routerecalculation

As things get better, it gets easier and easier to let my guard down.  I have a knife in the kitchen that actually cuts things.  There’s razors in the shower.  A pair of scissors is in the drawer in the kitchen now – with free access to all.  I have a bottle of Motrin that I don’t carry in my purse anymore, and the medication hasn’t been under lock and key.

Last week, after a difficult therapy session, my daughter asked to hang out with a friend.  She texted me repeatedly, called a few times, and basically begged to meet up with someone (other than myself) that she could talk to.  I agreed, based on the fact that it be someone I approve of.  She said she tried everyone, but could only reach the one person I rather her not hang out with.  Reluctantly, I agreed to her spending 2 hours at a public location close by, and then I would pick her up.  They were to go no where else, just stay at the place we agreed, and then I would pick them up.

Long story short, things didn’t go as planned, and I found out.  We got in the car to head home, and it was very uncomfortable.  My daughter was upset and curled up, mostly I think, because I was not happy.  The crazy thing was that I wasn’t terribly upset with her – I was upset at myself.

I knew she was having a hard time.  I knew the person she chose to spend time with definitely wasn’t my first choice, and yet I said yes.  I could have said no, headed home, and tried to use all the skills I’ve learned to talk through things………but I didn’t.  I basically set her up for failure.

“I’m sorry ok, what do you expect?  I’m sorry!”

“I’m not mad at you sweetie.”

“I said I’m sorry.  I had a hard day.  I didn’t mean to do anything wrong.  I lied.  Ok?  Happy?  I lied – I’m sorry”

“I’m not mad at you.  I’m not even mad that you lied.  I put you in a situation that was impossible for you to succeed in, and I can’t be mad at you for that.  I know you don’t mean to lie, and I know you don’t mean to do the wrong thing.  I don’t think you intend to break my trust, but I have learned that when put in certain situations, you are not strong enough and will make the wrong choice.  I’m sorry for allowing that to happen.”

The car was silent for awhile.  I couldn’t be mad at her, and I think she was a little confused with me.  As soon as we got home, she went in her room and called “The Cottage” help line at YCUSP.  She was on the phone for hours.  When she came upstairs, her face was all swollen from crying, and I think she pretty much cried the rest of the evening until she went to bed.

A day later, when I was taking laundry to her room, I found 2 blades on her bed.  Quickly I went through the house, checking for anything that could have been disassembled, but found nothing.  I looked for the usual tell tale signs like gauze, hydrogen peroxide, polysporin, but didn’t find anything.  I called YCUSP and told them what happened.

“I haven’t decided if I’m going to say anything or not.  I don’t know if I should confront her.  She usually tells me if she self harms and didn’t say anything at all.”

“Well, we will need to know what you decide, so we know how to deal with the information on our end.”

“Ok, I will let you know.”

Tomorrow we have a counselling session at YCUSP.  I finally decided to bring the topic up with her.  Yes, they were her blades (obviously), but they were old.  Yes, she had woken up during the night and self harmed.  No, she didn’t tell me because she was rushed in the morning, and then the next day felt weird because more time had passed.  Yes, she did tell the nurse at YCUSP and they know.

Now my mind gets going.  “They know?  Why didn’t they call me?  Why didn’t they say anything?  Aren’t they supposed to call the parent and confirm when self harm happens? Here we go again.”

The meds have all been put away.  We’ve agreed together it’s the wise choice.  The one knife can stay in the kitchen.  Time with friends will be more monitored and limited, and if I have a funny feeling – I’ll be paying attention to it and doing the hard thing by saying no and sticking to my guns.

Learning can sometimes be painful………and not just for the kids

It’s been awhile since I blogged.  I guess I’m not feeling very inspired lately.  I started this blog to try and help someone – anyone – that might be going through the same journey.  I wanted a form of self therapy – somewhere I could express myself openly and feel a sense of relief.  Lately, I just feel really ticked off at a lot of things.  Maybe it’s just part of the process, maybe it’s a loss of faith in people, and perhaps it’s just exhaustion catching up with me.

