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No Filter

There’s a very special person in my life that is know for catching everyone a little off guard sometimes. You never just quite know what you’re going to get, which can keep you on your toes.  We joke sometimes about his candor, but i can tell you this. You will never find a more genuine, kind, loving, truthful, more protective person. What you see is what you get.  He can’t tell a lie.

He has a thing for baseball hats and pins. You can tell what he’s thinking or feeling each day, by the pin on his lapel, or the hat he is wearing. Its like they’re a silent cherring section for something on his heart.  There is one hat- its blue and white – and is anything but silent, and across the front are written two words. No filter.

I’d be lieing if i didnt say that hat makes me a little nervous – even kind of angry sometimes.  Its one thing to know a person has no filter, but when its advertised across their forhead – well, you’d better make sure you’re feeling solid because youre going to hear the truth.

Truthfully, I feel a little mad.  It upsets me to think i feel on guard when I hear the words “no filter”. 

I’m tired of the rules.

I’m tired of being scared.

I’m so very tired, of holding my tongue, and having to be politically correct all the time.

I’ve had to dance so much around things l wish could have been said, so many times, I should be on Broadway.

Dont you wish you could just say it ?!  Whatever IT is?!

I tell you now – I would never ask him to take off that hat. I wish i had the courage and strength like he does.

Im tired of hiding in fear of stigma or shame. The truth needs to be spoken. Hearts need to be opened. We all need to return to the premise of which we were created.

No filters. Just love.

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Moral vs. Legal

Your child is complaining of feeling very sick. Their behavior is irrational, they’re sweaty, seem to be in pain, and want to go to the Dr.  “Really?  It’s that bad?  Ok – let’s go”, you say.  Fear of flu, appendicitis, kidney, bladder, or other infections run through your mind. In the car and off you go in search of answers.

You head in to your local health provider – perhaps a walk in or urgent care – and before you know it it’s your turn to be seen.

Then it happens.  The Dr enters the room and asks you to leave. Really?  “Don’t you want some history?  Don’t I need to answer questions? Isn’t there an age that I’m responsible for what’s going on here?”

The lines of what is and what isn’t allowed at different ages is so confusing. 18 is the legal age….but of what?

I’ve done a little research on this subject lately. Maybe it’s because I’m angry, and maybe it’s because I feel guilty, but once and for all I want to get it straight. 

The age of majority is when your are deemed to be an adult. Legal age is when you are able to drink or make legal decisions. Age of consent is where it gets ridiculous.

A 12 or 13 year old can have sex with a 12 or 13 year old, as long as there’s not more than 2 years between. A 14 or 15 can consent to someone under 5 years difference.  A 16 or 17 year old, you can have sex with 18 or older as long as they’re  not dependant on them.

Ok, seriously?  At 12 or 13 years old you can decide to have sex?  And 18 is alcohol?  I just don’t get it.

So your “child” is now speaking privately with a Dr.  No biggie – how bad could it be?  I was just strapping them in to a high chair a short time ago. What could they say?

Then the Dr leaves the room, consults with a different Dr, and go in to another room together  Hands are waving, shoulders shrug, and a book comes out that they’re both looking at. They look at me through the glass, then eachother and the attending Dr comes back out.

“Hmmmmm.  This is odd.  Shouldn’t they be talking to me?”

Apparently not.  They don’t have to tell me anything. I understand the health system wants to encourage kids to get help with put fear, but at what point do patents get to know what’s really going on. One Dr says “I’d want to know.”  The other says “legally we can’t “.

Do you know what’s going on with your kids?  How would you know if they’re sexually active, doing drugs, drinking, or involved in any other dangerous activity?

I have yet to find something that says a Dr can’t tell me what’s going on if my child requests that. Maybe it’s out there, but it seems so unreasonable. As parents we’re on the hook to provide and yet we walk forward blind folded.

I know we don’t want to know every single thing, and I also know I would never tell every single thing. Would things have been different if I’d have been told?

Legal vs Moral. Which one is right?

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The D Word

Recently, I talked to some teens and younger kids, even adults and coworkers,  and asked them this question:  Of all the words you hear from your parents, guardians, or care givers – perhaps a girl/boy friend, hero or mentor, which one affects you the most?  Which word cuts deep and brings you stress, anxiety or pain?  A word that you never want to hear or experience?  Just one word?

Do you think you know what that word is?  It begins with a “D”.  This word is so powerful, that once in a family discussion, all of my kids said I was actually not to ever use it, and threatened massive anxiety attacks and pain from the mere mention of it. One of my kids said that when I had used it once, it had changed his life and path forever.

Is there really one word that can change this generations entire path in life?  So strong that it can reduce someone to harmful thoughts and distress?  Well, I’m telling you there is.

Disappointment. A very simple word that carries a tremendous amount of power. 

I remember the moment I used that word with my son. We were having a conversation last week and I asked him what made him change his mind, and make different decisions?  “Mom, you told me you were disappointed in me. I couldn’t deal with that, and never wanted to see the hurt in your face again. I knew what I had done was wrong, but when I saw your face and heard that word, that was it.”

I was surprised. How often do we sit with our friends and discuss how on earth do we get through to people?  I had made an impact that I never even knew till 3 years later.

Today, once again I’m Disappointed. Truly –  with a capital “D”.

