog post reminding yourself to be grateful, conscious of the rest-phase between the contractions that continue to come, making a pact with yourself to stop focusing all the time on the hard parts, and then five minutes after hitting POST, get a call that sends you back to the ER with your kid. That's fucked up.
N had some kind of incident yesterday that was worrisome for his friends, but last night being the first night of the olanzapine, we're (me and the ER docs) are thinking that because he hasn't had harming thoughts today, he's post-first-day of meds, and has supportive home/school/providers, he was okay to come home. But let me tell you, bags were packed for a long stay at the ER in case an adolescent bed was unavailable.
I feel like I never get to fully come to rest. I don't even have a clue how I would do that anymore.
N had some kind of incident yesterday that was worrisome for his friends, but last night being the first night of the olanzapine, we're (me and the ER docs) are thinking that because he hasn't had harming thoughts today, he's post-first-day of meds, and has supportive home/school/providers, he was okay to come home. But let me tell you, bags were packed for a long stay at the ER in case an adolescent bed was unavailable.
I feel like I never get to fully come to rest. I don't even have a clue how I would do that anymore.
Being positive
I keep thinking the Medicine for being scared all the time is to start noticing and breathing in where it feels good and easy. Going to just try to write down the restful places as well as the hard places so that I am not focusing only on where it's hard.
Right now he's sitting across the living room from me and he looks well rested. He's having sweets for breakfast which is his norm and thumbing through Facebook. I stayed up until 3:30am checking on him a total of 5 times before going to bed myself. I woke up at 8 and checked on him, and while he didn't pop right up like he usually does (ultimately, a good thing, considering our goals), I was able to lay next to him and hold him for a few minutes while he woke up, and have a quick, normal, every day chat.
I think my anxiety level went down about 5 points. Now to see over time how this affects him. But the scary first night is over and it's Saturday, with no plans, no E here to prevent me from going back to bed if I want. R is at his sister's wedding and it's going to be a beautiful celebration for their family, and I hope that his time there is restorative for him too.
What am I grateful for today -
Right now he's sitting across the living room from me and he looks well rested. He's having sweets for breakfast which is his norm and thumbing through Facebook. I stayed up until 3:30am checking on him a total of 5 times before going to bed myself. I woke up at 8 and checked on him, and while he didn't pop right up like he usually does (ultimately, a good thing, considering our goals), I was able to lay next to him and hold him for a few minutes while he woke up, and have a quick, normal, every day chat.
I think my anxiety level went down about 5 points. Now to see over time how this affects him. But the scary first night is over and it's Saturday, with no plans, no E here to prevent me from going back to bed if I want. R is at his sister's wedding and it's going to be a beautiful celebration for their family, and I hope that his time there is restorative for him too.
What am I grateful for today -
- N's alive. Not only is he alive, he ultimately is so much better than he was before March 14th. That was such a huge turning point and while I'm still dealing with my own trauma over this whole thing I'm grateful that he was able to communicate his desperate need for help. I'm grateful we were equipped to really listen and act.
- I'm grateful for most of the care we've had along the way- while the system is broken in a lot of ways, people are still very kind and doing their very best to help N be well, and strong.
- I'm grateful that N has a desire to be well, and to be alive, and to not have the thoughts he's having.
- I'm grateful that he's a kind, communicative kid who seeks connection with us in the ways he knows how, and who hasn't given up on himself. I need to write that one again.
- I'm so fucking grateful he hasn't given up on himself.
Drugs
Tonight is the first night of the olanzapine. We're adding it to the fluoxetine. Brand names - Prozac & Zyprexa. I hate them. I'm grateful and I hate them at the same time. Tonight I gave N a tiny little white pill, the size of a small bead. Within 30 minutes he was passed out hard, asleep in his bed.
The psychiatrist thinks that this combination of drugs will help him get into a deeper, more restorative sleep.
I don't want to know what I know about this process, I want to go back to being oblivious that this could ever happen to us. I'm fucking angry.
We need to stop the harmful thoughts he's having and even after a second opinion, this seems to be the way we're supposed to go. I don't know. I wish I could give him weed and let that be enough. I am up at almost 2:00 afraid to go to sleep in case he slips into a coma and I don't know. I've walked into his room four times now, put on the light, watched to make sure he's breathing, noted that he's moved from the last time I saw him. I'm not googling signs of coma. I'm not googling anything, not even more side effects of this drug combination. I'm scared for him to have it and I'm scared for him not to have it. I'm scared that this will not end, and that he'l be bouncing around medications and suicidal thoughts for the rest of his life. I'm scared that our fight will be long and miserable and end in his early death anyway. I'm scared of an unknown future and I'm scared to hope that it might be just the ticket, the combination that gets him to well. I'm scared that tomorrow he'll wake up and have a flat affect, feel no joy. I'm scared when I call him down for dinner and he doesn't answer right away. I'm just scared all the time.
The psychiatrist thinks that this combination of drugs will help him get into a deeper, more restorative sleep.
I don't want to know what I know about this process, I want to go back to being oblivious that this could ever happen to us. I'm fucking angry.
We need to stop the harmful thoughts he's having and even after a second opinion, this seems to be the way we're supposed to go. I don't know. I wish I could give him weed and let that be enough. I am up at almost 2:00 afraid to go to sleep in case he slips into a coma and I don't know. I've walked into his room four times now, put on the light, watched to make sure he's breathing, noted that he's moved from the last time I saw him. I'm not googling signs of coma. I'm not googling anything, not even more side effects of this drug combination. I'm scared for him to have it and I'm scared for him not to have it. I'm scared that this will not end, and that he'l be bouncing around medications and suicidal thoughts for the rest of his life. I'm scared that our fight will be long and miserable and end in his early death anyway. I'm scared of an unknown future and I'm scared to hope that it might be just the ticket, the combination that gets him to well. I'm scared that tomorrow he'll wake up and have a flat affect, feel no joy. I'm scared when I call him down for dinner and he doesn't answer right away. I'm just scared all the time.
Friday, April 24, 2015
Gotta write about it I guess.
I have to do something other than what I am, because what I'm doing is not working. I should exercise, eat better. I should get myself to a therapist and talk about all the trauma that I'm rocking right now, how it's not letting me sleep, how my heart races, how I'm on the edge of a panic attack all the time. Will I have a stroke? Will my heart literally break and I'll die right now while driving down the road?
I'm doing the, don't want to talk about it, but people ask and I want to tell them. Why can't I just download it from my brain to yours? I don't want to describe what's going on because it's harder than I can ever paint with words. I can't make you feel it and that's what I want. If I can make you feel it, maybe I can feel a little less of it. Like splitting items out of your backpack on a hike, right? That's how it should work, but it doesn't. I'm the only vessel of my experience and shit keeps getting piled in, but nothing comes out. My seams are starting to spread.
I think there are few times in my life that have caused me to be so fully present that I almost can not pull back out with objectivity, see the big picture, and choose what I want to do. That's the process I'm used to and have heavily cultivated through my life. I'm becoming a person who lashes out with a razor-tongue and doesn't feel a fuck-whit bad about it. If I'm slicing, it's because you deserved it. I do remember feeling like this before, now that I write (this is why I write), it was after the cancer and my mom died and I became this cutting, biting, angry woman for a while. She's motherfucking back.
