Sparks and Butterflies...

But aside from that, she's still completely normal

Sunday and Beyond

By 6 Comments

As time has gone by, and Thanksgiving prepared and served and celebrated…  I don’t have the patience to update on the rest of the blow by blow.  So here’s the general gist…

On Sunday, I called and wanted an update on Joseph.  He was doing great behaviorally, ate and slept, and was in general good spirits.  That’s good.  I asked if we were still on track for release that day at 2:25pm.  The 72 hour hold time.  No.  Apparently he was on a tentative release date of Monday.  Unacceptable.  I asked for more information, but it wasn’t noted in the chart.  She said that she’d get the doctor to call me.  I waited on tinterhooks, but never got a call.  I called again to see if I could pick him up.  No, they would not release him.  So I called again at 4pm, and went through the whole thing again.  This time I talked to the charge nurse.  He told me that no, he was not going to be released on Sunday, or Monday.  He had been put on an involuntary 2 week hold.  Trying to hold on to my composure, I asked why that might be?  Considering that he had been no trouble at all, had managed his upped dosage of meds, and was reacting fine both physically and mentally?  He had no idea, and suggested I bring it up to the doctor.  I mentioned that I would if one would deign to speak to me.  Mind you the 72 hours were up earlier, and I had only spoken to a doctor once.  On Friday, for his history.  So, they had decided to keep him – again – without my consent, and apparently my knowledge.  I told the nurse I would speak with him when I got there in person.  For our hour with our son.  After we got there, Poe took Joseph to start the visit, and I spoke with the nurse.  I went through the entire series of events with him in chronological order.  After listening to me, and my being rather nicely forceful in person, he took a look at the chart.  He said that it did seem odd to him, and he would definitely look into it.  He said that I probably could take Joseph on Monday, but that he wanted to look into it, as the hold was continued without my knowledge or consent.

We visited with Joseph.  He was noticeably worn about the edges, and was really ready to come home.  I told him I was doing my best to move things along, but that it was out of my hands.  I told him I would keep him apprised with as much as I knew.  We left him there… That night, again.

Poe and I went to dinner again at the Denny’s down the street.  As we finished, and were just waiting for the check, my cell phone rang.  The hospital.  I took the call outside, while Poe paid the bill.  That was the nurse.  He said that he didn’t know if I would be able to take Joseph on Monday or not.  You see, the doctors don’t work on the weekend.  So – while Joseph was there for his 72 hour hold, the doctors, who can’t be bothered to observe the holds on the weekends, were not observing him.  Therefore, it would have to wait until the doctor (the mythical person I had never spoken to – I spoke to a different doctor on Friday) observed him an made a decision.  He couldn’t possibly be expected to approve a release without observing the patient!

No.  He couldn’t possibly be forced to work on a weekend.

Seriously, people.  I usually have a great respect for those who work in the mental health field, and those who work with children.  But I think you forget sometimes.  It’s your job.  I know that.  But guess what?  It’s our lives you’re playing with.  So pardon me if I don’t give a rat’s ass about your getting your weekend time in, if it means you can just keep my son, whom I have custody of, and who has NO social services complaints or files on.  Again.  Our LIFE.

I gave the nurse what for on the phone.  I was pacing up and down the Denny’s parking lot.  I noticed Poe – listening with half an ear, just keeping an eye out to make sure I didn’t walk in front of a car or something.  I then told the nurse I expected a call the next morning.  I also warned him that if I didn’t – they were sure to hear from me.

We went home, dejectedly.  Eventually, we got ready for bed, and relaxed.  Around 10pm, the phone rang.  The hosptital number.  This could not be good.  I answered the phone.  It was Joseph himself.  God forgive me, but all I could think of was please don’t be having a meltdown – they won’t let you come home if you do!  But I just asked him what was wrong.  It was hard to piece together.  He couldn’t talk very well, and the phone isn’t that great.  Apparently, another boy was in Joseph’s room, and wouldn’t leave.  The patients aren’t allowed in each other’s personal rooms.  Joseph was trying to hedge him out of the room, when the other child attacked him, and put him in a choke hold.  I calmed him down as best I could.  I asked about how he was physically, and he said he couldn’t talk very well, and his neck hurt – but he was ok.  I told him to go straight to bed, and if anyone bothered him again, not to take care of it himself, but yell for an adult immediately.  I told him I was working on getting him out.  I hung up with him, and immediately called the nurses station again, where he called from.  When they answered I asked how Joseph was.  They said he was shaken, but ok.  They said that the other child was put in the “quiet room.”  Considering my son is in a locked down mental institution, I’ll just let you imagine what the quiet room is.