I’m disappointed that no matter how hard we try as parents, our kids don’t seem to trust us.  I’m disappointed that I can be asked to leave a room so officials can speak to my teen because of privacy.  Seems like when my parenting comes in to question everyone will know, but when they’re behavior comes in to question we can only know minimal details, if any.

I’m didappointed that I can take my child to a health care professional for help, that I pay for everything they need to recover, spend time away from my life to deal with their issues, and yet important information, that could waste my time and cause me deep humiliation – even turn me in to a liar, is not released until it becomes life threatening. 

I feel I’m a very empathetic person, but it hurts me that no matter how hard I try, I’m blind sided with information over and over again, that should  have been shared at the beginning, not sprung on me in the 13th hour.

We entrust our loved ones to professionals that use deception as part of their course of treatment. I have to sign a group field trip permission form for school and give consent to eat lunch in a different spot,   but at the age of 12 my child can walk in to any health care facility and be treated for something I have no idea about.  To make matters worse, when I rush in to see what’s going on, they all look at me and say nothing, leaving me to find out accidentally.

I don’t believe people want to do bad stuff at all. Assume positive intent – that’s my motto day in, and day out. However, I find that when presented with opportunity that wouldn’t normally be there, they make a split decision that does not actually represent the character of who they are. Most people don’t set out to rob a bank today. They’re presented with an opportunity and make a bad decision that usually has pretty strong consequences, and then funny enough, are surprised when they’re caught.

Why do I have to sign a consent form under 16 for a tattoo, but my child can enter a craft store, buy a stick and poke, tattoo themselves, and end up needing tests for infection, HEP and who know what else?! Why can a 15 year old enter a huff and puff store, buy vaporizers, pipes, and other paraphernalia and yet its illegal for them to obtain the substances the tools are used for? Yet somehow…….some way…..they do.

“D”.

Deceit.

Double-standard.

Doubt.

Deterioration.

Disappointment.

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Dear Sir(s)

c.c. MLA, School Superintendent, School Trustee, District School Advocate
b.c.c. Step-dad

I’m am writing to you today about my daughter, that is currently enrolled in High School. We are having some issues, and I’d like to give you a bit of background before I ask any questions.

My daughter is 14 years old, currently enrolled in Grade 9. About half way through grade 7, she started to develop chronic stomach pain, and began missing a lot of school. In total, she missed approx. 49 days of the last half of the year – so pretty much all of it. Unknowingly to me, she had developed anorexia, and was suffering from bullying at school. In September of grade 8, she texted her cousin and said this would be her last day. She went to school to say goodbye to her friends, but ended up having a type of nervous breakdown as her brain couldn’t handle the reality of what she had planned. She was taken by ambulance to Alberta Children’s Hospital, where she stayed and received treatment for just over 5 months. I didn’t find out about some other things till January, but once I did, I immediately took action.

My daughter worked incredibly hard to overcome the many issues she was suffering from . While in hospital, she attempted suicide 5 times, was involved in self harm, and her anorexia got worse. Once deeper treatment started, things started to turn around and she rapidly began to improve.

Once hospital was done, she transitioned to ADTP, where she completed 4.5 months of extreme psychotherapy, as well as school classes to complete the core subjects of grade 8. Once she graduated ADTP, she was transitioned to an out patient at YCuSP, where she is still receiving trauma treatment. She has gone through full testing through the specialists at YCuSP, and was found to be “gifted” in many areas, and above average in all the others. Other students averages are her lowest scores. Her diagnoses are: Extreme Anxiety disorder, PTSD, OCD, ADD, and Anorexia with binge/purge tendencies.

Currently, she is at a healthy weight, no longer self harms, is not suicidal, and is bright and optimistic about her future.

Last May she began to transition to high school. The VP was dedicated to her success, and made every effort to help her and make a plan. He assured us that no matter how difficult, the school was there for us and would be dedicated to her success, no matter what. She was given full access to the healing arts program, and the chat room was a great support for her. During the summer, she was tremendously excited to get back to “normal”, knowing there would be challenges, but understanding it would be a gradual transition.

September came, and she was nervous but also excited. She wore some old jeans and a plaid shirt so she wouldn’t bring extra attention to herself. These were kids she’d been with since preschool, and it felt a little weird for her to be back after missing almost 2 years of school.

She started taking a full course load, with flex class for extra help, a guidance counselor as a go to and the chat room for extra support. Unfortunately, there was a new VP as the former one had been moved. The drama teacher took special interest in her, and invited her to participate in his class daily, which took her away from flex. She absolutely loved drama and couldn’t quit talking about it. There wasn’t a single aspect of it that she wasn’t enthused about – but she was missing flex which was an issue. Quite quickly she started getting behind. The exhaustion of a full day of school left her overwhelmed and unable to handle the homework load. I asked the school for a meeting, and we talked strategy for success. Her support teacher made sure that she knew she was to be in flex, and that drama should not be a substitute. It came time for the school play and auditions, and she was elated. She knew her chances of getting a part as a grade 9 were slim, but practiced her audition piece tirelessly, and practiced lines with a friend as much as she could. She did her audition, and was very proud of herself.

Then it started.

The drama teacher posted the part list, and sure enough she didn’t get a part. Other grade 9’s got to work on sets, or lighting, but she was left completely crushed. She went to talk to the drama teacher, and he gave her no excuse. She begged to even mop the floors and clean up after, just to be at practice and watch, but he said no. We could not figure out why, as he took such interest, and then wanted nothing to do with her.