So, timeline of events:
March 2014 - car accident. We're starting to think that this event was the catalyst for what's going on, but we acknowledge we could be totally wrong about that. It helps to be able to think back to an event as the start, and we all agree that N was different before the car accident, and slowly changed over time after it.
March 2014 - January 2015 - N becomes progressively more withdrawn, emotional, moody, crabby. He starts writing on himself, on his walls in his room, on his clothes. He starts cutting toward the end of this time period. He asks us several times to let him go to a mental hospital but we are convinced he's looking for the wrong kind of attention. We can't understand why he's reading psychiatry books and self-diagnosing, and then telling people he has bipolar, multiple personalities and OCD. We think this is all attention-seeking and have about 5000 conversations where we try not to minimize what he says he's experiencing but clueless as to what's real.
When he requests to see a counselor, we arrange that. He sees W two times which involves her coming to the waiting room, calling him back (without me), and him returning 50 minutes later. Before he goes back, we're joking, laughing, and everything seems fine. When he comes out, he's moody, guarded, and not revelatory. After the second appointment he hands me an after-visit summary that has a diagnosis on it - Major Depressive Disorder.
I'm really angry, who is this therapist that hands out diagnoses to kids without ever once talking to their parents?! N asks us if we'd consider putting him on medication. I say, "Absolutely not- and not because we're anti-medication, we're not. But because your therapist hasn't said a word to me to help me understand why you need it. "I tell N that I need to have access with her to meet with her and ask my questions so we can decide together, and he agrees.
In the meantime, N goes to school the very next day, informs all of his teachers that he has "MDD". We find this bizarre and do not understand it, but figure that again, he's seeking attention. We're feeling extremely frustrated by his behavior, which is not defiant or disrespectful, but just, far away, his choices are strange to us, he's mean to his sister, isolates, etc. We can't understand it.
Third appointment in January and I'm invited to participate after he has a brief chat with her. I explain how we feel left in the dark, how I don't understand why we aren't being included even though I do understand it, at the same time. I explain that I'm not buying a prescription for a drug when I haven't been informed as to why it's needed. She talks about his scores (a sheet of paper every patient completes before they see their therapist, gives a snapshot for any sort of emergencies like self-harm, suicide, etc.) and how they indicate this diagnosis is correct. She also explains that she has to 'put something into the computer' to facilitate ongoing visits and that this makes sense given what he's shared with her. I ask her how we are supposed to know how to care for him, what triggers to watch out for, etc. if she doesn't keep us informed- she agrees and we agree that we (parents) will be much more involved in the care from here on out. We set another appointment for February.
January 2015 - Sometime during this month, I don't recall the date, we get a call from N's school that he's cut himself deeply and might need stitches, and that I need to come pick him up. The school counselor explains that he did it on purpose, and that he can't come back to school until the administration has a chance to think about what's in his best interest, given that he brought a 'weapon' to school, AND self-harmed at school, both of which are against the rules. I see the fat bulging out of the cuts on his arm and I am just devastated. Are we missing how bad this really is for him? Are we making this worse? We call his therapist who talks with him over the phone, and we all agree that he's not to self-harm between now and when he meets her at his next appointment, two weeks hence.
Unfortunately, that appointment is canceled because she has the flu.
The next appointment is canceled when we arrive, because she'd just left, again, still sick with the flu.
Emergency availability with other therapists do not work out because of the little advance notice we're given. We schedule an appointment for March 20.
March 2015 On March 14th, this happens. The hospitalization was ultimately good but riddled with procedural roadblocks that made it all that much harder. The staff was incredibly warm and kind, informative, but knowing how to reach someone was a challenge; getting updates without having to call ourselves was a challenge; etc. N stayed a full 10 days (that's the upper limit, generally) and was well liked by the staff and other kids. N was started on Prozac while he was hospitalized and it made a marked difference - HUGE difference. He's now calmer, he's engaged. He's funny, affectionate, includes himself in our activities. For the first week, things were going smoothly. He was supposed to see a therapist within one week of coming out of the hospital, and we couldn't gt him in to see his own, so he saw another guy who doesn't generally work with kids. N says the appointment was a little awkward, but went okay. We kept checking in with him daily, "How was your day? How are you feeling?" We are trying hard to keep it general and light because we don't want him to feel like he's under a microscope, and at the same time, what R and I are experiencing is pure terror every day. It's incredibly exhausting and takes up all of our brain-space, trying to helplessly analyze everything he says, what he's wearing, how his grades are, whether he slept, who he hangs out with, etc.
I'm doing the, don't want to talk about it, but people ask and I want to tell them. Why can't I just download it from my brain to yours? I don't want to describe what's going on because it's harder than I can ever paint with words. I can't make you feel it and that's what I want. If I can make you feel it, maybe I can feel a little less of it. Like splitting items out of your backpack on a hike, right? That's how it should work, but it doesn't. I'm the only vessel of my experience and shit keeps getting piled in, but nothing comes out. My seams are starting to spread.
I think there are few times in my life that have caused me to be so fully present that I almost can not pull back out with objectivity, see the big picture, and choose what I want to do. That's the process I'm used to and have heavily cultivated through my life. I'm becoming a person who lashes out with a razor-tongue and doesn't feel a fuck-whit bad about it. If I'm slicing, it's because you deserved it. I do remember feeling like this before, now that I write (this is why I write), it was after the cancer and my mom died and I became this cutting, biting, angry woman for a while. She's motherfucking back.
So, timeline of events:
March 2014 - car accident. We're starting to think that this event was the catalyst for what's going on, but we acknowledge we could be totally wrong about that. It helps to be able to think back to an event as the start, and we all agree that N was different before the car accident, and slowly changed over time after it.
March 2014 - January 2015 - N becomes progressively more withdrawn, emotional, moody, crabby. He starts writing on himself, on his walls in his room, on his clothes. He starts cutting toward the end of this time period. He asks us several times to let him go to a mental hospital but we are convinced he's looking for the wrong kind of attention. We can't understand why he's reading psychiatry books and self-diagnosing, and then telling people he has bipolar, multiple personalities and OCD. We think this is all attention-seeking and have about 5000 conversations where we try not to minimize what he says he's experiencing but clueless as to what's real.
When he requests to see a counselor, we arrange that. He sees W two times which involves her coming to the waiting room, calling him back (without me), and him returning 50 minutes later. Before he goes back, we're joking, laughing, and everything seems fine. When he comes out, he's moody, guarded, and not revelatory. After the second appointment he hands me an after-visit summary that has a diagnosis on it - Major Depressive Disorder.
I'm really angry, who is this therapist that hands out diagnoses to kids without ever once talking to their parents?! N asks us if we'd consider putting him on medication. I say, "Absolutely not- and not because we're anti-medication, we're not. But because your therapist hasn't said a word to me to help me understand why you need it. "I tell N that I need to have access with her to meet with her and ask my questions so we can decide together, and he agrees.
In the meantime, N goes to school the very next day, informs all of his teachers that he has "MDD". We find this bizarre and do not understand it, but figure that again, he's seeking attention. We're feeling extremely frustrated by his behavior, which is not defiant or disrespectful, but just, far away, his choices are strange to us, he's mean to his sister, isolates, etc. We can't understand it.