The patients are not allowe to use the phone.  There is a public phone that they can use after 3:30pm.  He was scare enough that they let him call his mommy from the nurses station.  I then had to hang up, an leave my son there.

The next day, the doctor who originally did the history called back.  They said that they wanted to keep him another night for observation, after the altercation.  I questioned their own sanity.  That was not appreciated.  Apparently they wanted him to react to the situation so they could observe it.  Horsehit – my guess is they were covering their own legal asses.  I made it clear that the kid had mental healthcare out the wazzoo on the outside.  I made it clear that the child was being held 100% against my wishes.  I made it clear that my husband and I were looking into our legal rights and the legal ramifications of what had transpired.  I made it clear that I didn’t appreciate being left in the dark.  “Well, I spoke with you on Friday.”  Yes.  That one time was enough to keep me feeling informed about my involuntarilly hospitalized son, sure.

I think that she couldn’t possibly be a mother.

She informed me that he was tentatively scheduled for release, the next day, Tuesday.  I asked when?  She couldn’t tell me.  Who can?  The social worker.  OK, when will I hear from them?  She couldn’t tell me.  Which was so helpful.

Around 2pm, I got a call from a new person at the hospital, who I hoped was the social worker to arrange release.  No such luck.  It was the administrative office.  Our medical insurance will only cover 80% of the bill, and I would owe $1000 for the remaining 20% when I picked him up.  And how did I want to pay for that?

I must say, I reacted totally inappropriately.  I started laughing.  Hard.  With a little tinge of hysteria.  I then informed him that my husband has been out of work for the last 8 months.  This was the first actual mention of money.  And lovely timing, while I’m trying to get the kid out and all.  While he didn’t say so, I definitely got the impression that feeling was you get your kid when you give up the dough.  I don’t think so.  The words “kidnapping,” “blackmail,” and “extortion” come to mind.  I consulted with my mother, and she said no to the money.  Not no to me…  She was pissed at them.  She said that if they didn’t give him up the next morning,  to call the police.  Let them come after me for the money if they wanted to – but she wasn’t paying them a dime to get my kid out and they can’t force me to.  Further, she spoke to an attorney, and apparently we have more rights than they let us know.

Finally at 4pm I called them back.  I still hadn’t heard from a social worker…  After playing phone line bingo, I was told that he had left for the day.  He leaves at 3pm.  He gets in early, don’t you know?  I said fine – give me someone who can help me.  I got the charge nurse (a different one.)  I explained about the release.  She said she could arrange it with me, as she would be the charge nurse the next morning as well.  Finally.  I arranged to pick him up at 8am.

I did, too.  I was there early.  No one bugged me about money.  They weren’t in yet.  They explained about how I was to get aftercare and an appointment at his therapy center.  I explained – again – that he has been going there for 2 years, we have standing appointments, not to worry.  She was surprised by this.  Why yes, I do take care of my son!  Imagine that!

I took him home, and we had a long talk on the way home.  And then got him in a hot shower, and into clean pajamas.

His therapist came to the house the next day and had a session with him – and a session with us after.  She knew how hard it had been on us, and couldn’t do a thing about it.

And now?  We’ve taken him out of the school.  I was going to homeschool, but that’s going to mess with his mental health care through the state, and I cannot put that in jeopardy.  We’re currently looking at another school in another town that only has 4 kids at a time, and they all have issues like Joseph.  The idea is matriculation back into the main school in a year or two again.  Our district would be in on the whole thing.  But they have a psychiatrist on duty there.

I should probably mention his discharge diagnosis.  Bipolar disorder.  Actually makes sense to Poe and I, who live with him every day.  But couldn’t you have told that to me?  And not left me to read it on my son’s paperwork?

