routerecalculation

“Hey mum, I met a girl my age at school today. She’s not even that crazy!  Can we hang out at lunch or after school?”

(Not too crazy eh?  I’ve heard that before.)

“How old is she?”

“She’s my age, and even lives close to us….”

“Ummmmm ya, ok. Not missing any school right?”

“Nope, not at all.”

“OK.  Be safe.”

What would you do if your child met someone new? 

In my world, there’s a million things that run through my mind. I want to believe things are ok. I really do. We’ve had a good run for a few months, and I’d like to keep it that way. 

The last year has been a lonely one for my daughter. Changing schools and alienation from friends is a tough thing, but do you blame people?  I dont, however it doesn’t make it hurt any less. 

I remember growing up, learning that I shouldn’t hand around  those kind of kids. “Trouble creates more trouble.” “Stay away from bad influences.” ” You become like the company you keep.”  All great words of wisdom, except when trouble has been your child.

When I look at my daughter I see a kind, energetic, silly teen ager. I see a girl who has been through tremendous pain and difficulty. I also see a girl with a tremendously empathetic heart, a very old soul, and a love for people like none other. I’m sure that’s not the picture other parents see.

How does one get rid of a reputation dragged along under the veil of mental health issues?  No really.  I’m truly asking – how do we leave this behind?

I don’t blame folks for saying stay away, she’s been involved in bad stuff, however mental health issues are not contagious.  It’s not like the flu or a cold – I swear.

There’s a commercial on TV right now,  with a boy that is a bully. He talks about some of the bad stuff, but if people could take a moment to find out who he really is, they’d see someone very different. I always think about that and relate to it in a strange way.

“How was coffee with your new friend?”

“Good.   She’s really girly, more than me. She thinks her boyfriend is cheating on her. She’s had like 4 different dads or something. I think she has like 5 or 6 brothers and sisters – something like that. She’s really nice.  Too much drama though.”

LOL.   Normal teenage stuff. Boys.  School.  Friends.  Family. All seemingly normal stuff. Dare I be a little relieved?

“I’m glad you had fun sweetie. Will you see her again?”

“Ya, probably. Not really many other choices – but ya. I’ll see her again.”

It’s a start. Fingers crossed.

My how time flies. I can’t tell you how many times I’m driving from one place to another and blogs run through my head, yet I just don’t have the time or energy to write. 

First Alberta Children’s Hospital (ACH), then Adolescent Day Treatment Program (ADTP), then the Youth Community Support Program (YCUSP), the Foothills Drug Addiction Program, as well as CASA, and now I find myself sitting in a waiting room, at the Mathison Center For Mental Health and Research – another potential program, probing in to the dark corners of our lives, that are hidden from regular folks. 

I’m not even sure what to say at this point. They want to study my daughter, find out why we are on this journey, take pictures of her brain, ask questions of our family – or at least me, in an effort to perhaps provide more support, and hopefully help other people heading down this rocky path. 

I find myself feeling kind of scared, very vulnerable, extremely exhausted, and slightly emotional at the idea of going through all of this again. I haven’t really seen support yet that has been able to help.  I forget that once there is trauma or addiction it is always there. Eating disorders don’t go away – they are in remission. Major depressive disorders go away?  Nope. Just in remission. Drug addictions?  Once an addict – always an addict.  Suicide – it’s a darkness always looming in the corner. 

As I was driving here today, I looked at my daughter, and I just saw her. None of the diagnosis’, just a young girl with a job, school, friends, a boyfriend, and a family that loves her. When I write it down it looks normal. When I think about it, it’s anything but.

How do we get out of this hole?  Will it ever change?  I’m at the point of being so exhausted I’m afraid I’ll miss something. I don’t have the mental capacity to keep on top of this any more – at least it doesn’t feel that way.

Where do I go for help? Where do parents go when they don’t feel they can hold it together? You can’t say anything at work because you’re weak or vulnerable and are passed over because “your life is too full”.  Dr’s want to prescribe pills. “Here, let me give you something to sleep, or not to feel so sad.  Let me know if you need more.”  Shrinks just ask questions and say the same thing. “Take care of your self.  What are you doing for self care?”  Quite frankly, some days self care happens to be having toast and going to bed. After all, a decent meal and 4 hours of sleep are required to keep things going.

29 minutes have passed. 16 more and I will be ushered in to a room, and asked questions about my life for the last few years. I will be asked what my daughter was like when she was young, what signs I saw, how did I know……

That’s the scary part.  You think you know…..but you just don’t. 

Any of this sound familiar?  Reach out. Get some help. Phone a friend and go for wings. Do something normal. Find your grounding. Don’t be afraid to cry – it doesn’t make you a bad parent. 

Maybe, despite more parking fees, gas bills, meals to go, hours waiting, just maybe, someone will shed some light and be able to help.
This is my normal.