Third appointment in January and I'm invited to participate after he has a brief chat with her. I explain how we feel left in the dark, how I don't understand why we aren't being included even though I do understand it, at the same time. I explain that I'm not buying a prescription for a drug when I haven't been informed as to why it's needed. She talks about his scores (a sheet of paper every patient completes before they see their therapist, gives a snapshot for any sort of emergencies like self-harm, suicide, etc.) and how they indicate this diagnosis is correct. She also explains that she has to 'put something into the computer' to facilitate ongoing visits and that this makes sense given what he's shared with her. I ask her how we are supposed to know how to care for him, what triggers to watch out for, etc. if she doesn't keep us informed- she agrees and we agree that we (parents) will be much more involved in the care from here on out. We set another appointment for February.
January 2015 - Sometime during this month, I don't recall the date, we get a call from N's school that he's cut himself deeply and might need stitches, and that I need to come pick him up. The school counselor explains that he did it on purpose, and that he can't come back to school until the administration has a chance to think about what's in his best interest, given that he brought a 'weapon' to school, AND self-harmed at school, both of which are against the rules. I see the fat bulging out of the cuts on his arm and I am just devastated. Are we missing how bad this really is for him? Are we making this worse? We call his therapist who talks with him over the phone, and we all agree that he's not to self-harm between now and when he meets her at his next appointment, two weeks hence.
Unfortunately, that appointment is canceled because she has the flu.
The next appointment is canceled when we arrive, because she'd just left, again, still sick with the flu.
Emergency availability with other therapists do not work out because of the little advance notice we're given. We schedule an appointment for March 20.
March 2015 On March 14th, this happens. The hospitalization was ultimately good but riddled with procedural roadblocks that made it all that much harder. The staff was incredibly warm and kind, informative, but knowing how to reach someone was a challenge; getting updates without having to call ourselves was a challenge; etc. N stayed a full 10 days (that's the upper limit, generally) and was well liked by the staff and other kids. N was started on Prozac while he was hospitalized and it made a marked difference - HUGE difference. He's now calmer, he's engaged. He's funny, affectionate, includes himself in our activities. For the first week, things were going smoothly. He was supposed to see a therapist within one week of coming out of the hospital, and we couldn't gt him in to see his own, so he saw another guy who doesn't generally work with kids. N says the appointment was a little awkward, but went okay. We kept checking in with him daily, "How was your day? How are you feeling?" We are trying hard to keep it general and light because we don't want him to feel like he's under a microscope, and at the same time, what R and I are experiencing is pure terror every day. It's incredibly exhausting and takes up all of our brain-space, trying to helplessly analyze everything he says, what he's wearing, how his grades are, whether he slept, who he hangs out with, etc.
Thursday, April 23, 2015
Intimidating.
Met with Dr. G, N's new psychiatrist.
(Writing this post retroactively.)
We arrived early to the appointmetn so ended up waiting for about 40 minutes to be seen, after Dr. G. ran long. He was warm and lovely and really informative for the first probably 25 minutes of the appointment. I really appreciated how transparent he was about showing us what was being put into N's record, what was bringing up the questions he'd ask, and how he didn't let anyone off the hook from answering right in the room. Overall I think medically he knows his shit and I'm glad to have his involvement in this way.
What was frustrating was after a bit of time he starts talking about how when it seems like N is in crisis, we need to ask the 'three questions' (Are you suicidal, do you have a plan, can you trust yourself?) I start to cry, I am feeling relief that we are all together and we have an ally, I feel safe enough to let my guard down a bit. I talk about how frustrating it is that we have to go home with a kid who has suicidal and homicidal ideations and the only tool we get to deal with that are three chintzy questions. He offers me a tissue and I decline. He says, "No, they're right there. Take one." I say, "No. Thank you. I'm good." I'm triggered by this interaction but not in a big way, it's just confusing.
A few minutes later I say to N how I want him to know how his dad and I aren't assuming that he's some sort of bad person because of these thoughts he's having, that we get it's just one color on the palette of his mental health, and that I don't want him to worry that we're thinking less of him. Dr. G stops me and says, "I'm going to interrupt you right there. (benevolent smile.) YOu were doing great, up until that last sentence."
"Um... excuse me?" I'm stunned.
"You were doing great up until that last thing you said. (pause...) Have you read How to Talk so Kids Will Listen, and Listen so Kids Will Talk?"
I'm incredulous. Is this guy telling me how to talk to my kid right now??! Oh yes, he was.
"You were doing great, up until you told him how to feel. You see, N can't just shut his feelings off or turn them on."
I'm livid. "I'm aware of that. We actually have stellar communication in my house and in that context I'm confident that N understands that I was not telling him how to feel."
"Well... but you just did. You said.."
etc.
#$@#$@#
After analyzing our interactions with each other, we got to hear about how he 'doesn't normally go this long but is taking a family therapy approach', which we did not consent to, nor did he mention at the beginning of the appointment. He interrupted, he silenced. He literally said that R and I are "intimidating... Am I right, N?" as if he knew exactly why N was not super communicative with us sometimes. He repeatedly said, "How to Talk so Kids Will Listen... check it out, it's good!" when he didn't like how we were communicating. He prescriped a medication to our son that he described as 'scary', and when I asked him very clearly what we were looking for as signs of progress, said, "Look. I'm trying to keep your son out of a mental hospital. Another doctor, with your son's symptoms, would have him admitted today."
Yeah? Fuck you, dickhole.
I was so angry I was shaking when I left. When we got up to leave he actually said to me, "I'm sorry I upset you." You're.... what?!
I'll show you intimidating.
(Writing this post retroactively.)
We arrived early to the appointmetn so ended up waiting for about 40 minutes to be seen, after Dr. G. ran long. He was warm and lovely and really informative for the first probably 25 minutes of the appointment. I really appreciated how transparent he was about showing us what was being put into N's record, what was bringing up the questions he'd ask, and how he didn't let anyone off the hook from answering right in the room. Overall I think medically he knows his shit and I'm glad to have his involvement in this way.
What was frustrating was after a bit of time he starts talking about how when it seems like N is in crisis, we need to ask the 'three questions' (Are you suicidal, do you have a plan, can you trust yourself?) I start to cry, I am feeling relief that we are all together and we have an ally, I feel safe enough to let my guard down a bit. I talk about how frustrating it is that we have to go home with a kid who has suicidal and homicidal ideations and the only tool we get to deal with that are three chintzy questions. He offers me a tissue and I decline. He says, "No, they're right there. Take one." I say, "No. Thank you. I'm good." I'm triggered by this interaction but not in a big way, it's just confusing.
A few minutes later I say to N how I want him to know how his dad and I aren't assuming that he's some sort of bad person because of these thoughts he's having, that we get it's just one color on the palette of his mental health, and that I don't want him to worry that we're thinking less of him. Dr. G stops me and says, "I'm going to interrupt you right there. (benevolent smile.) YOu were doing great, up until that last sentence."
"Um... excuse me?" I'm stunned.
"You were doing great up until that last thing you said. (pause...) Have you read How to Talk so Kids Will Listen, and Listen so Kids Will Talk?"
I'm incredulous. Is this guy telling me how to talk to my kid right now??! Oh yes, he was.
"You were doing great, up until you told him how to feel. You see, N can't just shut his feelings off or turn them on."
I'm livid. "I'm aware of that. We actually have stellar communication in my house and in that context I'm confident that N understands that I was not telling him how to feel."
"Well... but you just did. You said.."
etc.