So.  School changes coming.  We’re waiting for a tour with his therapist before making our final decision.  Possible medication changes coming.  But he’ll be removed from the situation that was causing breakdowns and such mental angst.

This was an awful, awful experience.  I’m glad it’s behind us.  We have a long road to hoe…

But I’d like to leave you with two thoughts.  One, to parents, fight.  Don’t let it happen to you.  Ask questions.  Question them.  They may have lots of deserved degrees, but they are also human.  You live with the child, you know  them better.  Fight.  Don’t let them walk all over you.  Go with your gut.  Two, to teachers, doctors, and all those that work with children.  This is our lives.  Don’t play with it.  Don’t make it seem less than.  Don’t make our concerns seem less than.  Our lives exist constantly, fluidly, forever.  We don’t get standard breaks, and leave at the end of the day, and close up shop on Friday.

Friday and Saturday

By 1 Comment

As I work and try to prep for Thanksgiving at the same time…  the events of those 5 days are getting farther from concrete memories to impressions.

On Friday, Poe took care of Logan’s getting to school, and let me sleep in.  I was up so late the night before, and the emotional toll was great.  When I got up and had some coffee, I had my parents come over to the house so we could tell them the whole story of what had happened the day and night before.  They had been out of town and started the trek back when we called them.  They had gotten home about 6:30am.

While we were talking to them, the hospital called.  It was a doctor, but not the one on Joseph’s chart/identification bracelet.  We went through Joseph’s mental history, medical history, school history, as well as familial medical and mental histories.  I can do all that in my sleep.  I made it clear, again, that we did not agree with his hold.  She confirmed for me that his hold, should nothing else happen, would be up Sunday at 2:45pm.  I confirmed visiting hours for the night.  After that she asked me to put him on drugs.  Like 3.  He’d been there part of one night.  I said no.  I did allow, since he did break down, the next step up dose of the medication that he was already on.  That’s it.  I know the effect on his body, and that’s all I was comfortable with at that moment in time.  She was not pleased with me.  She then said that she would remove the 72 hour hold if I was willing to commit him for several days of observation.  I said no.  I didn’t think he should be there in the first place, and I certainly wasn’t going to be the one to commit him based on that – and for even longer than the hold to boot.  Although, in retrospect, I wonder if I should have – and if I had, would I have been able to sign him out right away?  I don’t know.  She was not pleased with me.  I was turning out to be a bit of a stubborn parent.  Obviously, part of the problem and not the solution.

5:30pm – 7pm per day.  That’s it.  To see my son (who was not in prison – although you wouldn’t know it.)

We numbly went through our day.  I couldn’t work, and let my clients know.  I was also in contact with Joseph’s therapist to keep her in the loop, since it quickly became obvious that the hospital would not.

And finally, it was time to get ready for our first visit to the mental institution.  I had been there the night before, but it was for an admission, so this would be new to me.  My father stayed with Logan.

Poe hadn’t been particularly involved in any of this.  Not due to not caring, but because he was making sure Logan was ok, and all his bases, meals, homework, etc. were covered.  This visit was the first he would see of the hospital.

We made the trek out there in Friday commuter traffic.  30 miles round trip.  We signed in.  We then made our way back to the pediatric unit – going through locked gates and doors that held signs, “Caution, AWOL risk.”  We passed the resident cat.  I don’t know who feeds him, but he’s HUGE.  We’re finally let into the pediatric unit, and Joseph came out to meet us.  He was still in the clothes from the night before, but I had brought him clean clothes.  I could also immediately tell that he had not brushed his teeth.  He lied and said he did, but I can tell.  Eventually I flat out asked him if he had a toothbrush?  No,  he did not.  I marched him up to the nurses station, and they gave us one.  “All he had to do was ask.”  “He’s 9.  He’s not going to ask.”

When we came in, we were immediately surrounded by Joseph and his three roommates.  His three roommates held us in awe, as if visiting parents were a rare and delicate species.  This saddened me so much, that I had to stop thinking about it.  I couldn’t take on their pain too.  It’s hard enough giving enough of myself to the kids I already have.  I eventually told the other kids that they needed to find something to do, as we wanted to visit with Joseph alone.  They could all hang out again in an hour, I promised.

