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.