#$@#$@#
After analyzing our interactions with each other, we got to hear about how he 'doesn't normally go this long but is taking a family therapy approach', which we did not consent to, nor did he mention at the beginning of the appointment. He interrupted, he silenced. He literally said that R and I are "intimidating... Am I right, N?" as if he knew exactly why N was not super communicative with us sometimes. He repeatedly said, "How to Talk so Kids Will Listen... check it out, it's good!" when he didn't like how we were communicating. He prescriped a medication to our son that he described as 'scary', and when I asked him very clearly what we were looking for as signs of progress, said, "Look. I'm trying to keep your son out of a mental hospital. Another doctor, with your son's symptoms, would have him admitted today."
Yeah? Fuck you, dickhole.
I was so angry I was shaking when I left. When we got up to leave he actually said to me, "I'm sorry I upset you." You're.... what?!
I'll show you intimidating.
Monday, April 6, 2015
A very very bad day.
Background
N has been struggling for months, almost a year now. What started out to be some disorganized thinking and mood swings, accompanied by a desire to help his friends who were struggling, turned into a terrible case of self-harming, disassociating, self-isolating, depression and anxiety.
N has been increasingly moody over the last year. He sat us down at some point last fall and said that he was having trouble separating himself emotionally from what his friends were going through. His friends were dealing with abuse, drugs, moves, school stress, and the home-grown-self-inflated worries of any teenager seeking more attention. N is empathetic and responsive and did his best to be available and step in as much as he could, which was taxing him due to his unclear boundaries and inability to separate himself.
What we were seeing externally was a regular teenager who was starting to experience these challenging relationships, a kid who was in his own way, seeking attention. We talked constantly about what was going on with him and what we should be doing differently- wanting to remain supportive but feeling increasingly frustrated at what looked like a very dramatic cry for attention from a kid who did not have hardship in his life. It was very aggravating and our level of sympathy had to be expanded from what it was. Sometimes we got mad, sometimes we spoke eloquently. N spent less time talking and more time getting frustrated and mad at us. He'd talk a little, but basically felt resigned that we did not understand and weren't going to listen, no matter how much we attempted to both. We were reaching, but he wasn't reaching back.
He drew with Sharpie all over his walls, dark images and lyrics that demonstrated the storm that was going on inside him. He draw all over his arms and clothing, he doodled on his homework, turned in work written in red-ink with dark figures covering the sides of the pages. His work was not getting turned in on time, if at all. He was cutting himself, small cases which we'd get upset about but we still felt that he was being dramatic. What did this kid have to be upset about? He comes from an intact home with solidly good communication, supportive of his interests, no fighting, no secrets, no traumas. What was going on here? Looking back is always helpful but when you're the gradual build-up of it all, it doesn't seem as clear and obvious as it does now.
In January I got a call from his school counselor. She sounded alarmed, and said that he'd cut himself at school so deeply I might need to take him to get stitches. It was not something she felt comfortable dealing with at school, I needed to pick him up. I went to get him and I was riddled with anger and fear, and helplessness. How do I now help my kid who is taking this further than I ever imagined it'd go? He'd gone to see a therapist a few times at his request, and in that it was only 3 appointments, nothing helpful was happening yet. In order to get him back into school we needed to make another appointment with the therapist, and he had to serve 2-days of in-school-suspension because he'd brought a 'weapon' to school. The principal, school psychologist and school counselor met and decided that taking him away from his social structure wasn't in his best interest, so they opted to allow ISS in lieu of a home-suspension. We appreciated that their point of view was to help and not punish.
N spent several months checking out books and websites on mental health disorders. He believed that he was bipolar and told his friends this. He checked out a college level book on psychiatric disorders and started telling us afterward that he had "obsessive compulsive behaviors" and was "hearing voices". We did not see any signs of either of these things (and still do not), so we chalked it up again to him being dramatic, finding things that resonated for how he felt and then using it to build up stories to his friends about how 'dark' and troubled he was.
We tried to get him into see his therapist for the next two months. The appointment we had in place got canceled when she got the flu. The second appointment was canceled when we arrived, but she'd just left because she was still quite sick. We rescheduled for a third time.
March 14
We'd learned to gauge how N was doing based on how he interacted with everyone. If he was really isolating and cranky, we could anticipate more drawing on himself, more irritability, moodiness, less patience, less eating and more sleeping. I wouldn't say we were super aware of all this but we were starting to pick it up. On the evening of March 14th he came downstairs and joked around with his sister for a minute, and with his dad. E was about to get into the bathtub so I went in to help her get settled, and when I came out, N was in the kitchen with his dad, talking about how excited he was for what had been prepared for dinner. He went back upstairs.
While R started dishing up dinner he yelled up to N to come down. Very common, N didn't hear him and so didnt' respond. I began dishing up my food and heard E yell for me from the bathroom, so as I walked in there, R tapped the ceiling of the kitchen (which N can hear in his room), so that he'd come down for dinner.
While I was in the bathroom and E was showing me how long she could hold her breath, I heard R talking to N with a raised voice. It sounded like they were joking around about something but instead of the normal rhythm of laughing and then settling, it was getting louder and more anxious sounding. In slow motion I walked out of the bathroom and saw R, staring up stairs and sort of leaning over, as if he couldn't stand up, and yelling, "What did you do N? What did you do?!" I looked up onto the landing where N stood holding his arm outstretched, drips of blood falling onto the floor while he mumbled incoherently about how the voices had won this time, he couldn't help himself. He was white as a sheet and looked like he was about to faint.
I remember thinking, "Oh fuck. He fucking cut himself AGAIN." In the seconds that stretched to hours for him to just make it down the stairs, I felt all the ranges of feelings from helpless and sad to full of rage, to disconnected emotionally all together so that I could deal with whatever was about to happen.
N walked past me to his dad who continued to yell the same things over and over, only adding in now, "We have to call 9-1-1," with the anxious and worried questions he was throwing at N. He put a towel over N's arm but all I could see was the little rivulets of blood, not even that much blood. I couldn't actually see where the cuts were or understand why R was yelling and why N was so shocky. After R put the towel over it, my brain comprehended what I saw, and it simultaneously lifted me out of my body, and shoved me right back in, hard. N had cut a 6" long laceration down his forearm that was so deep, it had separated to 3" wide, and the muscles of his arm were bulging out. The actual muscle - I watched them move as he flexed his hand. Raw, exposed, purple, perfused with blood, beautiful, the inside of my precious baby's body revealed for us, who should have never, ever seen it in this way.
E called me back into the bathroom, she had no idea what was happening. I answered her question, came out, picked up the phone and dialed 911. "I am calling to report a suicide attempt, my son has cut his arm very deeply and we need EMS." I handed the phone to R, who spoke to the dispatcher while wrapping N's arm. I said, very calmly, "N, you're in shock. I need you to stay awake. R, he might faint so get him on the couch." I started gathering up things for N so we were ready to take him to the hospital. I moved like a robot. I didn't speak anymore than I needed. I didn't freak out. N said he felt nauseated, I got him a bowl. I said, "This is really deep. You might need surgery to fix it." N was very calm and nodded. He was willing to do whatever we asked of him. R asked him questions, "Why? What happened? We just saw you five minutes ago and you were fine??" He was so confused and hurt and scared. I felt nothing; I was a robot, going through the motions, making sure everyone was tended.
