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.