Every evening, usually between 10 and 11, I get my jammies on, get a glass of some kind of liquid, and sit myself down in my chair in the living room. It’s usually the time of night when it’s quiet, and I’m not really ready for bed. I usually fall asleep, and wake up a short time later to stumble off to my bed. Not a great routine, buts it’s how it works for me.

“BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG,BANG.”
“What the heck was that? What’s going on? Where is my son? Help. I need help. Who’s there? What’s going on? Who is banging on my door? At this hour? What’s going on?”

I tell you right now. That is one of the worst ways in the world to finish a hard day. As I peeked through the window, trying to keep my knees from buckling, I saw two RCMP outside my front door. Quick thoughts ran through my head. “Did I park wrong? Why are there cops at my door. Those boys! Now what have they done?!” None of the thoughts made any sense, but it’s funny to recall what goes through your mind in a stressful situation.

I opened the door, and stood there now very awake in my nightgown in front of two extremely tall officers.

“Hi, hello?”
“Is this the ____ residence? Are you ____?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Is your daughter here?”

OMG! Now what. What can this possibly be about!

“Yes, she’s sleeping.”
“Can we speak to her please?”
“Um mm, no. She’s sleeping.”
“We need to speak to her now.”
“Ok, but she’s in bed sleeping. I’d have to wake her up.”
“You don’t understand. There’s been a text sent that she’s taken sleeping pills. When was the last time she had her phone?”

I’m not quite sure what happened next, but I’m pretty sure I’ve never run a set of stairs that fast before. We have a routine that electronics get turned off and turned in before bed. Things seemed to be going well, and the time had gotten later throughout the week, but I also knew the phone had been turned in for the night. I ran in to my daughters room and say her there, face down in her pillow.

“Wake up, wake up. You’ve got to wake up.”
“Huh, what? I’m sleeping. Don’t bug me.”
“Did you take more sleeping pills?”
“I always take sleeping pills. It’s not my fault. I didn’t do it.”

She was half asleep, talking sense and gibberish all at the same time. I could wake her, kind of. That must be a good thing. She hasn’t been suicidal in awhile. Why now?

“Wake up. I need you to listen to me.”
“Leave me alone. What are you doing ?”
“Did you send a text to anyone saying you’d taken lots of sleepy pills?”

I don’t think I really waited for the answer. I ran upstairs and grabbed the phone, turned it on and ran back down to her room.

“You changed your password. Unlock the phone.”
“No, leave me alone! Fine. Here. ”

I ran back up to the police and gave them the phone. I also told them I had woken her. They weren’t satisfied with that.

“We’d like to see her if possible. Do you mind? Can we go in her room? We need to see her face.”
“Yes, sure. Whatever you need.”

We proceeded to the basement. My son was now awake, asking what was going on. One officer stayed with him asking questions, and the other came with me. In the back ground I could hear, but also had to pay attention to what was happening hwith my daughter. By this time she was starting to wake up. She opened her eyes and saw an RCMP officer standing in her room. He was searching through her phone, looking for messages that would shed light on the situation. She pulled the blanket over her head. What could be worse for a teenage girl then to have a stranger standing over your bed, and you have messy hair, no makeup and pajamas on?!

“We need to see your face. Did you take extra sleeping pills?”
“Fine. See. I only took 1 extra. That’s still less then I’ve been prescribed before.”
“Why?”
“I just wanted to sleep. I don’t sleep well. It’s been a crappy day. I just wanted to sleep.”

“Is this true? How much does she usually take?”
“She usually takes 50mg. One extra would near 75 mg. She’s been prescribed 100 before, we’ve been dropping it down”.
“Who gives her the meds? Do you have them locked away? Is there alcohol on the premises?”
“We both do it. They’re locked away now. There’s one beer in the fridge – it belongs to my son. We aren’t allowed alcohol in the house during this time. It was for the game and is still there.”
“We’ve done some research. There’s a history of mental health? You’re her mom right? Are you divorced? Where is her dad? Will you be watching her? How long will you watch her for? Why was today so bad? Will you tell her Dr’s about this? ”

The questions went on for a bit. After all were answered, and they felt satisfied that she was under good care and was ok. I shut the door behind them, still shaking from the adrenaline pumping through my veins, and went to her room.

“I saw the messages. I know you didn’t mean anything by what you said, but do you understand why you can’t send messages like that? To text another patient that you’re taking “lots of sleepy pills, goodnight”, and then not be able to answer her concerns is going to cause alarm. She did the right thing by calling the police. We’re going to call her now so she can see everything is ok.“

We made the call, and there was a very shaken girl on the other end. We assured her everything was ok, and then I told them they both needed to go to bed and get some rest.

None of us slept well the rest of the night. I continued checking in every 15 minutes till 230 and then not as often. My son and I talked for a bit to try and come down from the fright of it all. My daughter tossed and turned which brought me relief. At least she was alive. I had to believe she hadn’t taken more then she said. I looked at her and debated calling an ambulance, but I knew deep down this wasn’t a suicide attempt. I had to trust this time.

“Hello, I know you’re not open now, but I need to speak to the Dr first thing in the morning. Here is my work and personal number. We’ve had an incident tonight that we need to discuss. Please call me first thing in the morning.”