So where are we now?  Things are going better – pretty well actually.  I mean it.  We’re down to 2 days a week at a program.  I have to drive as our transportation has been cut off for the summer, and her dad won’t help. That ticks me off, but what can I do. Same old story – so I take care of it myself.  Thank goodness my job is understanding.

Home isn’t too bad.  I’ve been able to take a knife back in to the kitchen so I don’t have to use a butter knife to cut veggies and such anymore.  That’s a real treat we take for granted.  I have a bottle of motrin in the house – call me crazy.  It’s not even locked up in a safe – just in my room.  Strings aren’t being removed from pants anymore, and groceries are disappearing which means she’s eating.  These are all good things.

I’ve made a few mistakes – accurate communication hasn’t been our strong suit.  It can be difficult to separate the normal teenage garbage from mental health drama, and in an effort to be reasonable, I’ve been a little stupid.  Good news is no serious harm done –  at least so far so good.

I find myself getting mad at stupid stuff.  A guy in the mall told me he could tell my skin care doesn’t have collagen in it and I almost popped him in the nose.  I did tell him he was a horrible human and very rude, and abruptly left.  My own fault for taking the free soap sample.  A lady asked me if I wanted to try some shorts on, and I told her I was painfully aware of the shape of my ass so no need.  Not something I’d normally say.  I did try and recover and told her I am a firm user of retail therapy and probably should invest in a shrink instead, but they aren’t open Sunday afternoons, and that’s my only time off lately, so I’ll just pay for the shorts.I’ll probably go return it all tomorrow anyways, as the guilt of retail therapy sets in and I convince myself I don’t deserve it.  Stupid endless cycle.

My house is a disaster.  My yard looks like, well, I can’t see my yard – the weeds and grass are too high.  Better for remodeling I guess.  A chance for a new canvas.  I kinda’ don’t even care right now.  Not the right train to worry about today.

I have some vacation coming up, and I’ll probably use that to try and look at life and perhaps get my own on track.  Have a garage sale.  Clean up.  Fix stuff.  Sell stuff.  Fix more stuff.  That kind of stuff.

I’ve had a headache for 6 days.  Not sure if it’s the weather, or stress, or both.  Probably stress I’m guessing.  Work is tough.  Money is tricky and always somewhat short.  We have another family member suffering from mental health struggles.  My fiance is stressed beyond belief. Seems like everyone around me is struggling.  I can feel their pain, and there’s not much I can do about it.

So why do I blog?  Doesn’t seem like there’s much to say, and I don’t know how this can help any more.  I’ve been told my blogs are wordy.  They’re too long.  They could be blocking God’s blessings on my family.  They’re too cryptic.  They’re too often.  They’re not often enough.  They’re depressing.  I should be doing them for money.  I should be doing them on different sites.  I should be sending them to higher people (whatever that means).

Again, why do I bother?  Maybe, just maybe, this track that I’m on could be shared with someone on a similar journey.  Maybe it will mean something to someone.  Maybe it will mean something to me.  Even if it just happens rarely, maybe, just maybe, one of us will be helped.

Things are getting better……really – they are.

I had the pleasure of having coffee with a friend I went to high school with today.  It was great catching up and just chatting about life, the past, the present – great medicine.  We had some time to discuss what the last year has held, and I told her, the scariest thing right now is letting my guard down.

It’s easy for things to be good, when you get to do everything you want, and not have obvious stressors or pressures.  It’s when life gets a little tough, that you see what is really happening for someone.

Tonight, life got a little tough.  The day seemed to be going great.  My daughter has been meeting up with old friends after her program, and catching up on things.  She gets dropped at my work, meets a friend, and they wander around town, maybe grab a slice of pizza together, and reconnect.  That happened today, and went well.

Along came a bump in the road, when we got some hard information that triggered a lot of emotion.  To make matters more difficult, her dad got laid off, and phoned her to discuss the existential connection to his career choices.  I knew it would be hard, but it was our discussion, or lack thereof that caught me off guard once again.

“Mom, did they call you about my meds today?”

“Nope – they called but said nothing about meds.”

“Really?  They said we would talk about increasing things at night so I sleep better.”

“You need to sleep better?  I thought you were sleeping fine?”

“Nope.  Things have been really hard lately.”

