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.