Two years ago today, my life changed forever. I suppose I could say that about many days, but this reflection is a little different. 

As my daughter and I sit together this morning, I can’t help but think of everything we’ve been through, and all the progress we’ve made, at least I think we’ve made.  The unnerving thing is, I can never be totally sure we’re on the right track.

At this point we’ve been through ACH, ADTP, YCUSP, CASA, YAP, and various other private and school counselors. We’ve dealt with anorexia, psychosis, self harm, cutting, bolemia, suicide, depression, anxiety, OCD, ADHD, substance abuse, sleep disorders, PTSD, sexual assault, night terrors, chronic dietary issues, chronic pain, ……and that’s just the part I know – or remember.

The great part is, we’re still all here. Bruised, wounded, and limping a bit, but we are all here. I have learned so much, and yet I feel I really know nothing. 

I have seen no change in the stigma behind mental health. I’ve seen special days erected and campaigns, however in real life, I struggle to see any change at all. 

My own mental health has suffered greatly. PTSD has me quaking at things that never used to shake me at all. I cry in my sleep and feel like I rattle on the inside. A lot of times I have to choke back tears for no reason, and yet I can’t cry. Not really. I know the people I’m close to can see it, and it only adds to the guilt and stress knowing my feelings cause them to suffer. I’m what they call a high functioning sufferer, but I fear the function is slipping. Mental health is like an ice berg – you can only see a small bit of the bigger thing that lies under the surface. 

I feel like I’m ready, we’re ready, to turn a corner and move forward. It’s time to leave this disaster behind, and yet I know in truth, the mental health struggles won’t go away – especially with my kids. These are realities, not just a virus that runs it’s  course then goes away. That is one thing I really can’t even think about. 

Today the sun is shining. All 4 of my kids are alive, functioning, and doing better than yesterday. I know we have our challenges ahead, but today, I’m going to be thankful that we’re all here to tell the tale. 

Perhaps, just maybe, someone else can find help in what we’ve been through, and the journey that lies ahead. 

If you need help, please, reach out. When you’re gut tells you something isn’t right, listen to it. If your child wants to talk, or is asking questions – listen very carefully. 

Don’t take the chance and don’t be embarrassed. Reach out. Get help. 

There is no manual.  There are no real guides. This is day 8107 of parenthood, and I’m writing a book with the wrong title.

What does a parent do. We can teach our kids, instill in them our morals and values, plan for them and share our dreams for them, and yet truly, we really have no control. 

Absolutely. No.  Control.

They are not ours. I think that’s the mistake a lot of us make.  We have children. We raise children, but they are not ours – at least they don’t belong to us. 

They are their own people, and we are blessed with the gift of time as their parents.  Every single time they walk out the door, they have a choice to be. 

For me, the hardest part of being a parent is really not having anyone to share with without being judged. I see “regular” parents chatting about how many bananas their son eats, or how many dance shoes their daughters have burned through. 

Put together a group of mental health parents. What would we talk about?  Seriously.  “Hey, I was looking through prescriptions this morning and couldn’t remember what each was for, then I saw they were all empty, so I just borrowed from another bottle to tide the other one over.” “LOL, oh yeah, that happens to us all the time.” Or how about this, “my daughter was cutting last night, and we ran out of first aid stuff, so we had to use saran wrap, lol.” “Really? You too?  Lol. Ah the struggles.”  But we don’t talk. We just don’t. 

I could go on. I have kids. 4 now, in total. I laugh about strange things, because really, that’s about all I can do sometimes.

I can’t talk to anyone really, because I don’t want pity. I don’t want the sad eyes. I don’t want to be more frustrated.

Really, I just want to be me -.and be accepted for that.  I’d really like to go a day without feeling bad about the way things are. I just really need a laugh. I think that’s it. 

Maybe today, day 8107, has just left me feeling a little selfish.  I’d like a job that recognizes my skills so I wouldn’t have to struggle so hard. I wish I didn’t have to change who I am to fit the mould. I wish I was just better at this life thing.

The funny thing is, even with all the frustration and grey hairs, the very one thing that has made me the most fulfilled, is the last….. 8107 days. 

Thank you, whoever you are, for that gift.

If you need help. Reachout. 

​I was about 20 or 21 – at the peak of my “singing career”, so to speak, and I was asked to sing at a funeral. I advertised my services quite often, and sang at weddings, did back up on record albums, did the national anthem at different events, and in this case, was hired to do a funeral.

I had never been to a funeral before, and did not know this family, so I thought, “How hard can it be?”…(side note – pretty sure that will be written on my tomb stone one day…).  I worked along side the music director at the church I attended at the time, so I knew this would be easy. Go in, sing a song – make it real of course, have an egg salad sandwich, then leave and go about my day. Seriously – piece of cake.