Meet the teacher night came, so I went in to the school to speak with the guidance teacher. My daughter had written a letter to advocate for herself, finished off a huge project, and went to him repeatedly to give her a chance but he just put her off. I waited 1.5 hours to talk to her guidance counselor, and when I did, I was completely shocked. She told me that the drama teacher had heard that my daughter was on drugs, and potentially dealing drugs and wanted nothing to do with her. He’d had a scare the year before with some students, and wanted nothing to do with her. She said her behavior was erratic, and made her think the same. Clearly, they had never seen a teen with her diagnoses.

I went home confused, and very worried, so I immediately called YCuSP to discuss the situation. We set up a meeting quite quickly with the school, in which myself, the team from YCuSP, teachers and administration, and eventually my daughter attended. Her practical nurse explained how not only had she passed every drug test – and she’s had many – but she has never even registered on one. A discussion was had between YCuSP asking why the school had never reached out to YCuSP, and there was no answer. Eventually, the VP asked my daughter to come in to the room, and was fairly insistent on pulling her from the FI program, and aggressively told her she had to start attending. No apology was ever given for the drug accusations, which unfortunately spread to many of the teachers, and other kids in the school.

She couldn’t do anything without someone being suspicious. Stories began to spread about her acquiring crack, that she was sleeping in bank vestibules on weekends, and how she must be using. When I asked for proof of any of this, the VP just said to me that kids had texts, but she had never seen them.

Eventually, my daughter became more and more disheartened, and got further and further behind. She was tremendously lonely, and the kids she had grown up with avoided her in class, hallways, and outdoors. She spoke to me about entering her English class, and being insulted by the teacher in front of everyone, or pointed out in another class how far behind she was, which was terribly embarrassing.

Shortly thereafter, the VP forbid her to use the chat room for support, saying it was only for successful kids that had their work done, even though they had never told her this. The room was presented to her as a support place, not as a place for successful kids. I remember walking in to the office, and seeing the vp with a huge box of smarties candy, and she told me “smartie day” was her favorite day, because she got to hand out treats to all the smart kids. This didn’t sit well with me either. My daughter was forced to sit in the classes, even though she was behind, and was not allowed to be in a separate situation. When I addressed this with administration, she had no answer as to why this was happening, but agreed it was being enforced.

At one point, the counselor, told my daughter that if she maybe changed her appearance and tried to blend in more, she would be more accepted and wouldn’t feel so alone. She came home crying that day. With the bridge burned with her counselor, with teachers and students giving her a hard time, and no support from administration, she would go to school, but sit in the library or hide in the bathroom to avoid feeling bullied and embarrassed.

Approximately 2.5 weeks ago, the school reached out to me to set up a meeting and talk about things. My daughter had made a plan with her science teacher, and was invited to come catch up at the school during exams. I arranged transportation for her every day, and she went to the school and worked. I did not consent to PAT’s, so it seemed like a great plan. On the Thursday of the first week of exams, she had gone to the school and was sitting in the chat room working. One of the school aids came to the class, and in front of the other kids, told her she had to leave the school immediately.

My daughter called me immediately and said they were making her leave the school, and could I come pick her up – she was crying and very upset. None of this made any sense to me, so I came from work as quickly as I could. I went in to the office towards the VP’s office, and she was standing outside of it and threw her hands up in the air when she saw me. They had been in a fighting match, and my daughter had used a swear word in the process, making her even angrier. I asked if we could sit down and talk, and she said no – that she had to run exams. Her support teacher was in one of the offices finishing a meeting, so I insisted we sit down and talk, rather than wait another 4 days.

I asked why we were asked to make these catch up arrangements and then was being asked to leave the school. The VP said she wasn’t done enough work to be at the school, and I argued that that was the reason why she was there. After going back and forth, we found out that administration and teachers had not communicated with each other, causing more embarrassment and stress.

They agreed that they felt my daughter was getting worse rather than better. She had lost her spark and the spring in her step and was acting more and more withdrawn. They told us they didn’t feel they could do anything for her, and that she wasn’t sick enough to attend YCuSP for school, but wasn’t able or ready to attend their school or any other school either. When they asked my daughter what she wanted, she cried and told them how much she hated it there. She described the treatment from teachers and administration as prejudicial and judgemental. She spoke to the fact that just because kids smoke, have pink hair, or dress differently doesn’t mean they’re bad people, and yet they’re harassed and treated as criminals. She was on a modified program that started later, however she was repeatedly confronted in the hallways accused of skipping class, when someone next to her that was a “good student” was not spoken to at all.

The VP suggested we go look at the Learning Center, and suggested she’d do better there. As we left the school, my daughter asked me if she had been expelled, and I answered, “I really don’t know. I don’t know if they can really do that?”

I’ve been to speak to the VP about the program at the learning center, and we’re both concerned it’s really not suited for her at this time of year. Grade 9 is treated as junior high in their program, and all classes are full year. They are also home based, self lead, with heavy reading and writing requirements. She would have to finish 4 core subjects in full within 4.5 months, basically on her own.

I have asked the VP to provide a letter giving reason why they can not accommodate my daughter, and why they have suggested somewhere else for her, but they are saying that this was all our idea. They have told us bridges have been burned, and the VP admitted that she looks at the “parking lot kids” as different. Her statement to us was that she’s an administrator, and when there’s a problem, she has to get rid of it.

