Hello, Mom?”

“……..Hi!”

“Soooooo, I’m transitioning on Wednesday.”

Two more sleeps. This is the day I’ve been waiting for and wondering about for a very long time. Since December 9th actually. Two more sleeps till our current program at ADTP starts transitioning my daughter in to main stream public school. Even typing out those words makes me shake in my shoes. The last time we tried going back to school, I found myself standing by the river, wondering if I would ever see her again.

The ADTP program is a 3-4 month program, with intense private and group therapy, as well as private and family counseling. There is school work involved, and it’s run by both Alberta Health and the Calgary Board of Education, so they work hand in hand to try and catch up the main holes that have been missing in relationship to school work while treatment has happened. It has been 1 year and 3 months since my daughter was in school regularly. She only attended the first 2 weeks of this school year. Now, we will look at sending her from a classroom of 3 kids (ratio at ADTP is 1 to 3) to a school of 800. She will go back with an IPP, but will that be enough to accommodate her needs?

“What? This Wednesday? I thought we had discussed waiting a little bit longer? I need to prepare. I need to communicate with transportation, the high school, and…”

“Do you want to talk to my teacher? Maybe that would help?”

“Yes. Yes please. I think that would be a great idea”

“First, one more thing. Can I take the bus?”

“What? Really? The bus? Is that really a good idea?”

For the last 3 months, transportation has taken my daughter directly from the door of my work to the program, and then has picked her up and delivered her in to my view. Without fail, I have known where she is the entire time, and that has been a tremendous burden removed from my shoulders. She’s basically had her own private chauffeur, and now, she wants to ride a bus with 45 kids on it.

“Ok, let me talk to your teacher.”

“Hi. So we have a start date of this Wednesday.”

“Is there a reason why you made it earlier?”

“We thought that was the date set in the transition meeting.”

“No. You were supposed to get back to me after the new program met with you, and after we would decide the exact dates so I could arrange transportation, and time from work. I don’t feel good about just doing this without being prepared.”

“Oh, well you’ll have to talk to the counselor about that. In the meantime Wednesday is the day. So the plan will be all day, and then Thursday afternoon.”

If there is one thing that drives me bonkers, it’s lack of communication. During this entire process, there has been time and time again where communication has broken down, and I have been left not knowing what the real agenda is. I have made it very, very clear, over and over again, that I am an involved parent, and need to be in the loop with what is going on. A transition means so many different things and I really don’t think wanting to be engaged in the process makes me a control freak. It makes me someone who likes to be prepared.

We continued to discuss the plan, and the teacher assured me that I would be sent an email outlining a safety plan and details that were being discussed.

“Hi there, this is the Vice Principal at the new school. Is now a good time to talk?“

“Yes, it’s fine. Thanks for calling.”

“I found out news that your daughter will be joining us on Wednesday. We’re looking forward to having her.

“I don’t really know what to say. This is happening faster than I expected, so I’m still a little shocked.”

“I think the plan is just to have a calm, quiet day, and not overwhelm her with anything too much.”

“We haven’t even had a tour yet. She doesn’t even know where the safe spots are. She says she feels like just throwing herself in to it and seeing what happens. That really makes me uncomfortable.”

“Actually, that makes me really uncomfortable as well. I don’t think that’s a good idea. I think we need to have proper safety plans in place. I would prefer if you brought her to the school. She isn’t even in our system anymore. We had to transfer her to the CBE system, so you’ll have to re-enroll her. There will be a lot of forms to fill out”

“I just don’t know how this is going to work. How do we take a girl who can’t even motivate herself to walk up the stairs sometimes to do a whole day in a school? ”

“What is the thing that scares you the most?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if my fears are realistic. I don’t think she’s a runaway risk, however I never would have thought she was then either.”

“Does she have a phone?”

“Yes she does”

“What are her triggers.”

“I don’t even know. It could be anything. This is just so unknown. I can’t picture what this will be like. Do you have a nurse at the school?”

“What kind of nurse? Mental, or first aid?”

“First aid. What if she cuts and needs help?”

“Yes. We have people trained in first aid that could help.”

“What if she panics and leaves?”

“We will put a plan in place with her phone. How easy are you to reach?”

“I work 4 minutes away. I don’t want to wait 20 minutes this time before I’m even notified if something happens. She made it to the river last time.”

“I can assure you, we don’t want that to happen either.”

We continued to talk for a few more minutes, and left it at being cautiously optimistic for a trial day with plans in place.

Two more sleeps. I’m scared. Terrified actually. I don’t know what will happen. I don’t want to end up back at the hospital, or at the river for that matter. I don’t want to go through it all again. I don’t want her to cut or self harm because she can’t deal with the pressures of everyday life. I know sometimes I have a hard time dealing with every day life, and I haven’t gone through what she has.

At the end of the day, this is her battle, and I can only fight along side. It makes me feel helpless and wildly out of control. I really don’t like that feeling at all.

Two more sleeps.