It took me a few phone calls to find someone to take E for the night, but it worked out that she could go to a nearby friend's. I went into the bathroom, having already packed her stuff and announced in a cheerful tone that she'd get to have a sleep over with her friend tonight. She cheered, very happy and oblivious to what was going on in the living room. While she dressed herself I went to the livign room and told N that his baby sister was about to come out and that he needed to hold it together for her, that she was not going to see how bad this was. He nodded solemnly and tried to look more normal; he was still very, very pale.
E came out of the bathroom and I grabbed her bag and shoes right as our friend J came to get her. At hte same time, two fire trucks, and two aid cars pulled up. Lights on and the street filled with EMS, E asked what was going on. I explained that N had cut his arm pretty bad and they were here to help us get N to the hospital. She was nonplussed and took off quickly with J.
EMS was asking N lots of questions, none of which I remember, and then we packed him off to the hospital. I rode in the front seat of the ambulance while the paramedic rode in back with N talking and joking with him. They told me we'd have to go to the locked part of the ER due to the nature of his injuries. I didn't even know this existed. We rode in relative silence. I squeezed my phone and thought about about what would happen, how we'd help him, questioned everything I thought I knew, and worried for R who was driving behind us, alone after all that.
When we arrived at the hospital everyone was very nice. They wheeled N to his room, which lacked anything sharp and featured a camera that allowed the security folks to ensure his safety at all times. The nurse didn't ask questions, just cared for N. Shortly after, a PA came to do N's repair. He said, "We just need to stitch this." I said, "Really? just stitches?" The PA looked at me like I was loopy, like, what did I expect besides stitches?? I didn't know what I expected, but my child's arm muscles were bulging out so stitches just seemed like an underwhelming response to that kind of injury. He carefully stitched N's arm while we waited for the social worker to come see us so we could get home and figure out what the hell to do from here.
Laurie, our first social worker, walked in and mentioned who she was and what her role was, and asked if R and I would step out so she could talk privately with N. We were fine with that and went to the small cafe where we tried to eat, stared at each other a lot, cried, and stared some more. After about 30 minutes Laurie came to find us and took us to a private room where we could counsel together about what she'd discovered and what we needed to do next.
"Has N ever asked about going to a facility?" Yes, we said, he had, and we'd blown it off. He had a friend who had major mental health issues who had sold the idea to N that these were fun, great places to go. All we knew about mental health facilities was that he'd be drooling on his puzzle in the 'sun room' after he convinced the doctors that he was very sick, with all the knowledge and terminology he'd picked up about mental health. We had always told him no.
"He's asking to go, and where we are right now is that given the serious nature of his injury, I'm going to support him in that. Where are you guys with that?" She handled us so beautifully, letting us arrive at our own knowing rather than removing the right (we didn't have anyway) to say no. In WA state, kids over age 13 can self-admit for mental and sexual health care, so we didn't have a say. In fact, as soon as he put that blade to his arm, we lost any say. However, Laurie was great about getting us all on the same page while at the same time respecting what the law had to say about our situation. I am familiar with the laws so I knew what was going on, but i was just very impressed with her warmth and kindness at the same time. R and Laurie talked a bit about what that might look like, while I paced. I could only walk back and forth, no words would come. I didn't know how to feel, or what to think, while they chatted about this monumental moment. I threw my glasses down and yelled, "You're talking about taking my kid to another city, and you can't even tell me for how long. You're talking about taking my kid. Can we please stop talking about this like we're making a grocery list?!" I yelled, and I burst into tears. How did we go from making dinner to this in just a few short hours?? What was going to happen to my child? Would we even know? What if he went somewhere and was abused? What if he was scared or didn't want to be there anymore? What rights, if any, did we have?? I was terrified.
"I will go find out what our options are for a location. We're looking at either KMH (in our county), Fairfax (1.5 hours away), or Seattle Children's Hospital (another 1.5 hrs away). There aren't many beds for adolescents so we'll just have to see what's available. Let me do some digging and we'll get together again and strategize." Even though she already knew he'd have to go to facility, and knew we couldn't even stop that train, she handled it in such a way to keep us involved and connected, and to let us think that no 'decisions had been made' even though they absolutely had. She was brilliant. I cried some more. My baby didn't want to come home. He wanted to go somewhere else, possibly far away, for some unknown length of time. It was in motion now, I couldn't stop it. I went back into the room, sat next to his gurney, lay on his bony chest and cried very hard, while he stroked my back.
We said to N, "If this is what you need, we support you. We've got your back. We'll do this together." We sat and waited for her to come back and she said, "It's looking like Fairfax is the only one with a bed right now. We're getting the ball rolling. I went off shift a bit ago but I'll make sure this is in process before I go." I wanted to hug her because she was kind and understanding and thorough, and we were adrift and lost.
While R started dishing up dinner he yelled up to N to come down. Very common, N didn't hear him and so didnt' respond. I began dishing up my food and heard E yell for me from the bathroom, so as I walked in there, R tapped the ceiling of the kitchen (which N can hear in his room), so that he'd come down for dinner.
While I was in the bathroom and E was showing me how long she could hold her breath, I heard R talking to N with a raised voice. It sounded like they were joking around about something but instead of the normal rhythm of laughing and then settling, it was getting louder and more anxious sounding. In slow motion I walked out of the bathroom and saw R, staring up stairs and sort of leaning over, as if he couldn't stand up, and yelling, "What did you do N? What did you do?!" I looked up onto the landing where N stood holding his arm outstretched, drips of blood falling onto the floor while he mumbled incoherently about how the voices had won this time, he couldn't help himself. He was white as a sheet and looked like he was about to faint.
I remember thinking, "Oh fuck. He fucking cut himself AGAIN." In the seconds that stretched to hours for him to just make it down the stairs, I felt all the ranges of feelings from helpless and sad to full of rage, to disconnected emotionally all together so that I could deal with whatever was about to happen.
N walked past me to his dad who continued to yell the same things over and over, only adding in now, "We have to call 9-1-1," with the anxious and worried questions he was throwing at N. He put a towel over N's arm but all I could see was the little rivulets of blood, not even that much blood. I couldn't actually see where the cuts were or understand why R was yelling and why N was so shocky. After R put the towel over it, my brain comprehended what I saw, and it simultaneously lifted me out of my body, and shoved me right back in, hard. N had cut a 6" long laceration down his forearm that was so deep, it had separated to 3" wide, and the muscles of his arm were bulging out. The actual muscle - I watched them move as he flexed his hand. Raw, exposed, purple, perfused with blood, beautiful, the inside of my precious baby's body revealed for us, who should have never, ever seen it in this way.
E called me back into the bathroom, she had no idea what was happening. I answered her question, came out, picked up the phone and dialed 911. "I am calling to report a suicide attempt, my son has cut his arm very deeply and we need EMS." I handed the phone to R, who spoke to the dispatcher while wrapping N's arm. I said, very calmly, "N, you're in shock. I need you to stay awake. R, he might faint so get him on the couch." I started gathering up things for N so we were ready to take him to the hospital. I moved like a robot. I didn't speak anymore than I needed. I didn't freak out. N said he felt nauseated, I got him a bowl. I said, "This is really deep. You might need surgery to fix it." N was very calm and nodded. He was willing to do whatever we asked of him. R asked him questions, "Why? What happened? We just saw you five minutes ago and you were fine??" He was so confused and hurt and scared. I felt nothing; I was a robot, going through the motions, making sure everyone was tended.