The learning center asked me to write you an email, and explain the situation we’re in. Both of us agreed that it may not be the best choice. She needs some support, and to feel some success. She has stated how much she wants to succeed, to graduate, and to move on to post secondary education, but is terrified that no one will take her. if you spoke to her you would see that she’s a bright, well spoken young lady.

With other high schools not being a possibility for various reasons, our high school burning their bridges, and with the learning center not really being set up for grade 9’s, I am at a bit of a loss with what to do. My daughter desperately wants to be given a chance to succeed, but after 2 years out of the system, and the first half of grade 9 being disastrous, I need help to find what another alternative would be. I’m a single mom with no support, and definitely can’t home school – plus home school is definitely not recommended by her counselors and psychiatrist.

Right now we are in a state of limbo. My daughter does not feel welcome, and the paperwork has not yet been done to withdraw. I don’t feel I can honestly advocate for the learning center like the high school wants me to, as I don’t think it will set her up to be successful.

Can you please let us know what options are available for us? The high school has not helped or provided any other suggestions, and as time passes the situation gets more serious. I don’t have the money to just plunk her in to a private school situation. She does not want to be grouped with kids that have been expelled, or doing drugs with behavior issues. Although they may be great kids still, she wants the chance to be serious and surrounded by supportive, caring, positive influences.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read our story. I’m hopeful there is something that can be done, and very determined to find out what that is. She really deserves a chance.

I look forward to hearing from you soon.

Kind regards,

Me

P.S. some details have been left out…..for reasons I can’t say…..

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Ready or Not…

“Hi, mom?”

“Hey Sweetie, what’s up?”

“Can you come pick me up?”

“Now?  Are you done your work?”

“I have to leave now, they said I have to leave right now.”

“My lunch is in 10 minutes.  I’ll come right there.”

It’s been a rough school year.  The plan was to transition my daughter in to the regular stream and help her feel successful.  She was so excited to go back, see old friends, and get back to learning.  The plan was to have a modified schedule, with extra time for support at the school, and access to the Healing Arts room whenever she needed it.

Things started out fine.  Science was great, and her english teacher ended up being my oldest son’s childhood football coach, so we had a bit of a chuckle about that.  The drama teacher was taking a special interest, and inviting her to classes to participate which she absolutely loved.  She spent tons of time working on an audition for the school play, knowing full well that new students don’t usually get parts, but she was so excited she was even willing to mop the floor if it meant she could just watch and learn.

Then, it started.  A rumour began to spread about the pink haired girl who liked to cross her legs in her desk.  She also would stand outside in her bare feet, and would wear colorful flowy clothing.  This was no normal girl – she must be up to something.  The drama teacher posted the parts list for the play, and as expected, she didn’t get a part.  No worries – surely working on sets, cleaning up, mopping floors would be a way to enjoy what was happening, but the teacher said no.  Since when did a teacher say no to someone helping with no agenda – just to be helpful?

I picked her up from school, and with tears she told me about what happened.

“Why won’t he let me in?  I can’t even mop the floor, and he won’t even look at me.  He just says I have other things to deal with – I need to focus on my classes?”

“There must be a misunderstanding.  Why don’t you go talk to him, and ask him to explain what happened and why the change of heart?”

“Yeah – ok.  I’m going to send him an email, and tell him how passionate I am about this, and how it excites me.  He has to know I’ll do anything to catch up – and will work really hard. I’ve got to try.”

The email was written, but the response was the same.  No.  Absolutely not.  Don’t ask again.

No is not my favorite word, and if I’ve learned one thing about myself – I don’t always respond very well to it.  Give me an unreasonable no, and I just can’t stand by and accept it.  So, I did what any mama bear would do.  I went in to the school, and sat in the office until someone would explain to me.  I sat there for over an hour, just waiting.  Another 30 minutes went by – still waiting.  Finally, the guidance counselor invited me in to her office to talk.  She told me how my daughter was using drugs, and dealing drugs in school.  She told me how the drama teacher got spooked by her involvement as a dealer.  She told me she seemed distracted, and bounces from thing to thing at school.  How she’s jittery, and can’t concentrate – just like kids on drugs.

“So, where did you get the information that my daughter is a drug dealer?  Do you have any proof?”

“Well, we’ve observed her and she has the behaviors of kids that are using.  Could you provide us with a drug test?  Have you even had her tested?”

I sat and listened in shock.  After everything we’ve been through, and now there’s drugs involved?  Could it be true?  No way. Maybe?  Seriously, no way.  But I’ve been wrong before.  I can’t believe this.

“I don’t believe it.  I need proof.  She’s been tested repeatedly over the last year and a half.  Every program she’s been in tests regularly, and I’ve never heard anything about drugs.”

“Just watch.  We’re saying we’re very concerned.  Maybe if she changed the way she looked – people might not be so suspicious.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

I went home, and sat down on the couch, and was just honest with my daughter.  As the tears rolled down her cheeks, I tried to reassure her that judgement should never be made because of how someone looks, but unfortunately it happens.  We made a plan and had YCUSP reassure the school that there had never been even a trace of drugs or questionable results in her tests.

That was the start of the downhill slide.

Fast forward to today.  Make no mistake, I know full well that my daughter is very behind in school.  She’s missed many classes, sometimes days, and has spent a lot of time hiding in the bathroom.  Kids she grew up with have shunned her because she’s weird and abnormal, after all, kids who have pink hair and pierced noses must be trouble makers.  Teachers have made comments in front of the entire class and made her sit alone from the rest of the class because she’s behind.  Teachers harrassed her in the hall, making her explain every day why she is there later than other kids.  And today.  Today she was removed from a room of kids studying and doing homework, because she hadn’t done enough work.  I had made special arrangements for transportation, we had made a plan with teacher for success, and yet in front of the other kids she was told she had to leave the school immediately.