I arrived at the church a little early, and we decided to do a simple song, based on scripture, that we felt would speak to just about anyone. Not sad, not bouncy, just comforting. 

We practiced a little, and got ready for the ceremony, sat in our seats and waited to begin. Then it happened. The most unthinkable, seemingly cold-hearted reaction you could think of. I began to laugh. Not just a small chuckle, or a sheepish grin. As the people came in, I began to laugh so very hard, that my shoulders were shaking.

“How could this be?  Am I really an ice queen?  Seriously, stop. You’ve got to stop. Ok. Plan b.  Bow your head, and put a kleenex to your nose. DO NOT let them see your face. Get a grip!  You’ve got to sing in a moment.”

I managed to gain my composure, walked up on the stage and sing my song. I’m sure I did a fine job, after all this wasn’t my first performance, just my first funeral performance.

Once I had left the sanctuary, a sudden wave of fear and disappointment came over me. How could I have been so horrible and laugh at other people’s pain when I sincerely did not think it was funny?  I was incredibly surprised and bothered by it. 

Not long after, a dear friend of mine lost her father, and I was asked to sing at his life celebration.  I was absolutely terrified, based on my reaction the last time. I was so scared to have an inappropriate reaction, I almost said no.  Almost. 

I went to the celebration, which was a wonderful tribute to his life. We laughed, cried, told stories, and celebrated the life of a wonderful man. My time came to sing, and this time, I did not laugh. It was hard to choke back the tears. The church was filled to capacity, and although my voice was a little shaky at first, I belted out an old Southern Gospel hymn in his memory. I would have been devastated to lose my grip on stage, but this time, it went as planned. Since then, I have sang at every funeral I’ve attended, and have not laughed. Why?  I think because I experienced it on a personal level and understood. 

My point in all of this is not to discuss my long lost singing career.  My point is, that unless you have experienced something yourself, it becomes very hard to relate to, and sometimes, our reactions can seem inappropriate and misunderstood.

I could tell you 500 different stories, and we might connect on a certain level on some, and on others, I can pretty much assure you, you’d have no idea how to respond. Whatever response you did have, might even catch you off guard.

Is that a bad thing?  Not at all.  In fact, I’m writing this so that you know, it’s ok not to understand. Really. There is no real way for you to understand unless you’ve been in it yourself. Don’t even try. 

What I am suggesting, is that if you catch yourself in an emotion or reaction you don’t understand, give yourself a little time to think about it. Dont try to relate – just listen. Be there. There’s probably nothing you can solve – and you aren’t expected to. Be there, and listen. 

Sometimes, you just need to show up. Invaluable. No solution necessary. 

Our eyes met from across the room. Can you speak to someone through your eyes?

It’s an alarming thing to sit in a room, in front of professionals, and hear your child “confess” to actions they have done.  I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone really. I’m a little bit used to it at this point – or at least, that’s what I tell myself.

The Youth addiction program is run out of the old Women’s Health Center (nurses residence) at the nearest hospital to us. It takes some time to get in to, but it’s supposed to be dedicated to recovery and rehabilitation of addictions such as alcohol, drugs, sex, and gaming/internet addictions. 

To get in, you need a referral from a Dr. or similar program. It’s a voluntary program, and teens do not need parental consent to be a part of it. Once referred, you have 6 months to decide whether to participate or not. 

At the first meeting, a nurse specialist talks about the program, and provides information on different substances, emergency kits for drug overdoses or poisoning, and classes available for parenta who want to learn. There is a discussion about drug testing, patent support classes, counseling and Dr. visits. At the end, your child is given a confidential questionnaire to indicate if they want to move forward. 

“Did you say you want help?”

“Of course I did. That’s why we’re here. I wouldn’t waste time if I didnt want to get better”.

6 weeks pass, and then we got the call. Time for an assessment. Put aside 4 hours and $14.50 for parking, and you get an in depth analysis from a Dr. And psychologist. 

“Shoot.  I hope I have enough for parking.”

“No worries. I have $5 and some change.”

“Good.  Hopefully the machine takes bills.”

We get in to the building and wouldn’t you know it. Coins or credit. Who the heck.makes these machines anyways?!  If I buy something to get change, I’m not going to have enough change for the machine. 

My daughter started walking up and down the line at the cafeteria. “Excuse me, do you have change for a $5?  How about you?  Excuse me…we need change to park. Do you have change?”  Finally, a nice lady in a different line overheard, and took out her wallet. That plus a few quarters found outside on the walk, and we were set. Right on time!

When we walked in, I was given a questionnaire, and my daughter was taken to a different room. There were about 7 pages or so about childhood, growing up, allergies, personality traits, and tons of genetic questions. The room was stuffy, with no AC, so I sat down and began to write. 