Finally, alone with Joseph, we took stock.  He was exhausted.  Even though he came in and finally got to bed around 2am, he was awoken with everyone else that morning at 6am.  He was loopy, glassy-eyed, and a little stupid.  A combo, I think, of the upped medication dosage, and 4 hours sleep compared to his usual 10.  He was having fun though.  The usual come down of having released all his anger, combined with being around kids his same age, with similar issues.  He’s the only one in his school, so this is a new and intriguing turn of events.  No school, just groups and stuff.  So, we basically told him what we knew was happening, and promised to return the next night.  He understood that he couldn’t come with us, and accepted that.  What he wasn’t happy with was the fact that we couldn’t stay.

We gave him hugs and kisses, and promised to return the next day.  And then watched as medical equipment was taken in to his room.  His roommate had ingested something, and needed medical attention.

We left him there, and went to Denny’s for dinner.  We weren’t ready to return to a too-quiet home.  A cloud of concern hung around us like a fog – but we didn’t talk about it.  It was obvious but unspoken.  What can we say?  It’s out of our hands.

Saturday passed much the same way.  He was more alert in the visit, having gotten more sleep.  He didn’t want us to stay the whole time, though.  He wanted to go to gym-time to play games.  Of course the only time it’s available is during visiting hours.  We let him.  Who are we to say he (a nine year old boy couped in group therapy all day) can’t let off steam and run around.  We understood that.  He has to survive this.

We left, alone again.  Sunday, however, is when the shit hit the fan.  Mama bear had to come out and play.

Thursday

By 6 Comments

I’m going to try to explain what happened in small doses, because I am short on time, and because I’m short on spirit.

For those who might not read regularly, Joseph has mental and emotional/behavioral issues, as well as specific learning disabilities.  As a result, he is on medication to help regulate his emotional control (a very mild form, as we recognized the need, but needed to balance it with our genuine concern for long term effect data shortage.)  He is on an IEP at school which includes special education, regular class, and counseling.  He has outside mental health care as well.  He’s been having serious trouble with another child at the school who has known him for years, and know all his buttons and triggers, and has no compunction in using this knowledge.

The school is aware of everything – including this other child.

On Thursday, we got a call around 1pm.  The school was asking us to come down, as they couldn’t find Joseph, and felt that he might have possibly gone off campus.  I stayed home, and Poe went to handle it.  He has before.  Joseph has run before.  One of his issues was using violence against those he was angry or upset with.  After years, he now understands that’s wrong.  Instead, he runs.  It’s his natural fight or flight response on overdrive.  In the past, he’s stayed close to the school.  Poe got there and called me to say that the school didn’t know where he was.  They asked us whether we wanted them to call the police.

You’ve lost our son, and you ask us if we want you to call the police?  Yes.  He’s 9 and needs to be found.  They locked down the school until he was found.  One mom was in the office, complaining to the secretary about how it was really inconvenient, and she took time off work for her meeting, and blah blah blah.  My husband was standing right there, and told her, “I’m so very sorry that my son’s disappearance has inconvenienced you ma’am.”  She just gave him a dirty look.

What led to this?  I found out later that this other child has been “stealing” Joseph’s friends (again) and sending glares Joseph’s way.  Well, it got to be one glare too many and he ran.  What the school failed to tell us at the time – he had an aide with him, who failed to attempt to follow him.

Thus started an hour’s nightmare of the police crawling over our town trying to find him, them coming to the house (I stayed home in case Joseph called us,) giving them his most recent photos, etc.  I explained that he has issues, briefly, but serious, and that no one at the school seemed to be aware of any particular incident that day.  Then came that interminable wait.  Waiting is awful.

Eventually we got the call that Joseph had been found.  And here’s the kicker that starts it all.  He was found on the effing freeway.  He had walked all the way from school – PAST our house – and onto the freeway on ramp a block away.  He was trying to get to the mountains to run away, and that was the route he knows.  When he’s in his heightened state, he has no way of thinking through actions/reactions/consequences.  He put himself and other drivers in danger, true.  However, even though I was available, and police knew this, the police sergeant on the case decided without speaking to me about his history to put him under an involuntary 72 hour hold, because he was obviously (in his mind) trying to kill himself.