“I’m on my way.  I’m coming in – I want to talk to whoever is in charge.  This is ridiculous – we had a plan.”

“Your daughter is not happy here.  We feel she is sliding backwards and getting worse.  This is the wrong environment, and she can’t be here.  There’s nothing more we can do for her until she is better.  She’s just not ready.”

That’s what this year was supposed to be about.  Transitions.  Ready or not, we would work at it and try to make things work.  The regular school system has a lot of help for regular kids, doing fairly well with regular grades, regular hair, regular clothes and families, and regular interests.  Take a kid who attends regularly, finishes the majority of the work, and feels anxiety in class – there’s no end of sympathy and help for them.  Take a kid with colored hair, different clothes, a piercing or two, that shakes from their anti-depressants or ADHD meds, and has enough anxiety that it’s hard to enter the class room, and they get sent to the office for being a dramatic and lazy – just looking for attention. “There’s nothing we can do with you.  You don’t do your work.  Why do you even come here?”

I sat and watched the tears roll down my daughter’s face today, as she spoke about the treatment she has received over the last 5 months from students and teachers.  The Vice Principle sat and listened, and even admitted her job hasn’t been to assume positive intent.  She’s an administrator, and if there are suspicions, she needs to get rid of them.

We left the school with their words ringing in my ears.  “This is not the place for you.  We want you to get healthy and be happy – see a smile on your face.  You’re not ready for this school or any really. You need to feel successful before you can fit in to this kind of system.  I’m sorry we couldn’t do that for you and wish you the best.  You can always come back.”

“Did I just get kicked out of school?”

“I really don’t know.  I don’t think they can actually do that, but it kind of feels like it, doesn’t it?”

“Now what?”

“I don’t know – I really don’t know.  We have some thinking to do.  I’m tired – and I need to think.”

 

 

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Freaky Friday

“Hi mom?  I need to go to Urgent Care.  I threw up and I’m not feeling well.  I’m just going to get a ride there, ok?”

These are not the words you want to hear in the middle of the afternoon on a Friday.  Why on earth would you need to go to urgent care because you threw up?  That just doesn’t make sense.  Pluse, since when do you just “get a ride” to urgent care, in the middle of a school day, when you’re that young?

“Urgent Care?  Really?  Is it that bad?  I’ll come get you.”

“No mom.  I need to take care of this myself.  I just want to go by myself.”

“By yourself?   You can’t go by yourself?  You’re too young.  Plus you need your health care info and stuff.  I’m on my way to get you.”

“No mom, please.  It’s too stressful when you’re with me.  They said I don’t need the card.”

“You don’t need your health card?  I’m too stressful?  I’m your mom.  I’m on my way.”

“But….”

“I’m on my way!”

Something wasn’t right.  Since when do you need Urgent Health Care when  you throw up? And get a ride?  With who?  Go by yourself?  Yeah – right!  Not after what we’ve been through!  2 years of hospital visits, pain, complaining, excuses, and mystery issues.  I’m not anywhere near being done with this, and I’m not getting cut out of the picture now.

I drove up to the school, my mind racing with what the issue could really be.  Did something happen at school?  Had she been in classes?  Had someone said something or done something to upset her?  Work is only 4 minutes away, and I got there fairly quickly.  The teacher walked her to my car, and a very unhappy girl, pale but with flushed cheeks and teary eyes got into the car.

“I don’t want to talk about it.  I just don’t feel well”

“Okay – no worries.  Let’s go get things checked out”

The short drive was very quiet.  She was pushed in to the corner of her seat, knees to her chest and visibly agitated.  We pulled up to the doors of Urgent Care and the freak out began.

“I can’t go in there!  Get me out of here!  This is way too awful.  I can never go in there again!!! I’ll be fine – why couldn’t I do this by myself.  You coming in just makes terrible memories!  Just take me back to school!  I probably just have the flu.”

“Okay.  Calm down.  We don’t have to go in.  Do you want to just go for a drive?  Maybe go get a drink, or go for a walk somewhere?  Maybe you just got overwhelmed and need to cool down a little?”

“Just take me back to school.”

“I’m not sure if you should be there if you’re throwing up.  Did you make yourself throw up?  Is there anything you’re not telling me that I need to know?”

“No.  I swear I didn’t – I don’t do that anymore.  Just take me back.”

We drove back to the school – perhaps 15 or 20 minutes had passed.  I walked her in to the zen room and the teacher looked at me with wide eyes. “What, Urgent Care is working at record speeds now?”  I explained that she felt it was maybe unnecessary, so we decided to come back.  We continued to talk a little while longer and I expressed my concern.  I felt something was fishy here but wasn’t sure what.  I hadn’t seen this kind of behavior for a very long time, and it wasn’t sitting well with me.  I asked them to just keep an eye on her, and asked her to check in with me in a few hours.

I went to my car, and immediately called her YCUSP counselor.  “Something just isn’t right.  She’s acting erratic, irrational, and very agitated.  I’ve been to every appointment for 2 years, and now I stress her out?   I don’t get it.  She hasn’t been to classes for 2 days.  She seems so lonely and unhappy.  This isn’t a transition – it’s a plunge, and things are starting to unwind.  The stomach pain is back and she’s overwhelmed.  It’s just too much.  We can’t go back there.”