It took me a few phone calls to find someone to take E for the night, but it worked out that she could go to a nearby friend's. I went into the bathroom, having already packed her stuff and announced in a cheerful tone that she'd get to have a sleep over with her friend tonight. She cheered, very happy and oblivious to what was going on in the living room. While she dressed herself I went to the livign room and told N that his baby sister was about to come out and that he needed to hold it together for her, that she was not going to see how bad this was. He nodded solemnly and tried to look more normal; he was still very, very pale.
E came out of the bathroom and I grabbed her bag and shoes right as our friend J came to get her. At hte same time, two fire trucks, and two aid cars pulled up. Lights on and the street filled with EMS, E asked what was going on. I explained that N had cut his arm pretty bad and they were here to help us get N to the hospital. She was nonplussed and took off quickly with J.
EMS was asking N lots of questions, none of which I remember, and then we packed him off to the hospital. I rode in the front seat of the ambulance while the paramedic rode in back with N talking and joking with him. They told me we'd have to go to the locked part of the ER due to the nature of his injuries. I didn't even know this existed. We rode in relative silence. I squeezed my phone and thought about about what would happen, how we'd help him, questioned everything I thought I knew, and worried for R who was driving behind us, alone after all that.
When we arrived at the hospital everyone was very nice. They wheeled N to his room, which lacked anything sharp and featured a camera that allowed the security folks to ensure his safety at all times. The nurse didn't ask questions, just cared for N. Shortly after, a PA came to do N's repair. He said, "We just need to stitch this." I said, "Really? just stitches?" The PA looked at me like I was loopy, like, what did I expect besides stitches?? I didn't know what I expected, but my child's arm muscles were bulging out so stitches just seemed like an underwhelming response to that kind of injury. He carefully stitched N's arm while we waited for the social worker to come see us so we could get home and figure out what the hell to do from here.
Laurie, our first social worker, walked in and mentioned who she was and what her role was, and asked if R and I would step out so she could talk privately with N. We were fine with that and went to the small cafe where we tried to eat, stared at each other a lot, cried, and stared some more. After about 30 minutes Laurie came to find us and took us to a private room where we could counsel together about what she'd discovered and what we needed to do next.
"Has N ever asked about going to a facility?" Yes, we said, he had, and we'd blown it off. He had a friend who had major mental health issues who had sold the idea to N that these were fun, great places to go. All we knew about mental health facilities was that he'd be drooling on his puzzle in the 'sun room' after he convinced the doctors that he was very sick, with all the knowledge and terminology he'd picked up about mental health. We had always told him no.
"He's asking to go, and where we are right now is that given the serious nature of his injury, I'm going to support him in that. Where are you guys with that?" She handled us so beautifully, letting us arrive at our own knowing rather than removing the right (we didn't have anyway) to say no. In WA state, kids over age 13 can self-admit for mental and sexual health care, so we didn't have a say. In fact, as soon as he put that blade to his arm, we lost any say. However, Laurie was great about getting us all on the same page while at the same time respecting what the law had to say about our situation. I am familiar with the laws so I knew what was going on, but i was just very impressed with her warmth and kindness at the same time. R and Laurie talked a bit about what that might look like, while I paced. I could only walk back and forth, no words would come. I didn't know how to feel, or what to think, while they chatted about this monumental moment. I threw my glasses down and yelled, "You're talking about taking my kid to another city, and you can't even tell me for how long. You're talking about taking my kid. Can we please stop talking about this like we're making a grocery list?!" I yelled, and I burst into tears. How did we go from making dinner to this in just a few short hours?? What was going to happen to my child? Would we even know? What if he went somewhere and was abused? What if he was scared or didn't want to be there anymore? What rights, if any, did we have?? I was terrified.
"I will go find out what our options are for a location. We're looking at either KMH (in our county), Fairfax (1.5 hours away), or Seattle Children's Hospital (another 1.5 hrs away). There aren't many beds for adolescents so we'll just have to see what's available. Let me do some digging and we'll get together again and strategize." Even though she already knew he'd have to go to facility, and knew we couldn't even stop that train, she handled it in such a way to keep us involved and connected, and to let us think that no 'decisions had been made' even though they absolutely had. She was brilliant. I cried some more. My baby didn't want to come home. He wanted to go somewhere else, possibly far away, for some unknown length of time. It was in motion now, I couldn't stop it. I went back into the room, sat next to his gurney, lay on his bony chest and cried very hard, while he stroked my back.
We said to N, "If this is what you need, we support you. We've got your back. We'll do this together." We sat and waited for her to come back and she said, "It's looking like Fairfax is the only one with a bed right now. We're getting the ball rolling. I went off shift a bit ago but I'll make sure this is in process before I go." I wanted to hug her because she was kind and understanding and thorough, and we were adrift and lost.
March 15
We were now waiting to meet the new social worker who would help us transition to the facility. Kristi walked in shortly after her shift started. Her clipboard pressed tightly against her chest and a giant scarf around her neck, she didn't come further into the room than the front door. She introduced herself quickly and explained that N would be going to Fairfax and that once there, they'd figure out what medications he needed and get him started on those right away. She launched into how she did not know how long he'd be gone, only that we'd definitely be going.
In about 45 seconds she barreled through a bunch of information that was a lot more than we'd known was in motion. She did not pause when we became alarmed, she became condescending and acted as if we should already know this terrain. I said, "Wait a second- we didn't know that he'd been accepted to Fairfax, only that it was the most likely."
"Well. He's going to Fairfax."
"OKay.... (Deep breathing, trying to stay calm and not rip her condescending little face off).. can you tell me what the facility is like?"
N was in the very same room, and I was hoping that she could simply tell us what he might experience. We'd never gone through anything like this before and we did not know what the process was, what the experience was, the rules, nothing.
She grew very defensive and said, "If you're asking me if I've been a patient there, no, I have not."
I took another deep breath, but my reserves were now below empty and my patience was wearing extremely thin with this woman. "I am obviously not asking you such a personal question. My 13 year old is about to be taken by ambulance to a facility that neither he, nor we, know anything about. So can you tell us what we can expect to happen when we arrive?"
She machine-gunned some answers that were actually guesses at me, about how he'd see a psychiatrist within an hour of arriving who would decide what drugs N needed, that we would be required to be there to complete the intake paperwork, and I had to stop her right there because what-the-fuck?!
"Um, we haven't consented to any medications. How are they going to give my child medication after speaking to him one time within the hour of his arrival?" I was getting louder now. I could hear R speaking too, in calming tones to her, because she was growing increasingly agitated as well.
"Ma'am, I can pretty much assure you that 100% of people in a facility are medicated. It's part of hte treatment plan. If you're in a facility, you NEED medications." She looked at me like I was an idiot, a cry-baby, in denial, and over protective. I tried to wrap my mind around what she was saying. I could not.
"I know we don't have a say here because he's voluntarily admitting-"
"You're right. You don't."
At this point I just took a deep breath and said, "Can we just remember that we're all on the same team here? We're all looking out for N. I'm just trying to get some information so that he knows what to expect when he arrives, since we likely won't be there yet. I'm sensing some hostility on both sides here and I am just hoping we can take a deep breath together, and start fresh." She looked visibly offended and took a defensive step back. "I am NOT defensive."
