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Pinball

What do you think it feels like to sit next to your child’s dealer?  Yes – drug dealer. What do you think (in this case he) looks like? What do you think his family looks like?  How do you think you would feel?  Could you say anything….anything at all?

Today I attended YAP – the Youth Addictions Program at one of the local hospitals.  We were led by a lady on the 6th floor of the old nurses residence, into a tiny little over heated room.

In the room were 8 chairs, partly filled by a few teens and their parents. One boy was a stereotypical anti social type with pale, unhealthy skin, sweatpants and a hoodie, and shaggy bangs that fell over his eyes. If he tipped his head forward just a bit, they would hang so he didn’t have to make eye contact. There was a girl in the room with her mom. She looked more like the type who had been caught using and was being forced to attend. Her legs were covered with large, dark purple lesions that had been picked at. Her mom sat next to her, arms folded, not saying a word.

We entered the room and picked  chairs right across from the lady in charge. We all sat quietly, waiting for the orientation to start. Finally, 3 more people entered the room. The boy was tall, clean cut, dressed in pants, a tshirts and a baseball hat. The mom looked very familiar to me, however I couldn’t place where I had seen her before, and I didn’t recognize the dad. The parents picked the 2 chairs furthest to the left, leaving one seat open for their son next to me.

“That’s him”
“That’s who?”
“Him.  The guy I bought stuff from.”
“What? You mean the kid next to me?”
She nodded her head yes.

I could feel my eyes get big, and my eyebrows touch my hairline.
“Don’t look. Man – I swear I know his mom.  Don’t look. This is awkward. I don’t even know what to think. What do I do?  This is weird.  Seriously….where have I seen her?”

The orientation began, and the nurse gave us some handouts and began to talk a little about the program.

– 85 kids are part of this program at any given time.
– 325 people are in the adult program – it has a 5 to 6 month waiting list. Be thankful you’re not waiting for that one.
– The program is our cities best kept secret for substance abusers, sex addicts, and gaming/Internet addicts

Then came some hard facts.

All Cocaine in our city and area has been cut with a drug used for livestock for the last 4 years. In humans it causes a decreased white blood cell count and lowered immune system.

Opiates like Fentanyl are 10 times stronger than morphine and are popular because they’re only $20 a hit. Problem is, there’s no way to tell what the concentration is and what else is involved.

W12. That’s the new one. Even more dangerous than Fentanyl.

If you are on Opiates we will give you an antidote kit for free.

She continued to go through some stats and facts about the program and continued to ask if we had questions.

The more she talked, the more my head felt like a pinball machine in the bonus round. Ping, ping, ping ping, ping. Lights going off everywhere in my head as events over the last year began to make sense.

“OMG. I know where I know her from. She’s an urgent care nurse. She’s taken care of us before. I wonder if she recognizes me?  This is really awkward. Just look at the floor.  I’m sure she doesn’t even know I’m here.”

Who was I kidding. There were only 10 people in the room. Of course she could see me!

What does it feel like to sit next to your kids dealer?  I felt nothing. Nothing at all.  I just know that if I would have seen this kid anywhere, I never would have guessed. I would have thought I’d feel some kind of emotion, but truly. Just blank.

The kids were given a form. “It’s your choice. You have to want to participate. Fill in the circle if it’s a yes. Fill in the triangle if you’re not sure. Fill in the square if it’s a no.”  The kids filled out the forms and turned them in face down. “If your child filled in the circle, I will call you Monday to set up a 4 hour assessment.  This is their choice – not yours.  Thank you for coming. Be safe. ”

“She was our nurse once, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah. Funny thing was when you weren’t there, she told me I should tell you. She’d want to know if I was her kid.”

I stopped in my tracks foe a moment. So strange. So very strange. I don’t even know what to think.

If you think someone you know may be using and needs help, here’s a few things to look for:
– flick lighters for no apparent reason
– unexplainable erratic behavior
– run down, low immune system
– unable to sleep without meds
– lack of concentration
– frequently being late or more social than normal – or even the opposite
– bruised knuckles, wrists, ankles
– unusual appetite
– sudden stopping of other self harm or damaging behaviors
– thin skin, unusual blemishes or picked at skin
– emotional over compensation
– sneaking out

Even if you have a doubt, and you’re scared your kid might be involved in something scary, reach out. Get help. Ask questions and if someone says they have questionable information, don’t take it personally. Addictions are a symptom and dont make ypu or anyone a bad person. Time for a root cause analysis.