We decided to set some appointments with the school, and reevaluate what things needed to look like.  If things continued on like this, we both agreed it would be a one way ticket back to program, or even hospital, and we couldn’t let that happen.  Then my other line rang.

“Hello?”

“Hi, I’ve just been having a long chat with your daughter, and she’s told me some information that you need to know.  She’s very afraid you’re going to be mad.”

“Mad?  Why would I be mad?  Can I talk to her?”

“Hi mom? I’m really sorry.  I wasn’t feeling well, and this girl at school gave me a pill.  I think it was gravol – I’m almost sure of it, but I don’t know .  Then I started feeling sicker, and I got really scared.  I don’t know what I took for sure, and I don’t know the girl.  I’m scared it might be drugs or something bad.”

“Ok, well why don’t we go get it checked out?”

“Don’t be mad at me!”

“I’m not mad.  Not at all.  Let’s just go and get it checked.”
“I said I’m not perfect!!!  I can’t always do everything perfect.  You don’t have to be mad.”

“Oooookay – I said I’m not mad.  Not at all.  We need to just go and find out.  I’m sure you’re fine, but better safe then sorry.”

“Why are  you yelling at me!!!! I said I screwed up, ok?!!”

Now I’m not sure what conversation she was on, but it definitely wasn’t the conversation we were currently having.  I could only imagine the look on her teachers face as she was yelling at me on the phone.  She was clearly stressed beyond belief, and was having her own conversation in her head, aside of the one we were having on the phone.

“My friend will drive me, ok?  I’m just going to go get checked out.”

“I haven’t even left the parking lot yet – I’m still here.  I’ll take you.  You can take your health care card and go in on your own if it’s that important to you, but I’m not leaving.  I’m taking you myself, and will be there for you.”

She got back in the car, and we drove to Urgent Care once again.  Reluctantly, I gave her her card, and sent her in on her own.  I couldn’t believe, that after all this time, and all we’d been through, that I was being shoved to the side as a stresser, rather than a supporter.  I was hurt.  What were the Dr’s going to think?  What would she tell them?  What kind of parent lets a young teenager go in to emerg on their own?

A few hours passed by, and I just got more annoyed.  The odd text would come through. “They’re not worried.  Just taking precautions.”  “They’ve done a drug screen and are testing me for mono again because I don’t feel well”.  “They’re not concerned.”  “I’m sorry mom.”  I told her this was the last time this would ever happen.  She needed to understand that I’m her supporter, nothing else.  Then came the in.  It’s amazing how we’re no good as parents until our kids need food, shelter, or money.  “I’m hungry.  Can you get me food?”

Lol.  Hungry.  Of course you’re hungry.  You haven’t eaten all day, and now the stress is going down and you’re starving. “Yes, I can bring you food.  I’ll be right back.”  I ran to her favorite stop, and brought back some protein and veggies for her to have.  “You don’t have to come in, I’ll only be 10 more minutes.”

Ok, that’s it.  “Excuse me ma’am.  Can you tell me where my daughter is?  I went to get some food for her while she waits.” “Well of course.  Just give me a moment……..she’s in room 3.  Right that way.”  I’d had it.  I wasn’t going to be cut out for one more second.  It’s bad enough when the Dr’s ask you to leave, but when your own kids shuts you out?

I walked through the curtain and she was surprised to see me.  Not quite as surprised as I was.  She had an IV going in to her arm, with fluids for dehydration, Toradol for pain, and an antacid for her stomach.  “Here’s your food.  Excuse me, nurse?  Can you please tell me what all of this is for?  I’m surprised you don’t need consent from a parent for all of this.  At what age do you need consent?  I’m not upset – I just want to know.”  The nurse stood there looking at me, stunned.  “Uuuum, well, actually – I don’t really know.  She came in by herself, so we juuuust…..are you ok with this?”  “Well, I guess, but it doesn’t really matter at this point.  I just want an explanation of what’s happening please.”   She explained there were complaints of stomach and head pain.  They said she seemed a little dehydrated, and there was evidence of some acid reflux bothering her throat, so they were giving her something for that.  They didn’t want to bother her stomach, so IV was the way to go.  And, we were still waiting for the results of a drug screen and had taken pictures of her stomach.

Great.  Perfect.  IV pain killers – here we go again.  Drug screening?  Perfect.  Dehydrated. Lovely.  I looked at my daughter and sat down next to her.

“We are not going to be here for 10 more minutes.  This is going to take some time.”

“Really?  I’m sorry.  I hate this place.  I’m not a sick kid.  I’m not a sick kid.  I hate this place.”

“This place was made to help people who feel sick.  It doesn’t mean you are sick.  The past is the past – we don’t need to worry about that anymore.”

“YCUSP offered me to come stay the night.”

“Do you feel you need that?”

“Pffff!  No!  I’m not going there to stay the night.  I’m safe.  I’m not going to hurt myself.  I don’t do that anymore.  I just got scared.  I thought it was a gravol and then started feeling sicker and realized I didn’t even know the girl and I could have taken anything and I didn’t know what to do so I just wanted to come here and take care of anything and…”

“You need to realize I’m here for you.  I’m not perfect, but I will do what I can to stay calm and help you.  Let’s make a plan.  How about no taking anything from anyone.”