“Really?  You told me yesterday how good you’re feeling.”

“Can I have my meds tonight?”

Of course she could have her meds – we never go without them.  Things have been hard?  Once again, I’m caught by surprise.  No cutting for about 6 weeks.  No restricting, at least nothing major, for quite some time.  Weight is perfect, and so is BMI.  Drug tests clear.  Routine blood tests happening, but the argument has been, “Why should I be in a program when I feel great?”

More phone calls were made.  “I’m calling the cottage”.  “OK, anything I can do?”.  Again, I’m left on the side lines, watching while she struggles.  It’s hard hearing your child cry and having them pull away.  All I want is to wrap my arms around her and tell her it’s going to be ok.  I’m not leaving.  Things will be fine.  We’ll get through it.

Tomorrow is another day.  “Mom, I need to talk to someone tomorrow.  I need to see someone tomorrow.” “Yes, I understand.  We’ll make it happen”.  I gave her a hug and a kiss goodnight, and told her it will be alright.  This is all part of her journey – and it’s been a tough one.

As parents, we need to remember not to take this stuff personally.  Sometimes being a silent but steady bystander is what they need.  There are plenty of resources out there to help – and they’ll use what they need, but it isn’t just anyone that can be there through thick and thin – no matter what.

Take care of yourself.  Talk to a friend, go for a coffee, write a blog, maybe even get some counseling yourself.  Do what you can to keep yourself strong, so you can be the steady rock your child needs in the hard times

As I came home from work yesterday, I made a mental note, that it’s been about a week since I received the letter from the analyst at ADTP regarding my daughter and their findings.  I had been promised a phone call by early this week with an answer from the manager of the program but hadn’t heard anything yet, however, I did get a call I couldn’t take while I was at work, so hopefully after I grabbed some dinner I could check my messages.  Sure enough, there was a message saying I would be receiving a phone call from the writer of the letter, probably today, and would get some kind of explanation.

“Hi, I’m calling to discuss your how you see things about the letter you received.  I’m no longer with the program, and work at the Foothills now, but I could meet you next Tuesday and we could talk about it.  You could ask me questions if you have them.  I guess I could book a room there.  The manager said you have some questions about things.”

“ Yes, I do have questions, but really not so much about the findings in the letter. I spent an hour Googling things, and even though I don’t like Google for medical things, I managed to get some explanations. I have questions as to how the situation has been handled.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I am not a medical professional.  I gave permission for a testing to be done on my child.  Last week when I came home from work, there was a letter in the mail, not even marked private or confidential, with a whole lot of big frightening words and mistaken information.  I don’t understand why it was sent to me without being discussed first?”

“Because you agreed for the testing to be done.”

“Yes, I agreed. In my experience, whether it is in the school system or at hospital, when something official is done, results are discussed with parents, and then with the child.  Instead, I was sent a letter I didn’t understand.  I don’t even know what the purpose of the letter was.  I don’t know if was a diagnosis, information, treatment advice, an assessment?  I have no idea.  There wasn’t even a header letter addressing me and saying what it was for.”

“There’s a disclaimer when I talk about the test that it’s not a diagnosis.”

“ A disclaimer?  Half way through the letter?  You have information about me having mood and anxiety problems in the past.  Except for 6 months of post partum depression 21 years ago, and being in a severely bad mood right now, I can assure you I don’t have a problem.  I don’t know where you came up with information like that.”

……..silence………

“Your description of my child was wrong.  You didn’t even spell her name right.  This is supposed to be a professional document.  And then you send it in the mail.  Why didn’t you at least call to talk to me about it?”

“I was filling a matt leave position.  My time was pretty much up, and I usually sit in on appointments when these things are discussed, but we never had that opportunity.”

“We were there an extra month.  I was there every single week.  How could we not have time?”

“Well, for some reason it didn’t work, and I had to finish off the position, so I just typed up the letters and sent them out so I could finish things off.”

“Finish things off?  That’s how you dealt with it?  Just get it done?  You mail me a letter?  What if my boys had opened it?  Worse yet, what if my daughter had opened it.  That information in the wrong hands could be devastating!”

“She already knows.”