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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.

0

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

Not This Time

It could have happened, many times.  There were plans and notes.  We went through 5 different attempts, and not one succeeded.  There were escalations – but nothing ended in tragedy.  I have watched all 3 of my children suffer with depression, go through bullying, battle with poor self image, and yet somehow we have come through on the other side.

Today, a family in our community didn’t come through the other side.  For some reason, what ever was going on, was just too much, and an intercession didn’t happen soon enough to help.  Why us?  How did I get so fortunate?  I don’t think there’s an answer.

When we were in the days at the hospital, I remember talking to the Dr.’s and nurses, and asking if anyone ever succeeded at an attempt while there.  I was told that twice kids had succeeded.  Last week, there was one more success.  It breaks my heart to think of what that family must be going through.  I hugged my daughter a little tighter all week.

Over the last year, I have seen countless numbers of kids struggling with gender and sexual identity.  I’ve learned words I didn’t even know existed.  Bi Gender, Pan Gender, Trans Gender, Trans Sexual, Pan Sexual, Omni Sexual, Bi Sexual, A Sexual- I don’t even remember talking about that kind of stuff when I was a teen.  I know there were and are many reasons that this topic isn’t talked about, but why the pressure to be defined in one category at such a young age?  I’ve seen countless girls victims of sexual assault or mental and physical abuse, that are now afraid of men, so they feel they must be different.  The word “lesbian” isn’t used because of the stigma, but because of the fear, they struggle with thinking they must be different, and it’s not much different for boys.

I’ve met a young girl, so beautiful, that is almost 17, but has already had a heart attack at age 15 from being so thin, and tonight is fighting to get past a drug over dose.  Her step dad can’t understand her struggles, so her mom kicked her out and sent her to her grandmas.  She’s sad, confused and obviously hurting enough to repeatedly try and take her own life – and there’s so many more like her.  I watched a young girl cry out of control at having to eat one pea on her plate.  One….small……pea.  The terror in her face was unreal, and the pain was so evident, and yet I couldn’t understand where those feelings came from.

We met a boy, gang raped by the foster kids in his house for being gay.  What’s the big deal?  He’s gay, so why shouldn’t he take it?  His parents kicked him out when he was just 12, because they couldn’t take the fact that he didn’t feel like the boy they wanted him to be.  Pushed from home to home, the feelings of self hate had him cutting so deep that he ended up bandaged with stiches all over.  Button pusher?  Yes.  But the cries for attention were just so obvious, and when he asked me to take him home I almost cried.

Speechless yet?  Feeling shocked?  This is the world we live in.  Kids don’t get the film we did in grade 5 about what happens when  you get fuzz in your special spots, and that having a shower is important.  Sex ed for 14 year olds talks about 50 shades of grey, and topics like fisting.  Yup – that’s right – fisting.  Or even more shocking – double fisting.  Don’t know what that is?  Find out – I bet you’ll be horrified.  Maybe not all teachers are talking about it, but I guarantee you our kids are.

There is a bombardment on our kids of negative, provocative, depressing information.  A constant onslaught is hitting them from every direction.  When I was that age, the bullying stopped when I got off the bus after school, and didn’t start again till the next day when I got back on the bus.  I went home, did chores, homework, helped with dinner, went to lessons, complained about practicing, went to church clubs – I was busy.  If someone wanted to bully me, they had to call on the phone, which meant my dad would probably answer, and then the house would probably hear.  It just didn’t happen.  Yes, I was afraid to go back to school sometimes, but one of the worst bullies was a teacher so being around other kids wasn’t even always the problem.

The onslaught of constant information is 24/7.  How do we make it stop?  How do we take the pressure off, and change the environment so our kids have a fighting chance?  How do we inspire our kids to feel that life is worth it?  This is a serious question, and is going to take some serious thought.  There have been anti bullying campaigns for ages and I’m not sure they really even work.  If they did, would these things really happen?  Would kids be taking their lives?  Would there be waiting lists for programs with a lot of kids not having any hope of getting help?

When will this insanity stop?  We can’t just continue on and not say or do anything.  Not this time.

My family is reeling today.  3 tragic deaths in 3 weeks.  The ripples of these tragedies go far.  We need to do something different.  Something has to change.

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