“Except you.”

“Except me.  With the amount of things going on, and your other medications, let’s just keep it simple.  Use your oils.  Use your head and call me if things are out of control. Don’t take drugs of any kind from anyone, and certainly don’t drink alcohol.  We don’t know how any of that would interact with everything else.  I know  you want your independence, but you’re only 14.  You have plenty of years to be on your own when you’ll have to make decisions by yourself.  You’re young enough that I still need to be involved.  It’s ok to be a kid.  You don’t ever have to do any of this alone.”

“Ok.  When can we go?”

The Dr. came in and gave the all clear.  2 more hours had passed, (10 minutes – yeah right!), and we finally go the the IV removed and went home.  7 hours in total.

“Can I go hang out with a friend?”

(Chuckle)”I don’t think so.  We’ve had enough excitement for today.  I think we’ll just lay low for the rest of the evening.”

“Yeah.  Ok.  Probably a good idea.  I’m going to clean my room.”

“Whatever makes you happy doll.  Whatever makes you happy.”

We were lucky.  She could have taken anything.  I’m pretty sure that’s why she threw up.  A momentary impulse could have been much, much worse.  You would think with all the advertising, the warnings, school education, pamphlets and extra classes – plus exposure to kids who really have taken something bad, that our kids would know better.  Talk to your kids, and make a plan.  Do they really know?  Pause before you proceed.

The hardest part of parenting isn’t just protecting our kids, it’s protecting our kids from themselves.

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Insignificance

“I remember things going dark.

Eventually all I could hear was my heart beat.

Behind my eyes would turn spotted, then red……

And eventually things would go dark.

Sometimes I’d feel as if I started to slip away.

And then they would come running in and find me.”

“How was school today sweetie?  Did it go ok?  How was it seeing everyone again?”

“Ummmmm.  Not great.”

That wasn’t the answer I was hoping for.  We have waited a very long time for this day to come.  The first day of school.  The first day back.  The first day going forward.  She’s in a new school now.  We decided the old one wasn’t a place we wanted to go back to, with all the stressful memories.  Although we say that someday we’ll look back, and some of the stories will seem humorous, they are all very deep, and still very raw.  Much more raw than I thought.

I was hoping for a great story.  She was terribly excited.  We have private transportation right now, as the stress of being on a cheese wagon loaded with K-12 kids is overwhelming on any given day.  Our school division has been kind enough to provide secure door to door transportation so there are no worries.  She was dressed beautifully, with a flowery baby-doll top and leggings, softly colored candy floss hair, and her signature dark pink lipstick.  The driver told me she was shaking a little, and talking tremendously fast.  She hesitated a little, and then went in to face the day.  Everything was planned and charted out, with friends texting her directions to her first classes.

The thing is, one whole year has passed, with at least a half year before that one missed.  Time goes by whether you are present or not, and fitting back in isn’t so easy.  Add some disassociation to that and you have a feeling of being very alone.  It’s amazing how you can walk in to an environment of a lot of people, and feel more alone then when you’re actually by yourself.  It doesn’t seem possible, but it’s very true.  Social anxiety is just that – being alone in the midst of the craziness, and not knowing really how to change it.  I would describe it as an out of body experience, inside of your body.  Feeling like you are absolutely unimportant, and nothing.

“I cried today.”

“Why sweetie?  Why did you cry?  Were you alone?”

“No, I was with my teacher.  I just feel insignificant.  And uncomfortable.  And….overwhelmed.”

“I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry that this is so hard.  I’m sure it will get better.  You’ll get back in to it.”

“The thing is, I don’t want to get “back in to it”.  I don’t want to fit in and be a part of the way things used to be.  I don’t want things to be the way they used to be.  I’m not that person anymore.  I don’t want the same nick name.  I’m not anorexic anymore.  I don’t want to sit and be part of the drama, talk about who did what to who, and how much of a witch that other girl is.  I want to love people, and talk about wonderful things.  I want to sit with bare feet, eat raw corn and not be made fun of.  I want to stand in the mud and feel the earth in my toes and feel the rain on my face.  I want to talk about life and how amazing things are.  I’m not sick anymore.  As a matter of fact, I’m the least sick person I know.  I just want to show love to people.”

I sat and looked at her for a moment.  I know how she feels.  We have come so far and have changed so much. I don’t want her to be part of that world either.  She isn’t suicidal anymore – and those days may haunt her but they do not define who she is.  She has turned in to this amazingly confident, sensitive, feeling, empath – but suffers with anxiety, stress, OCD, PTSD, unspecified eating disorders and a few other unmentionable things that circle above her head, threatening to land on her shoulder and speak fear quietly into her ear.  She requires support still, in very significant ways, but she has fought very hard, and grown up perhaps a bit too quickly.

Her smile will light up a room.  She sings with unabandon in the shower, in her room, to the radio, and just about anywhere we go.  She plays in the sand, walks barefoot most of the time, plays in the rain and dances as she bounds up and down the stairs.  Her eyes twinkle while she tells corny jokes, and she has taken a strange pleasure in discovering great new lipstick colors.  Her clothes are usually soft and flowy, sprayed with colorful flowers and the odd piece of lace or ruffle.  At the end of the day she flops down on the couch talking about her many plans to travel the world her VW or PT Cruiser – she can’t decide.  She is definitely not the girl she used to be.