“What do you mean, she already knows.  No she doesn’t.  I told her nothing.”

“Well, I told her.”

“You what?”

“I told her.”

“Why would you do that?  You talked to her about this stuff without my permission?  Without talking to me first?”

“Well, kids want to know.”

“Yeah.  Kids want to know tons of stuff.  Doesn’t mean you tell them everything!  How could you do that?  How could you possibly put me in that position?  No wonder she was having such a hard time!!  She was phoning help lines, cutting, restricting……things were awful.  I can’t even talk to her about it now!  How could you do that without discussing with parents first!?!  You certainly made a call for permission to run the testing!  Shouldn’t you do that when it comes to the findings too?”

“Well, I guess.  I mean, if this is how you think it is.”

“This isn’t what I think it is!  This is how it is.  Put yourself in my position.  Imagine this happens to you as a parent.  Can you remove yourself from your profession for just a moment and imagine what it’s like to have all of these things happen?  Do you have any idea how I feel as a parent?  We aren’t bad people.  We aren’t abusing our kids and making their lives awful.  We are fighting tooth and nail every single day to keep them alive, and help them get better, but don’t have a fighting chance when your programs just do what they want.  You can’t cut me out of this!  I’m her mother and I won’t be cut out.”

“Well, I guess I can understand a little.  I imagine if you think it is that was.  No one else got the information.”

“Not even YCuSP?”

“No.”

“Why not?  Isn’t this information for her treatment?  Why do I even have her in programs if you’re not communicating with eachother?  She doesn’t need a babysitter, she needs support and help.  She is dealing with very heavy stuff.”

“Well, I guess I understand these things so it’s difficult for me to take a step back and see what you think it is.”

“Ok, that’s it.  I’m not having a meeting with you next week.  I’m very upset right now and getting emotional.  This is not how I make decisions.  I’m going to hang up the phone and think.  This isn’t over, but I need to be calm before I discuss anything any further.  I am going to think about who I want to talk to, and how I’m going to deal with this.  Hear me clearly – this is not over.  You will hear from your director, and the proper changes will be made to that letter.  ”

“Ok, I can understand that.”

“Goodbye now”

(ring, ring, ring)……..now what………

“Hello?  This is YCuSP.  How are you doing this afternoon?  Can you talk for a moment?”

“Seriously, don’t even get me started…..”

This is not over.  They have not heard the last of it.  You can’t take away the right of the parent.  Delivering any kind of results to a child without the parent present, or at least discussing the results is wrong.  They took away the possibility of me asking questions, getting perspective, and having a potentially reasonable discussion about something that is very serious.  To make things worse, I get to deal with the aftermath while they go back to their programs and “finish things off”.

It’s time to start a campaign, write some letters, make some noise.  I will continue to fight for my daughter.  Anger stirs my passion, and when I get passionate about something, well, just watch out.

Dear Psychologist,

I’m writing in response to a letter I received from the program at ADTP yesterday regarding my daughter.

First, I’d like to say I’m always disappointed when I receive a letter from a professional where details such as spellings of names and punctuation is wrong.  In your letter, my daughter’s name was spelled one way, and in the very next sentence it was spelled a different way.  As well, in the physical description portion of the letter, you described her as having blonde hair and blue eyes, when in fact she has brown hair and green eyes.  At no time has she ever had blonde hair.

On a little more important note, there is a section of the letter that describes me as having, “a history of anxiety and mood problems”.  Other than a short bout of post-partum depression 21 years ago, at no time have I ever been diagnosed with anxiety or mood problems.  Being that I have never had a conversation with you, I am not sure where this information was obtained.

As I am unclear as to the intention of the letter, my largest concern is the nature in which critical information has been delivered.  To receive a letter of this type in the mail without having discussed the content with a professional has caused me undue stress.  After 1 hour of researching terms, I managed to have a better understanding of the content, however the alarm was not necessary and could have been avoided with a professional discussion.

Over the last year I have experienced numerous communication breakdowns, but I must say this has been one of the most disturbing.  There was no marking on the letter at all that stated private or confidential.  The information contained in the different sections was very technical and should have been explained in context in a professional setting.  Had this letter been opened by the wrong hands, it could have been potentially life changing in a very harmful way.

