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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.

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

The Walnut

The bowl of nuts every Christmas sits by the fireplace. The nuts are not the kind you get from a little tin with the metal tab that you peel back.  The nuts in this bowl are carefully hand picked by my dad, making sure they’re all in tact. There’s a wide assortment of Hazelnuts, Brazil Nuts, Cashews, Filberts and Walnuts, all still in the shell needing to be cracked open. Next to the dish, there’s a small metal nutcracker, with a little metal tool used to dig the small bits out of the nooks and crannies of the shell.

I was really never any good at getting the nut out of the shell with those small little crackers.  I didn’t ever get why we couldn’t get the tin, but my dad really enjoyed cracking open those nuts – and he was good at it.  I remember watching and thinking, “He doesn’t even get any pieces anywhere.  They just pop open for him.”

I remember going in to a store one time and seeing a big huge Nutcracker – the kind with the lever on the back of the head.  Seems like a monstrous tool for such a small item, but have you ever tried to crack a nut?  If you’re not careful and don’t do it right, it can make a really huge mess, and even break the nutcracker itself.  It might seem like a very small problem – crack the nut – get the goodies out of the shell but if it’s not done right you have just more of a mess on your hands.  I’m pretty sure at some point my brother tried using a hammer, and I’m sure there’s a story somewhere about a dented table or floor because of it.  The point being – a small nut can seem really hard to crack, and the large tools can seem unnecessary, but really might be needed to do it right.

This last week we took another trip to the hospital, not for my daughter this time, but for another family member.  It seemed so unnecessary.  “Can’t we just talk about this?  Tell us what’s up and we’ll help you fix it”, but mental health doesn’t work that way, and I’ve learned our youth don’t trust us and don’t feel safe sharing.

Why don’t they trust us?  Why can’t they share?  What have our generation, and the ones before us done to loose the trust of youth today?  And even more importantly, why are there so many, many hurting, angry, beaten and broken teens?

I don’t have answers to any of these questions.  I’m as perplexed as the next person, and watch as lives disappear due to a dark moment intensified by intoxication, or being high, taking away the inhibitions that could be that small little piece keeping them from ending it all.  It’s so senseless.

Talk to your children every day, and not from the other room, or while you’re working at something else.  Look them in the eye, ask them how life is.  Talk about issues like drugs, alcohol and sexuality.  Put on your big girl panties and be prepared to calmly answer some tough questions (even when you’re freaking on the inside), and if you don’t have the answers, find a safe place to get them, and then follow up.  Who will your child go to when they’re in trouble?  Do you know?  I’d be willing to guarantee that it won’t be you – at least not at first.  Learn to be ok with that, because it is what it is.  Just make sure, that they have a “go to” adult to use as a support.  A pier is not the right answer.  It needs to be someone that has their life at least a little together, and has some life experience.

“Not my kid”.  Don’t kid yourself.  I said that over and over, and I can’t write about some of the things we’ve been through.  Maybe it seems like a huge sledgehammer for a small walnut, but like those hard shells, our teenagers are no different.  The tools are there – use them – and don’t be ashamed.  At the end of the day, the only thing that matters, is that we have them to hug and hold as long as we possibly can.

As my friends son said to her, “life is a roller coaster mom – lots of twists and turns along the way”.  Eventually we’ll get there.  Stick together and hang on for all you’re worth.

0

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.

1

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