If he had talked to me first, he may have realized that putting a 9 year old in a mental institution could possibly be detrimental to him, and that he has therapists on call willing to come to him to help him through this mental crisis.  He didn’t.  Once he signed the order, too, it was out of everyone’s hands.  They wouldn’t let me see him at the freeway, just told me to leave and go to the hospital.  I ran home, got his medical information, my ID, etc, and headed to the hospital.  On the way I called his psychiatrist and his therapist and put them on the alert.

When I got there I found my 9 year old son handcuffed to a hospital bed, purple with fury, and stiff as a board.  As soon as he saw me, he started to cry, his joints loosened, his color started coming back down to normal.  After a few minutes, they saw my effect on him and removed the handcuffs.  They threatened him with restraints, but he didn’t understand – although I did.  I briefly saw his shoulder.  The fire department personnel physically removed him from the side of the freeway, and he was all banged up.  Apparently he socked one of the firefighters who was hauling him.  The police wanted him charged with assault.

The doctor spoke briefly too us, but really, he didn’t do anything.  They took his vitals, but that’s it.  He never got psych care there.  Their role was to take custody of us, and for the hospital’s social worker to find a mental institution that takes pediatric patients.  It took a couple of hours, but they found one.  I was informed that I would be arrested if I tried to leave with him.  At some point, Poe came and relieved me, and I went home to Logan to eat something and just take a break.  You see, the judgment and stares you get when there’s mental issues involved feels heavy.  I had to handle the bulk as my parents were on vacation (but were on their way back as soon as they heard) and Logan needed to be cared for.  Joseph’s behavior was completely calm in ER for the many hours we were there.  At the mental institution it would be several more hours until a bed was available.  At 10pm an ambulance was sent for him.  I wasn’t allowed to take him myself.  I followed the ambulance to the mental institution 15 miles away.  (We would continue to drive 30 miles a day every day for this.)  It took them 3 more hours to get him checked in, due to a  shift change.  I got home around 1:30am.  He didn’t get to bed until about 2:30am (and then awoken at the normal wake up time at 6am Friday.)  He was exhausted.  Just exhausted.  His normal bedtime is 9pm.  It was all just so disjointed.  I kept wanting to say, “but he’s a kid.”  “It’s past his bedtime.”  “He hasn’t had his bath.”  I mean underneath all of the crap – he was thrilled to ride in a real ambulance.  He’s a child.  It was such a grown up situation, and he looked so very small.  So very tired.  Trying to keep brave, as he couldn’t remember everything, but knew he caused this.

When I got home, because I wasn’t allowed to stay, my husband tried to hug me, but I wouldn’t let him.  I had held it together for 12 hours, but I needed to tell him the important stuff first.  I had to tell him that the 72 hours would be up at 2:25pm on Sunday afternoon.  That we would be called tomorrow about his care, and for them to get his history.  That we could visit 5:30-7pm nightly, but that’s all we could see him.

Then we went to bed.  And I lost it.  Totally, completely, thoroughly.  It wasn’t pretty.

I asked Poe what kind of mother leaves her child at a mental institution (as if I had a choice?)  He said, “The kind who’s kid plays on freeways.”  Gallows humor.  Gallows humor certainly got us through this week.

That afternoon and night was surreal.  Strange.  Sort of seen like it wasn’t really us – like I was watching a play or something.

To be contined.

Living Nightmares

By 4 Comments

I’m stuck in a living nightmare with one of my children.  I’m not able to process it completely yet here.  One – it’s not over yet, and I’m hoping to have a conclusion to the story tomorrow.  Two – I’m in a limbo of thought and action…  I can’t seem to accomplish anything.  It’s sort of like all my thoughts are reserved for this situation.

I’m not trying to be mysterious.  It’s just a really long story, and I’ll need to tell it in a manner that goes down the timetable of what has happened.  Here’s the really short version – while in the school’s care, my son made a really bad decision in which he could have been killed.  Because of that, my son is in a mental institution against our will.  Further to that, we were unable to get him out on time because the doctor can’t be bothered to work on the weekends.  And due to that fact, my son was almost killed tonight by another mental patient.

He’s supposed to come home tomorrow.  But I say that with really fat air quotes because I’ve also been told, “All due respect, ma’am, we don’t need your consent.”