I would like the following:

1.  An answer as to what was the purpose of the letter?

2.  Any statements of potential diagnosis of myself removed.

3.  Information as to whom, if anyone other than myself, has received a copy of this letter.

4.  Corrections regarding physical descriptions, medications and basic spelling.

5.  A professional, in person explanation of the terms and what they mean in relation to my daughter and the current situation.

The amount of stress this caused was unnecessary and could have been easily avoided.  I should not have had to spend time on Google, looking up medical terms and references in order to understand the descriptions being made.  I would hope that in the future, no other parents would receive a letter of this type without having the chance to sit with a professional and have a discussion first.

Sincerely,

I could have written a letter like this.  I was actually tempted, but the nagging in the back of my head would not let me wait that long, so today, I picked up the phone and began making phone calls.  First, I called my daughter’s last psychiatrist – no connection.  Then, I called the last family counselor – no connection.  Then I called the psychologist……….yet again, no connection.  Now I’m learning to be level headed, patient, and all of those other things that parents of the year are supposed to be, but there are times where you just don’t give up.  I kept calling.   At this point I decided to go a little higher, and believe it or not, I obtained the personal cell phone number of the director of the ACH and ADTP programs, (can you believe that?!),  so I called.  And I called.  And then I got through.

Calmly and graciously I explained what had happened, and the letter I got.  I will not go in to any description here, because believe me when I say this.  If this information was put in to the wrong hands, and if my daughter found it, it could be life altering in a very negative, potentially tragic way.  Not necessarily because it’s so bad, because in context it’s more heart breakingly sad than anything, but because it so tremendously technical, and the terms are largely misunderstood.  Judgements made from these terms could be devastating.  I know when I read it, prior to Googling for an hour, I was very scared and upset.

“Are you telling me you haven’t had anxiety or mood issues in your past?”

“No more than any other single mom with 3 kids left to raise them on her own without any support.  I will say I’ve been stressed at times when faced with payments coming every direction, not to mention all of the other things I’ve gone through.  That doesn’t mean I have a history of anxiety problems.  It hasn’t been easy, sure, but that doesn’t mean I need to be documented on paper as if being diagnosed.”

“ I hear what you’re saying.  I do understand how this could be alarming.  Who wrote the letter – as in who signed it?”

“My question, is who else has it.  This is serious.  I’m not amused.”

We continued to discuss the nature of the situation, and how I was left trying to understand it’s meaning.  After being commended on my calmness, I reiterated how this kind of communication, or lack thereof, is disrespectful and unprofessional.  Parents are in extremely vulnerable states when dealing with their children and mental health.  Adding situations of this sort to an already very heavy load is unnecessary and doesn’t have to happen.

My heart is very sore for parents who are just starting on this journey.  There is so much to learn about the system, and it’s so very frightening – especially at the start.  I wish I could hug every one of them and tell them it will be all right.  The programs are good.  They’ll get the help they need.

The truth is, there is no way I can reach everyone I want, and there is so much to be said. I realize, the same 12 people could be reading every post I make, which is good too, but am I really helping anyone?  I probably think of 5 posts a day I could write, but sometimes my energy ends up just being channeled in to staying strong myself.

What I can say now, is if you are just starting this journey, are in the middle, or maybe have no idea where you are in the big mess of things, know this.  You are not alone.  There is help – lots of it.  There are probably many people around you going through similar things and you don’t even know.  Reach out.  Listen to that voice inside you. (I recently learned that gut instinct is usually right, because of the strong connection between our gut and brain – makes total sense.  The largest concentration of nerves are in our gut, taking messages from our brains.)  Trust what you feel, and when you’re not strong enough to fight anymore, to make the calls, to answer the questions, and to stand strong and make your voice heard,  reach out.  The help is there.

I’m there – silently sending out prayers for everyone else going through this too.

When I found out I was pregnant with my first, I couldn’t have been happier.  I was about 27 years old, and my internal clock was going crazy.  I was so excited to be a mom.  Naturally, one of the first things I did was I went out and bought a pair of maternity overalls.  They were soft blue denim lined with pink and blue plaid material and had rolled up cuffs.  I posed proudly for pictures, proclaiming that at just 3 months I needed to be wearing them, and I did so proudly.