Okay bitch. I'm now done. She finished talking, said she'd be back at 3:30am to update us on the admission process, and that N should be on his way to the facility after 8am. We expected to see her again at 3:30; she never showed her face to us again the rest of the time we were there. Not to answer questions, not to update us, not to make sure our transition was smooth, to follow up with resources- nothing.
In about 45 seconds she barreled through a bunch of information that was a lot more than we'd known was in motion. She did not pause when we became alarmed, she became condescending and acted as if we should already know this terrain. I said, "Wait a second- we didn't know that he'd been accepted to Fairfax, only that it was the most likely."
"Well. He's going to Fairfax."
"OKay.... (Deep breathing, trying to stay calm and not rip her condescending little face off).. can you tell me what the facility is like?"
N was in the very same room, and I was hoping that she could simply tell us what he might experience. We'd never gone through anything like this before and we did not know what the process was, what the experience was, the rules, nothing.
She grew very defensive and said, "If you're asking me if I've been a patient there, no, I have not."
I took another deep breath, but my reserves were now below empty and my patience was wearing extremely thin with this woman. "I am obviously not asking you such a personal question. My 13 year old is about to be taken by ambulance to a facility that neither he, nor we, know anything about. So can you tell us what we can expect to happen when we arrive?"
She machine-gunned some answers that were actually guesses at me, about how he'd see a psychiatrist within an hour of arriving who would decide what drugs N needed, that we would be required to be there to complete the intake paperwork, and I had to stop her right there because what-the-fuck?!
"Um, we haven't consented to any medications. How are they going to give my child medication after speaking to him one time within the hour of his arrival?" I was getting louder now. I could hear R speaking too, in calming tones to her, because she was growing increasingly agitated as well.
"Ma'am, I can pretty much assure you that 100% of people in a facility are medicated. It's part of hte treatment plan. If you're in a facility, you NEED medications." She looked at me like I was an idiot, a cry-baby, in denial, and over protective. I tried to wrap my mind around what she was saying. I could not.
"I know we don't have a say here because he's voluntarily admitting-"
"You're right. You don't."
At this point I just took a deep breath and said, "Can we just remember that we're all on the same team here? We're all looking out for N. I'm just trying to get some information so that he knows what to expect when he arrives, since we likely won't be there yet. I'm sensing some hostility on both sides here and I am just hoping we can take a deep breath together, and start fresh." She looked visibly offended and took a defensive step back. "I am NOT defensive."
Okay bitch. I'm now done. She finished talking, said she'd be back at 3:30am to update us on the admission process, and that N should be on his way to the facility after 8am. We expected to see her again at 3:30; she never showed her face to us again the rest of the time we were there. Not to answer questions, not to update us, not to make sure our transition was smooth, to follow up with resources- nothing.
I still had the portable bed I bring to births so that i can sleep in my Durango. I went out to the car and tried to sleep. Anxiety, emotion and over-exhaustion kept me from more than an hour of broken sleep. I woke up and texted R to let him know I was awake. It was now 4am and he hadn't heard anything from the social worker. I encouraged him to come and nap too. N was asleep and there was nothing in the room that would allow either of us to be comfortable enough to rest. We told N and his nurse where we'd be and we both climbed into the car. Another broken hour of sleep after much talking, tossing and turning.
It was 7am when we woke up. I had a feeling we should head back in. We asked if N had heard from the social worker, she'd just been in there to tell him that the ambulance would be there at 8am to get him. Suddenly it was real. My baby was going to be taken somewhere I couldn't reach him, call him, access him, and I couldn't do anything about it whatsoever. I Googled the website for Fairfax so we could find out anything at all, and there was a handbook online which was helpful. N read it so he'd have some idea on the rules. We still did not know what this transition was going to be like, all we knew was that they'd be there at 8 and I couldn't even ride with him to the hospital.
The hour went by quickly. We cut ties off of his pajama pants so he could wear his own clothes. We talked about what he wanted from home. The ambulance came and packed him up. He looked relaxed and glad to be going. They wheeled him down the hall and I cried hard into R's chest. We looked around the room to make sure we had our things, and R said, "Did we forget anything?" I said, "I think i lost my heart in here somewhere, and I can't find it."
It was 7am when we woke up. I had a feeling we should head back in. We asked if N had heard from the social worker, she'd just been in there to tell him that the ambulance would be there at 8am to get him. Suddenly it was real. My baby was going to be taken somewhere I couldn't reach him, call him, access him, and I couldn't do anything about it whatsoever. I Googled the website for Fairfax so we could find out anything at all, and there was a handbook online which was helpful. N read it so he'd have some idea on the rules. We still did not know what this transition was going to be like, all we knew was that they'd be there at 8 and I couldn't even ride with him to the hospital.
The hour went by quickly. We cut ties off of his pajama pants so he could wear his own clothes. We talked about what he wanted from home. The ambulance came and packed him up. He looked relaxed and glad to be going. They wheeled him down the hall and I cried hard into R's chest. We looked around the room to make sure we had our things, and R said, "Did we forget anything?" I said, "I think i lost my heart in here somewhere, and I can't find it."
Fairfax
We needed to go home and shower, and collect things for N to have at the hospital. We had no clue what he'd be allowed to have but we knew to avoid anything with strings or metal. N had asked for 'all black clothes' so I gave him colorful shirts and blue jeans. We showered and headed out the door. It was the first day of rain after a stretch of sun and it was that misty, grey rain that makes traffic more dangerous and slow. We had never been to Kirkland before. We thought it was over 2 hours away. When we were about 30-minutes away we called Fairfax to make sure N had arrived and to let them know we were on our way to fill out the paperwork, etc. The woman at the front desk couldn't acknowledge whether N was there or not, and asked if we had his access code. Because I'd read the handbook I knew what the 'access code' meant, but we didn't not have one yet as he had just arrived. I said, "We'll be there soon to get him admitted, can you just let him know we're almost there?" She sounded very confused, and so were we, so we just kept driving.
When we arrived we walked into a beautiful, brightly lit, friendly looking place. Groups of adult patients walked accompanied through the lobby from one area to another. They looked okay, not drugged or incapacitated. I was now extremely exhausted and anxious. We went to the front desk and said that our son had just arrived.
The social worker, Kristi, had told us that someone would be there to greet us, explain the treatment plan, tell us what medications N would be on, etc. So we arrived thinking that there was an intake process we were required to go through.
From the Fairfax side, there is no intake process on weekends; their intake staff is not on-site over the weekend and I'm not sure why, but they do not have a built in process for parents to have that connection. So when we walked up to the counter announcing ourselves, the receptionist was very confused about what we wanted, 2 hours before visiting time.
I was growing increasingly agitated and walked away. I was about to start yelling in the lobby and I knew that I might end up getting literally arrested if I couldn't stay calm. But what I was hearing was that my son was behind the locked doors, she couldn't tell me he was okay or acknowledge that he was even there, and kept suggesting I wait for visiting hours. She offered to go find out more information for us, so I paced the lobby and stared at this beautiful photo of a juniper tree that was mounted. It helped me to calm down a bit. She came back out and handed us some documents which were actually very helpful. Schedule, handbook, visiting policy. I was standing next to her and she said, "Ma'am, have a seat." I said, "No." She was so gentle and kind, she suggested it again and I said, "I do not want to sit down." She explained that we should wait another hour for visiting, see our son and that he's okay, and then she would arrange for a staff person to see us directly after. I started to speak again, very angry now, and she said, "Oh ma'am... you are so very tired, and you've been through so much..." I started to cry, sat down, and said, "We really have!" and then I was able to listen to all the information she'd gathered for us.