If  he doesn’t come home tomorrow, we’re taking legal action.

Twice in less than a week my son has almost died when in the hands of a state entity that supposedly knows better than me how to take care of him.

I’m hanging on by a thread.  Mainly, all my energy is being put into being nice and mad, so I don’t become complacent and let them bulldoze their way through our lives.

I may go through the whole process of what has happened, but I simply don’t have the energy right now.  Please be patient with my not being particularly communicative at this time.

Cancer Strikes

By 4 Comments

A while ago, my father had a bad fall in his garage. He went to pick something up from the ground, and lost his balance and toppled. My father is a big man. 6′ and a good 250. And yes, he was a linebacker in high school. In trying to break his fall he dislocated his shoulder, cut his arm, and bashed his head. Cat scans and x-rays later, his shoulder was set, his head cleaned up, and his arm bandaged. It was more of a terrible scrap, so it couldn’t be stitched. He healed for the most part. Had to have some physical therapy for his shoulder. His arm healed for the most part.

When his arm healed over, it had a bit of a bump. It looked like scar tissue. But then the bump grew. It was almost like the cut underneath was infected, so he played with it, but there was nothing in it. So he left it alone. The bump became larger and larger, and eventually, a middle sort of pitted and scabbed over. It was the size of a half dollar. A circle of scar tissue with a scab in the middle. He finally came over and had me take a good look at it. I told him to make a dermatology appointment immediately. My thought was a condition I heard of in which the body’s skin cells sort of just keep going and keep making scar tissue, even when it’s healed. Like I said, it was about a half dollar in diameter and a good half inch high.

Unlike any time before, my dad actually took my advice. He went to the doctor yesterday.

Yesterday afternoon we were in our kid pool, and my dad came ambling over from his backyard. He sat down and explained that he probably had cancer.

Skin cancer. Probably carcinoma but the doctor isn’t sure if it’s carcinoma or melanoma. It has invaded all layers of skin. They took a biopsy, (they also removed another portion on his arm) and sent it for testing. We’ll know more after the tests come back in two weeks. That portion of his arm will have to be removed surgically, but before they do it, they want to know the kind of cancer they’re looking at. Then they’ll find out the stage, and do tests to see if it’s metastasized.

My mom has dealt with skin cancer for years. But with her, it has a particular look to it, so she knows immediately what it is, and it is promptly removed. That’s it. It doesn’t permeate her skin, and there are no other symptoms or treatments. With my dad, though? It might be bad. There are cancers that attack sores and injuries that aren’t healing properly, and that’s what they think we’re dealing with here.

And so, we wait.

My mother is throwing me for a loop though. She actually said to my dad that he was in denial. His reply was, how can he be in denial when they’re not even sure what exactly he has yet? And then she said, “it’s a good thing you didn’t get into that pool with that cancer.” Like what? He’s going to spread it like the plague or something? I think she’s just reacting, because my mother is much more intelligent than that and has dealt with cancer in many forms with many relatives including her parents – not to mention her own. So, I haven’t talked to her about it yet. I’m waiting for her to calm down a bit, so I don’t have to deal with her saying something stupid. Because she’ll blame him in some way. She always does. It’s how they operate.

And so we wait for the tests. We wait to see what we’re dealing with. And then we’ll wait to see how much of his arm they take (because Poe will probably have to take over physical work on both houses for him.) We’ll see what he’s left with. We’ll see how far it has spread. We’ll figure out what’s next.

We’ve come a long way, my dad and me. We haven’t really gotten along for a lot of reasons I’ve never and will never mention on my blog. But over the years that we’ve lived next door we’ve gotten closer. He’s not close to his sons, or his other grandchildren, so he’s incredibly close with the boys. He’s not a very friendly man, in that he doesn’t do anything to expand the relationships he’s got – mom’s the social director of the family. Which means, when he wants/needs to talk to someone he comes to me. The very fact that he searched us out to tell me to my face and not hiding behind my mother, and then just talking to us about it… We’ve come a long long way.

So, we wait. And again, our decision to stay here and help them until they’re gone is validated. I’m needed here. And I thank God that my husband gets that – not only gets that but participates.

Recent Comments