Next,  I went to the local book store, and bought some books on parenting, but my favorite was a book I got was on every phase of pregnancy up to when you have your baby, and their development journey till 12.  I absolutely loved this book.  Each chapter showed a diagram of a woman, what the monthly changes were, how big the baby was at each stage, and all the different things to expect.  There was great information on emergencies, first aid, feeding and caring for your child, and natural behaviors at each age.  One of the chapters I got a kick out of talked about “the terrible twos” – that crazy time when your child starts spreading their baby wings, and trying things out on their own.

That book stopped at age 12.  I never really understood why there was no information past 12, and probably dismissed it as it was a long way off.  As my first started to grow, and head towards that frightening adolescent stage, I was having a lot of difficulty with his anger and related behavior, so I bought two books, one called “Preparing For Adolescence”, by James Dobson, and “The Strong Willed Child”, by the same author. . I I was desperate for answers and how to effectively manage my seemingly out of control son, so I sat up all night long, reading, and desperately trying to find answers.  I will never forget that book.  If nothing else, it taught me one crucially important thing.

Never take parenting personally.  Never.

Now in retrospect, what I was going through with my son was incredibly small in comparison to this roller coaster I’ve been on throughout the last year, but at the time, it couldn’t have been bigger.  The book explained, that at some point in time, you will stand face to face with your child, and they will tell you how much they hate you.  They will lash out, be angry, perhaps throw tantrums, maybe scream and shout, slam doors, and do whatever else they can to get their point across.  The author shared that it is absolutely critical at that point not to take their words personally, because once you do, the lesson becomes about you and not about them.  If you turn and pout, or cry in front of them, or cower from what they’ve said, you will have lost the battle, and will bring a whole new level of issues in to the picture.  At the most hurtful, difficult time, as those words cross their lips, remember that they absolutely don’t hate you.  They love you, and are begging for boundaries while perhaps hating the circumstances surrounding them at that moment.  If you can separate yourself from that moment, take the emotion out of it and stand strong to deal with the issue at hand, your relationship will grow, respect will be established, and you will be able to move forward.

I specifically remember the day it first happened.  By the time my son was 13, he was 6’3″ tall.  At a mere 5’ 3.75″ (when I stand straight), he towered over me by a foot.  We stood almost nose to nose in the hallway, him shouting the words in to my face, “I hate you!”  I looked back at him and in a stern but calm voice told him that I loved him, and that although he was angry at me at that moment, I had meant what I said.  I don’t even remember what the issue was, but I remember the thoughts going through my head at the moment.  “Don’t cry. Remember, you’re 7’ tall on the inside.  Stand firm.  Don’t yell.  Crap – he’s huge.  He could take me down right now.  What if he hits me?  Stand firm.  He loves you – he’s just angry.  Stand firm.  Don’t cry. Crap he’s huge.  Why is he so tall?”  I remember him turning around, going to his room and slamming the door.  It shut so hard, that the door stop came right off the frame.  About 10 minutes later he came out of his room, fists clenched and said. “And just to let you know, I punched my dresser and cracked the side.  I’M SORRY!”  I sat in my chair and just looked at him as he marched back in to his room.  This time he couldn’t slam the door, because there was nothing to stop it.  I didn’t even know how to respond, so I didn’t.  I let a little time pass, and everyone in the house stayed pretty quiet.  About an hour later, maybe a little longer, he came out of his room.  I was still sitting in my chair.  He walked up to me and sat on the couch.  Very quietly he said, “I didn’t mean what I said.  I’m sorry mom.  I love you with all my heart.  You know that, right?  I never meant it.  I really didn’t”.  At that point I hugged him for what felt like a long time, and we had a calm conversation about what was troubling him.

Had I known at the time that his anger was probably a mental health issue, I probably would have taken him to the children’s hospital.

That situation happened more than once.  I can happily say, that each time it turned out the same.  Eventually he would come to me and apologize.  I would always make sure that if I was going to pick a battle with him, or any of my kids, it would be one that I could win.