We went out to the car for the hour we had before visiting hour, and R rested while I could not. We hurried back in to a long line of people waiting to check in. There was no "how to" do visiting hours posted- we had to just follow the crowd. Eventually a nurse came out and asked for parents waiting to visit West 1. No one told us were N was so we looked at our nametags, and there it was- West 1. She took down his name and several others, and disappeared.
My anxiety level was incredibly high. I was tear-stained, without sleep, and still weeping. I was pacing, angry and frustrated and confused by this whole room of a few dozen people who seemed happy to be here. What the fuck were they so happy about?! Where is my kid?!?!?!
After a few minutes she gathered up all the West 1 folks and we walked to the cafeteria together. That was informative, we could see behind the locked doors of the lobby to 'behind the scenes'. It was still beautiful, consistent, there was no icky feelings of bad treatment or overly messed up people about to burst through a door and hurt themselves or someone. All the stereotypes we'd had going in dissipated as we walked toward the cafeteria. We each took a table and waited for our loved ones to arrive.
Kids started walking in in various states of drugged, at least to me. I sat at the table drumming my fingers, knees shaking, while I waited for my kid to walk in. Because of what the social worker had said, I prepared myself that he might be very out of it, might be very stoned, that he might not even know what he'd been given. I had to keep it together regardless. We waited. No kid.
R finally suggested that we ask the nurse about it and I said, "You have to. I'll make a scene. I've got nothing left." He walked over and had a very animated discussion with her before calling me over. "He's not coming here."
I about lost my marbles, but I did not. I calmly asked, "Where is my son." It wasn't even a question, really. She said she was so sorry, she didn't realize he was a new admit so he doesn't have cafeteria privileges yet. I was losing faith that anyone here knew what the hell was going on and getting ever more angry. She asked someone to walk us to the lobby and joined us there a moment later. I explained what a nightmare it had been from the moment that social worker 'prepared us' for what we could expect, to the ridiculous snafus upon arriving. She was very sincere and kind, and apologized profusely. We tearfully asked about the drugs and what we could expect and she looked aghast - "We would never give your son medication without your knowledge, unless he was being at risk to himself and others and we needed to sedate for that purpose. Otherwise, you'd know everything and be okay with it. That should never happen!" She was shocked htat we expected that, and we were so hugely relieved, and now bitterly angry at the stress and fear the social worker had caused us.
Mari (the nurse) walked us through the locked door and there was N, striding toward us the way he does. He seemed grumpy that we were harshing his awesome deal; finally he would have the audience he needed to convince them how sick and damaged he was! What were we doing there?
We sat there for the 30 minutes we had left and asked him how he was, if he was okay staying here, was there anything he needed, when we'd be back to visit. Then we left.
When we arrived we walked into a beautiful, brightly lit, friendly looking place. Groups of adult patients walked accompanied through the lobby from one area to another. They looked okay, not drugged or incapacitated. I was now extremely exhausted and anxious. We went to the front desk and said that our son had just arrived.
The social worker, Kristi, had told us that someone would be there to greet us, explain the treatment plan, tell us what medications N would be on, etc. So we arrived thinking that there was an intake process we were required to go through.
From the Fairfax side, there is no intake process on weekends; their intake staff is not on-site over the weekend and I'm not sure why, but they do not have a built in process for parents to have that connection. So when we walked up to the counter announcing ourselves, the receptionist was very confused about what we wanted, 2 hours before visiting time.
I was growing increasingly agitated and walked away. I was about to start yelling in the lobby and I knew that I might end up getting literally arrested if I couldn't stay calm. But what I was hearing was that my son was behind the locked doors, she couldn't tell me he was okay or acknowledge that he was even there, and kept suggesting I wait for visiting hours. She offered to go find out more information for us, so I paced the lobby and stared at this beautiful photo of a juniper tree that was mounted. It helped me to calm down a bit. She came back out and handed us some documents which were actually very helpful. Schedule, handbook, visiting policy. I was standing next to her and she said, "Ma'am, have a seat." I said, "No." She was so gentle and kind, she suggested it again and I said, "I do not want to sit down." She explained that we should wait another hour for visiting, see our son and that he's okay, and then she would arrange for a staff person to see us directly after. I started to speak again, very angry now, and she said, "Oh ma'am... you are so very tired, and you've been through so much..." I started to cry, sat down, and said, "We really have!" and then I was able to listen to all the information she'd gathered for us.
We went out to the car for the hour we had before visiting hour, and R rested while I could not. We hurried back in to a long line of people waiting to check in. There was no "how to" do visiting hours posted- we had to just follow the crowd. Eventually a nurse came out and asked for parents waiting to visit West 1. No one told us were N was so we looked at our nametags, and there it was- West 1. She took down his name and several others, and disappeared.
My anxiety level was incredibly high. I was tear-stained, without sleep, and still weeping. I was pacing, angry and frustrated and confused by this whole room of a few dozen people who seemed happy to be here. What the fuck were they so happy about?! Where is my kid?!?!?!
After a few minutes she gathered up all the West 1 folks and we walked to the cafeteria together. That was informative, we could see behind the locked doors of the lobby to 'behind the scenes'. It was still beautiful, consistent, there was no icky feelings of bad treatment or overly messed up people about to burst through a door and hurt themselves or someone. All the stereotypes we'd had going in dissipated as we walked toward the cafeteria. We each took a table and waited for our loved ones to arrive.
Kids started walking in in various states of drugged, at least to me. I sat at the table drumming my fingers, knees shaking, while I waited for my kid to walk in. Because of what the social worker had said, I prepared myself that he might be very out of it, might be very stoned, that he might not even know what he'd been given. I had to keep it together regardless. We waited. No kid.
R finally suggested that we ask the nurse about it and I said, "You have to. I'll make a scene. I've got nothing left." He walked over and had a very animated discussion with her before calling me over. "He's not coming here."
I about lost my marbles, but I did not. I calmly asked, "Where is my son." It wasn't even a question, really. She said she was so sorry, she didn't realize he was a new admit so he doesn't have cafeteria privileges yet. I was losing faith that anyone here knew what the hell was going on and getting ever more angry. She asked someone to walk us to the lobby and joined us there a moment later. I explained what a nightmare it had been from the moment that social worker 'prepared us' for what we could expect, to the ridiculous snafus upon arriving. She was very sincere and kind, and apologized profusely. We tearfully asked about the drugs and what we could expect and she looked aghast - "We would never give your son medication without your knowledge, unless he was being at risk to himself and others and we needed to sedate for that purpose. Otherwise, you'd know everything and be okay with it. That should never happen!" She was shocked htat we expected that, and we were so hugely relieved, and now bitterly angry at the stress and fear the social worker had caused us.
Mari (the nurse) walked us through the locked door and there was N, striding toward us the way he does. He seemed grumpy that we were harshing his awesome deal; finally he would have the audience he needed to convince them how sick and damaged he was! What were we doing there?
We sat there for the 30 minutes we had left and asked him how he was, if he was okay staying here, was there anything he needed, when we'd be back to visit. Then we left.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)