“Don’t worry, we won’t forget about you.  You can sit in the room on the left.”

Probably the most frustrating words you can hear, as you look at the wait time on the clock.  1:54.  Really?  It’s after midnight, and I have to wait 1 hour and 54 minutes to see a Dr.  I hate the hospital.  Hard plastic chairs.  Cold, white walls.  Harsh, florescent lighting. ” I can’t even believe I’m here again, let alone waiting – yet again.”

I had been at my high school reunion on the opposite side of the city, meeting with people I hadn’t seen in 30 years.  The night was supposed to be great.  My daughter had arranged a sleepover with her dad – probably not my first choice but still safe and dependable.  Having her taken care of meant that I could let my hair down a little, and maybe even have a drink.  My fiance and I made the trek across town, and joined in the celebration.  He was the DD, so I decided one drink would be ok.  I sat with old friends, and had a chance to laugh a little, and have some fun.

Truthfully, it was all really overwhelming.  I found myself at one point, with my back literally against the wall, breathing hard and wishing I could be alone.  The people, the noise – not something I was used to, however, I managed to distract myself and have some fun.  We decided to leave a little early, and no sooner do we get to the car……..

“Mom, my friend called the cops on me again.  I don’t know what to do.”

“What?  Why?  Why would she do that?  Phone her and tell her to call them back.”

Electronic devices and social media are probably one of the most dangerous tools our kids have today.  They do not have the capability to stop and think prior to posting, and consequence just doesn’t cross their mind.  When I was 14, my dad gave me a dime in my pocket, and always let me know that I could call him and he’d be wherever I needed him in the moment.  No matter what.  I knew, that if I was in trouble, I could reach out to him, and he’d be there.  Nowadays, kids have anyone they want to talk to at their fingertips, and unfortunately, misery loves company.  “Let’s all get in the same boat together, and talk about how we’re going to drown.”  Yeah, that’s a really good plan.  Makes perfect sense.  Don’t bother reaching out to someone who can actually help, but instead, talk to someone who is also going through difficult times, and hope they don’t freak out when I don’t respond to their text right away.  Yup.  That’s a great plan – let’s do it!

I quickly texted my son as a warning, but it was too late.  My phone was already ringing, and there I was in a conversation with my son and the RCMP.  Now the City police were involved, and they were on their way to her at her dads house.  This was definitely not good.  I knew at this point things weren’t going to be good.  My phone rang again.

“Mom, please, please come get me.  I want to go home.  I don’t want to be here.  Please, please can you come get me?  I can’t stay, please.  Please come get me.”

We started the drive to her dad’s house.  By this time it was almost midnight, and I couldn’t imagine what kind of scene was playing out.  To make matters worse, the anger that was coming towards me in the situation was awful, and only making things worse.  We got to her dad’s, and couldn’t leave because the police hadn’t arrived yet.  I had 2 choices – stay in an ugly, escalating situation, or call the police and tell them I was taking her to the hospital to be assessed.  So, off to the hospital we went.

1:54 wait time.  Really?!  I hate the hospital.  I don’t even wait to get in to an assessment room anymore.  My purse makes a perfect pillow, and at that time of night it’s easy to find a few germ infested seats in a row that can make a portable bed.  I’ve grown accustomed to falling asleep in uncomfortable spots – actually almost easier than falling asleep in my own bed.  The hardest part is the crinked neck and the massive headache that follows the next day.

I know the drill well.  Wait in the waiting room.  Wait in the assessment room.  Wait again for a second opinion.  An awful lot of waiting.  “I don’t even know why we’re here,” I thought to myself.  “I know how to deal with this.  She needs sleep.  She needs quiet. I need sleep!
She needs her own bed, and a decent talk on a help line.”  The Dr.’s tried to assess her, but her regular regimen of sleeping pills had kicked in, and talking to her was like trying to rouse a passed out drunk – just not possible till they sleep it off.  After a lot of talking, they were convinced we could go home, but gave us the option of staying the night. When I was offered the place to stay, I quickly declined.  There was no way I could go back to that first admission night.  We would have to stay in the same room again, under watch of security guards – and I just couldn’t go back.  “That’s fine – I do believe she’s safe.  I think the situation got blown out of proportion.”  Time to go home.

4 am.  I am so tired.  We walk outside and wait to be picked up.  The glowing lights outside no longer bring me comfort.  Seeing the parkade just brings back memories of crying in my car until I had no tears left.  The whole atmosphere gives me flash backs, and no longer represents help and safety, rather stress and trauma.  I just want to go home.