I now know why that book only went to age 12.  Had I read any further, I’m not sure I could have made it as far as I have.  I don’t really think there would have been an alternative, but still, tell a parent about adolescence and “The Terrible Tweens?”  That would just be cruel!  Besides, the years are so unpredictable, there would be no way it could prepare you for everything.  The book would have hundreds of chapters, flow charts, foot notes, appendixes, and would just never end.  People would be laughing, crying at the same time, and the hair color industry would definitely boom because of the premature greying happening.

I have 2 teenagers of my own still, one from my fiancé,  and a an adult to get to 25 in one piece.  I’m not sure yet how it’s all going to happen, but I do know that we’ll get there.

Whatever is happening, don’t take it personally.  If we humble ourselves a little, and learn to say sorry, we can get through what we need to.  Pick the battles carefully and make sure they’re life lessons.  Leave the little stuff that doesn’t matter behind and own what you need to own – I know it means a lot to my kids when I do.  And don’t forget – it’s ok to ask for help

There is a new program in town.  So new, that there is actually very little information on it, so I figure considering my daughter has been one of the 12 kids currently accepted in to the program, I will write about it and let people know.

YCSP – Youth Community Support Program.  This is a program specifically made for kids in the system that need prolonged care, and haven’t had success being stabilized at any other program.

First, you start with assessments at ACH – Alberta Children’s hospital.  After that, if you haven’t stabilized and qualify, you can  potentially go towards ADTP – Adolescent Day Treatment Program.  This is a 3-4 month program aimed at helping kids 13 – 18 transition with support from a hospital situation to real life.  There are Board of Education teachers, and it runs the same way a school does except there are interactive therapy groups, private therapy, and psychiatrists.  There’s also a nursing staff.  Kids are drug checked regularly, and there’s a cook that makes breakfast and lunch for everyone there.  It fits 14 kids at a time, and generally doesn’t run during the summer months – at least kids don’t attend there during that time, but sometimes there is still private counseling available.  There is also the Eating Disorder Program that may be a good choice for some, but you can’t attend both ADTP and the EDP – you have to choose one.

Previously, if all of these programs don’t work, your child might just end up back at ACH, and then the process would start again.  Now, there is the new program.  12 kids can attend this program – 6 beds for those who aren’t ready to stay at home yet, and 6 part time spots for kids who need regular weekly support.

We have been in the system for a full 8 months now.  First ACH, then an assessment for the Eating Disorder Program.  We ended up going to ADTP, and yesterday, we had our intake appointment for YCSP.  It took about 90 minutes to fill out forms, go through legal jargin, and learn what we needed to get started.

I guess I should be thrilled that my daughter has been one of the first accepted in to this program, and apparently there is a massive waiting list, so I know I should be grateful, but I’m having a really hard time with the whole thing.  We are in to our third set of psychiatrists, psychologists, counselors, nurses, and teachers, and frankly I just feel really exhausted and discouraged.  I feel bad for the people out there that have to wait to get in, because unlike other programs, there is no limit to how long you can be in this program, but there is a limit to how many youth can go.

There are so many things I haven’t been able to say or share, so I know it would make more sense if I could, but getting in to everything again just makes me feel down.  When I came home from work today, I looked at her and apologized.  She looked at me with her big blue eyes, and said, “Why are you apologizing mom?”  I said to her, “I wish I could fix everything for you.  I wish I could give you your medication and everything would just melt away.  I wish I could erase the past and just create a new one.  I wish I could make things right. I wish we didn’t have to go through all of this again. I’m just so sorry I can’t fix all of this for you.”  “I know mom.  I wish that could happen.  I hate interactive therapy.  I don’t want to go to more groups.  I don’t want any of this.” “You know I can’t keep you home, don’t you?  You know I can’t say it’s over, because I don’t think you’re ready to be on your own yet.  I think you still need support.”  :”Yes, I know.”

It’s hard to look at your child and not be able to fix things.  There comes a point, when a large part of her recovery is up to her, and only time can help mend that.  She has to get past what has happened and find a reason to thrive in the future.  To make things more difficult, the psychiatrist she has really bonded with will not be allowed to treat her anymore, and I just can’t bring myself to tell her.  Tomorrow she will find that out, and I don’t want to even be around for the after math of that conversation.  She will be so tremendously disappointed, and so am I.