“I don’t know what to say doll.  I wish I could tell you it will be easy, just give it time and things will be better.  Instead, how about this.  Just give it some time – things will be different.  You’ll find your way, whatever that is.  Thank you for telling me you cried.  Thank you for having the courage to share with me how you’re really feeling, because one of my fears is thinking it’s all just ok when it’s really not.  You and I have come a very long way.  Let’s make it our goal just to love the people around us, and if they don’t accept that, well, we can always move on.  There’s always someone who needs some love.”

2

Reflections

It was almost a year ago, that I went shopping with my daughter for school clothes.  I will never forget that day.  I had my arms full of pants, jeans, tops and all sorts of fun things, but no matter what we picked, we just couldn’t find a size that fit.  Size 5?  Nope – too big.  Perhaps a 3 would work.  Still too big.  Then I went for the 2, then the 1, then really – a zero?  Yes – we were there – at a 0 and even 00, and when I looked at how the clothes were hanging I was shocked.  In my head I gasped, and realized we had a problem.

Where are things now?  Time for a update.

Today, we went shopping for school clothes.  It’s about a 30 minute drive to the mall we wanted to shop at.  My daughter chatted along the way about how she found her journal from a year ago, and was shocked at how much she’s changed.  She said she found her entries to be dark, grey and very depressing.  She talked about how now things seem bright, and that life is great – for the most part anyways.  We spoke about how far she’s really come, and headed straight for the mall.

We walked around, looking at different things – lipstick, lingerie, tshirts and were in search of the perfect pants.  We ended up going in to the very same store we shopped at last year.  It was a little dejavu, and I must say I had to breathe pretty deeply and focus on now – not then.  We founds lots of wonderful things to try on, and off to the dressing room she went.  This time, not a size 0.  We discussed how hard it was to find clothes, and although she’s probably only a size 1 now  (maybe a 2 if we went for loose), but at least we’re not at 00.  We were able to talk about self image, potential triggers, and what makes her feel beautiful now.  It was refreshing to see her laugh, twirl and primp herself in front of the mirror.  There was one point where I made the mental note that 0 is very close, and I would have to be watching very closely, but her mood was wonderful.  The marks from all the self harm were there, but really – neither of us could really see them anymore.

All the shopping was making me ready for lunch, but she just wanted to keep on.  Next – a stop for the perfect new lipstick.  There is nothing like a new lipstick.  The feel of the cardboard box, the smooth beautiful tube and perfect shape of the color inside.  You twist it up and look for a moment, and then try it – and hopefully it’s magic.  It was hard to decide, but we managed to settle on 2 new colors for her, and 1 for myself.  Lunch?  Not yet.

We hit a few more stores, tried things on – primped and preened, and got her fitted properly for a few new items.  Lunch?  Well, that’s when the conversation began.

“Mom, I’m really struggling.  I know I have to eat, but I just can’t handle the food in my  mouth.”

“Ok, is there anything that appeals to you at all?  Soup?  Smoothie?  Sushi?  Fries? Salad?  Anything?”

“No, not really.  I know I have to eat.  And I will.  At least I’ll try, but I feel noxious when I swallow.”

We settled on a small vegetarian tray of sushi.  The first few pieces were ok, as long as we kept talking and were distracted.  Then I could see her trying not to taste it, as if it hit her tongue she would be sick.  She managed to swallow, but by the time she hit the last piece she was holding her nose and gagging.

“You don’t have to eat it all.  You made a great effort and got enough down.”

“I’m sorry mom.  I’m really trying”

“I know you are.  Maybe smaller amounts as we go?”

“My stomach hurts because I know I’m hungry.  I hate the pain – I know that’s what it’s from.  I just can’t handle the texture of anything.  It all feels thick.”

The good news?  She’s being honest with me.  She’s letting me know upfront that she’s struggling, and even better – letting me try to help.  The bad news?  She’s struggling and choking back a protein bar with her nose plugged in an effort not to loose weight.  She’s in a safe zone now, but danger is a mere 5+ pounds away.  Her program knows, she knows, and I know that it’s a struggle she may have the rest of her life, but we just have to be patient and honest. I’m being told to try and find one food she can enjoy, but even a liquid other than water turns her off.

More good news.  The rigid, straight back, perfect speech, and demure behaviors are all gone.  Now, I have a fun loving, slightly slouched, mostly barefoot dancing girl, that finds joy in brightly colored hair, tie dyed clothing, flowy pants, and singing at the top of her lungs.  She walks barefoot in the mud (I tell her not to), and dances in the rain.  Her favorite slogan is, “An adventure a day keeps the Dr. away!”.

There is still tough stuff, and we still have some big battles coming that legally I can’t talk about.  She has trouble with parts of her family that usually end up in self harm, so visits are kept to a bare minimum.  She is going to have to face a class room with kids, and a teacher, and schoolwork, and even home work – all things she hasn’t had for almost 2 years.  What will happen when boys start paying attention to her, or girls start making comments about how tiny she is, or tall or colorful, or loud or any of the other things kids say?  Her friends either aren’t in her class, or even in her grade. She won’t be able to lay on the floor in class and make toast whenever she wants anymore, and somewhere, I’m going to have to get her a computer and trust her with it.  Our school division requires each student have a laptop – something I’m not excited about.

We have fought very hard this year.  There have been good days, and not quite as good, but at the end of each and everyone of them, I’m glad and very thankful, that I’ve been given the opportunity to fight.

The toughest part now?  Dealing with the demons…………….

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