Sparks and Butterflies

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.

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.

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.

I must get this recorded for posterity.  This morning, Poe and I were having our first coffee, and he was telling me about his dream.  It was a long convoluted story, as most dreams are.  How he ended it:  “James Earl Jones was our neighbor; he was a guru spy.”  How can I not note that?

Today is to be full of work, as yesterday was full of taking care of life.  There will be writing and conference calls and email checking and webinars and thinking to do.  Tomorrow, there are two conferences and a cardiologist appointment at the same time.  Because I’m just THAT good.  Poe and I will be donning our superhero costumes for our space/time continuum abilities.  We usually live like normal humans, but must break out the powers for conference days.  And since it IS conference week, the kids are on half days at school, which means I get to say, “Shhhh, I’m working” eleventy billion times.  I usually try to get it all done before they get home.  The good news?  We finished our living room, which means meals and cartoons are no longer taken in my bedroom/office.

So…  I guess it’s going to be a normal busy day here.  James Earl Jones notwithstanding.

I’m doing NaBloPoMo…  Are you?

Kids grow up by increments.  Little by little.  But I think, now that I’ve been through two, I know when they’re well and truly no longer babies.  It’s not walking and being a “toddler.”  It’s not pre-school.  It’s not that all imporant Big Boy 5.  Not even the start of kindergarten.

It’s when they’ve lost both their front teeth, and both front big teeth come in.  That’s when they truly become gangly little smelly boys instead of you seeing that little baby inside.  They’ll always be my babies…  But they’re not babies anymore.

I’m doing NaBloPoMo, are you?

The boys are growing up a little.  Puberty feels just around the corner.

Logan loves for gel to be in his hair, and for his dad to “do” it.  Straight up and spiky preferred.  His hair takes longer than mine does.

Joseph went to school with cologne on.  He came home and said he was never ever doing it again.  He got too much attention.

Ahhhh… my son, there will come a time.

I have this little nightlight in the bathroom Poe gave me as a little Mother’s Day Gift. It’s a silver sun with a little blue drop crystal over the light. Pretty. Sparkly. Very me – hence the gift.

I was cleaning up today, and noticed that the crystal was just sort of there – leaning on the light instead of hanging. I took it, figuring maybe a cat brushed too hard against it and broke the metal groove it hung on. It was sitting on the table and Logan saw it, he said, “I don’t want to be sneaky anymore. I know how that broke. Joseph did it.” In other words, we’ve been on him about being sneaky, and he figured he’d get brownie points by ratting out his brother.

I called in Joseph and asked if he knew how it broke. Tears ensue, but he didn’t lie. He wanted to crystal for a necklace. He’s a bit of a horder and collector. Frankly, Logan’s room looks like a monastery room, whereas Joseph’s room looks like he’s already lived two decades, and all the stuff one might collect therein. Logan’s not a collector. Anyway – Joseph has trouble not taking something that’s not his, but he’s been making a lot of progress lately and put it back as best he could, “because it was wrong to take it.”

So. I make jewelry. Did you know that? I don’t sell it or anything, ’cause I don’t think I’m good enough at it, and don’t have the money to buy true good quality findings. But, I do have some stuff on hand that I make for myself. I had Joseph sit there while I fixed the nightlight. And then had him pick some beads and I made him a “manly” necklace.

Basically, I wanted him to know that wanting nice things that strike your eye is fine – it’s HOW you get it that matters.

Did I make a parenting mistake in making him a necklace? I don’t know if I taught the right lesson. That’s not rhetorical – I really want to know.

I’m having a hard time – you can tell. Just look at the tone of the last several months of posts! And I have really nothing to note except for the same. And since nothing has actually happened, I don’t write. And I don’t write. Because I get tired, too, of the same conversation. I realize it’s my journal, but man. A little variety would be great. No, really. I’ve run out of ways to say the same thing. The lack of writing has made me retreat a bit in the other online things of my life too. And in it’s place I’ve been doing some home renovations.

Long needed… We’ve lived here 3 years now.

Nothing too drastic. We don’t have the skills or money to do it ourselves, and we certainly don’t have the money to hire it out for the bigger stuff. So, we’re just doing what we can paint and such wise. And writing down the things that cost money, so that when our situation does turn around, we can prioritize and budget.

Anyway – if you’re interested, you can view the ongoing work at my flickr set. The pictures are awful, so you’ve been warned. Photography is simply a skill that refuses to be grasped by my mind. The basic gist, though is that Joseph’s room went from purple flowers to a baseball room, and Logan’s went from a seafoam green/spackled room to a pirate room. Both are happy. Both look a lot nicer in person (damn that photography.)

Really quick so I can get it in at 8 –

I just spent the last half hour trying to explain why Bleach, a show on Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim, is inappropriate for my oldest son.

I had to use the words 9 year old, cartoon, and panties in the same sentence. That should never happen.

Considering I grew up with the Smurfs, I understand why my 77 year old mother doesn’t get it, but sheesh! I’m trying to do blogathon here. And with THAT – I’m grabbing my dinner.

After a very long search, I finally found my flip, so possible video entries coming. While I’m figuring that out…

Poe went and bought a rubber duckie that goes in our pool. It holds a chlorine tablet inside it. The instant I saw it Poe and I started singing “Rubber Ducky” (you know – Ernie from Sesame Street?)

Rubber Ducky… You’re the one!
You make bath time lots of fun!

Joseph heard us. “Guys stop. I’ve heard the song. It’s creepy.”

There ya go.