YCSP will accept her for 2 days a week, and the other 5 will be up to me to keep her on track.  While school is still in, which is 3 more weeks, we will have 3 more days of the week taken care of.  For the rest of the summer, well, I’m not quite sure yet.  I will have 3 weeks of vacation I’ve spread out over the 2.5 months till school starts in the fall again, upon which time she will keep attending YCSP and her regular high school the other 3 days of the week.  As for the rest of the time, I’m not sure.  I will have work to deal with, and will have to juggle the rest.  Thank goodness my work is so understanding.

For now, as my daughter says to me, “Mom, let’s save the worry for tomorrow”.

Smart kid

There is a pilot project running right now at a local high school in the town where I live. From Wednesday to Friday each week, there is a room called “The Chat Room” where kids with IPP’s or special coding, or even kids that just need safety can take alternative classes, take a break and unwind, get some food or a cup of tea, and escape from the stress they’re feeling.

I remember first hearing the terms “coding” and “IPP” when my middle son was in grade 2. He was the tiniest child in the school, had pop bottle bottom glasses since he was 8 months old, and had a bad speach issue. I spent hours every day at the table with him, teaching him how to speak, repeating vowels and consonants so he wouldnt have to be pulled fromantic class. The muscles in his cheeks and throat did not develop properly, and he couldn’t say r, l, k, s, w, t, and many other sounds. He basically sounded like he had peanut butter in his mouth. They always wanted to test him for different things and it got to the point that he didn’t even want to go to school. He was horribly bullied, until one day I pulled him out and made a change.

Once we were at the new school they encouraged me to have him tested to see where they could best help him succeed. I had never wanted my kids “coded” because I had learned that this would make you “the class idiot”. I thought they would have this horrible stigma attached to them for the rest of their lives. I was very wrong.

After agreeing and going through the process, I found eventually that he had markers for learning that were completely missing, and some that were off the charts. Over time, he was coded with a rare extreme OCD disorder, severe anxiety, and ADHD along with certain learning markers. Accommodations were put in place, and he started to succeed. Slowly but surely some of his challenges were used in his favor rather than against him, and the one child I thought wouldn’t make it graduated! Not only did he graduate, but he ended up graduating with the most credits any student had ever had.

For awhile I felt guilty that my own fear, and perhaps embarrassment at having a child with special needs held him back. He had no 3D vision (still doesnt), his eyes work independently, his speech was horrible, he was very tiny, and eventually he became very depressed and suicidal. His clothes got bigger as he got thinner and thinner, he never smiled, and just sat in the dark all the time. Once we got him the help he needed, he started to soar. That coding was a signal light to everyone he encountered and changed his life. He became strong, and was his own best advocate.

My daughter is now undergoing coding for an IPP as she enters high school. Should the government decide to keep this pilot program going and make it permanent, which I really hope they do, she will be able to use this room as a safe place when things start to unwind. She can take classes in a room with an essential oil diffuser going, with lava lamps and beautiful art on the walls. She can do her work in a protected environment with other kids that are struggling with life too. There is a window in the room, and on the other side you can see 40 or so students in a sterile white room, sitting at desks with computers. As I stood in The Chat Room, I felt in awe as to how things have changed. For a moment it actually felt like it was ok to be different than the norm.

I come from an age of corporal punishment in school, where “suck it up” was a common phrase, and when it was ok for a teacher to throw his chalk at you if you looked the wrong way.

The future is bright for our kids if programs like this stay in place. No kids are turned away, IPP or not. We need to be advocates for things like this. The teacher told me they had a strong feeling about who would want to use The Chat Room, and when it opened they were shocked to see kids they never would have expected, coming by and checking in.

It’s a different tomorrow out there than I’m used to, but in some ways that alone dispels the fears I have. My knowledge is based on the past, but what I’m learning about future possibilities is bright. Coming back to the system might not be quite so impossible.

We’re back, at least a little bit. And the future is bright.