About an hour later, we were joined together again in a room with a psychologist, and a psychiatrist observing behind 2 way glass. For the next hour, we were asked a plethora of questions very similar to those on the questionnaire – at least on mine. I could feel increased tension, so I drew the conclusion that my daughter had been asked the same questions as well. 

“From 1- 4, How motivated are you to give up drinking?”

“I don’t drink.”

“So, how motivated?”

She chuckled, “4?”

“How motivated are you to give up smoking?”

“I don’t smoke. I hate it.  It makes you stink.”

“So how motivated?”

“Ummmmm. 4?”

I could feel her irritation climbing. “I told you I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t motivated. When do we get to the help part.  If I wanted to continue, I would – and you wouldn’t know.  I’m not lieing. “

“How motivated are you to give up pot?”

“I don’t smoke pot.”

“So how motivated are you?”

I started to chuckle to myself – with my inside voice – on the inside. After all, I was being watched. Her buttons had been pushed a bit too far. 

” 2.  I’m saying 2. Maybe one day when I’m an adult at a party, and all the adults are smoking pot, I might participate as an adult. With the adults.”

I’m pretty sure my outside voice smiled at this point. Not because I approved of her smoking pot, but because they freaked when she responded. It seemed ridiculous to me. Busted- the shrink must have seen. 

It’s pretty hard to regain an appointment, especially when the teen starts to get irritated – and a mom laughs. 

No research had been done. No connection with former programs. No files on her case from the beginning. We were starting from scratch. 

When we were finally done, the psychiatrist came back in to the room with her report, and began to speak Dr. jargon. What did I hear?  Blah blah blah blah blah….

And my daughter, well, she sat, crossed her legs, pulled them to her chest, and her eyes glazed over. Our eyes met. I could see the despair.  

“Nothing has changed. It’s like no one cares. I don’t want to take more prescriptions. I just want help.”

Strike 1.  They lost her – and me too for that matter.  How can programs, recommended from other programs, not speak to each other?  They had her files.  They had her records.  They had everything, and yet acted ignorant as we were forced to retell pieces of the past. 

More prescriptions?  No thanks.  More meetings?  Ok. I’ll give you 2 more chances – but you’d better make it good. I’m not prepared to be pushed backwards. 

“Why are you crying?”

“It’s never been you – always me, and I don’t know what to do….”

Mt daughter and I had gone out for what was going to be a nice day. First an appointment, then a little lunch and maybe a little shopping. The sun was shining and it was going to be a beautiful day. 

While my daughter was at her appointment, I received a call from HR at my company. The conversation ensued, and by the end of it I was quite upset. 

What do you do when the resources put in place to protect you fail, and leave you feeling raw and vulnerable?  It’s a terrible feeling, as a single mom with kid issues, to feel there is no where to turn and no where to go.

I was crying quite hard when my daughter got back to the car, so I swallowed hard, dismissed it to allergies or something else unbelievable, and suggested we go for sushi. We don’t do things like this very often – budget just doesn’t allow, so this was pretty special. I wasn’t terribly hungry, so I just had something really small, and she gobbled down a good size meal. 

Within about a half hour, I started getting stomach pain. It felt like gas at first. Things felt like they were shuffling around in my stomach like a set of magic cups. I was standing in a store, and quickly dismissed myself, telling my daughter we needed to get home. 

It didn’t take long. Within about 30 minutes I was in a cold sweat, trying to hold myself together for the drive home. (In retrospect an ambulance would have been smart).  I don’t really remember the trip, but I do know that at one point I agreed to go to urgent care.  

I couldn’t get out of the car. I fell as I tried to walk, and before I knew it, I was in a wheel chair, and then a hospital bed. “Am I having a heart attack?  I can’t breathe. I’m going to explode. I don’t understand what’s going on.”

What I didn’t know, is that in the other room, my daughter was beside herself.  I don’t know how much time went by, but my fiance was there, my daughter, and one of my boys. Things were out of control. I was throwing up, and I remember saying, “I just shit myself. I’m so sorry- I make your coffee, and I just shit myself.” Things were exploding, literally, and for a small moment, as they put a diaper on me and a tube down my nose in to my bowel,  I looked around the room and for the first time in my life, the thought went through my mind. “This could be it….is this how it ends?”.

It’s been a month. After a 5 day hospital stay, there was no definitive answer other than a gastric vulvulus.  56% mortality rate. More tests to follow. 

I feel weird since then.  I’m tired – very, very tired. I’m overwhelmed. My kids look at me differently now, and I feel kind of sad.  I don’t really know why, I just do. 

There’s a song, pretty much says how I feel lately, so I’ll end this blog with it. 

Smile though your heart is aching
Smile even though it’s breaking
When there are clouds in the sky, you’ll get by
If you smile through your fear and sorrow
Smile and maybe tomorrow
You’ll see the sun come shining through for you

Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear may be ever so near
That’s the time you must keep on trying
Smile, what’s the use of crying?
You’ll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile