The Hardest Decision Thus Far

Deciding to go through with my divorce was easy. Leaving was easy. Going back to school was easy. Getting back into the work force was easy. In comparison to the shit storm that was waiting at the end of April, I'd go through all that again. I've said before my children have been going to therapy for the better part of two years now and it's been very constant. Just a phycologist, no meds, until it was absolutely necessary. Well... it's necessary.

I was at work in mid April, when I got a phone call from my kids' school. It turns out my daughter was having suicidal thoughts and told her counselor that she sees once a week at school. She told the administrators that she doesn't think she can handle it and "call my mom". I was so proud of her for being brave enough to speak up and tell someone she needs help, however, I don't think I have ever been as scared, worried, and confused as much as I was in that moment.

When I talked to the counselor on the phone before I left to get her, she told me it's best to take her to an ER that specializes in children; so off to Mott's Children's Hospital, U of M, we went. It took longer to find parking than it did to get her admitted, which I was thankful for. Once she was in and changed into a gown, the revolving door opened and we were visited by, what seemed like, every doctor and social worker on the psych ward. We were left in the ED, in a private room, while we waited for the next few days to see if she was going to be admitted or transferred. I was in constant contact with her dad, my mom (who had her brothers), and my supervisor to keep them in the loop and give them updates.

The staff was fantastic and treated her kindly and with respect and made sure to keep everything on a lower level so she could understand what was going on. She didn't like the IV in her hand, but she took it like a champ and didn't flinch or cry at all (which made her very proud). I was worried for a while because she was on her best behavior, which is great if you're out and about; but when you're being evaluated for a mental disorder, you want the authentic and real personality to come out. However, they were aware of this phenomenon and called it "the honeymoon phase". This is why if you're ever in need of the same kind of help for your child, I STRONGLY suggest you go somewhere that specializes in children.

Anyway, after several days in the ED, the social workers along with the psychiatrist came down to let me know they had found a room. Unfortunately, it was in one of the worst inpatient hospitals in the state. But what choice did I have? She was too young for all but three hospitals (even though they claim to specialize in children, they mean kids over the age of 13) and the other two were too full to accommodate her and I didn't want to wait in limbo forever while she was feeling this way. Once the ambulance showed up, I paid my $64 I owed to the parking garage, because, of course, and drove the hour to the awaiting hospital.

The whole drive there, I was arguing with myself inside my head and hoping this would work and she'd get the help she needed. Once, I checked her in and put her stuff in a paper bag, I was taken to a small room in the psych ward. The nurse explained what she will be doing for the duration of her stay in the clinic; she was thorough and kind and I felt really comfortable with her taking charge of her mental health and safety while I couldn't be there. After all my questions were answered and visitation days were established, she went to grab my daughter so I could see her and say good bye.

I could hear them coming down the hall and the nurse gently reassuring my daughter as she tried so hard to be brave. When they finally got to the small room, she broke down and wanted me to stay and not leave her alone. It broke my heart, but I didn't want to start crying too and scare her or make it worse, so I let her know she could call me anytime, which she could, and I would be seeing her soon. We talked a little longer to get her comfortable and it was finally time to say goodbye.

I watched her leave, down the hall and through the double doors that would lead her to her room and, hopefully, some answers. I left and will admit, I cried. I cried for her, I cried for me, I cried for her brothers that didn't know everything or quite understand, I cried for the whole situation, I just... cried. When I got back to my mom's house, it was late and I just wanted to sleep. Wanted to, but knew I wouldn't be able to.

The next two weeks were... odd. I felt so happy that she was getting seen and help, but I missed her. She could be a handful and a bit much at times; but I missed the sweet, high pitched voice and girly talk. I missed her cuddles on the couch and her "Good morning, mommy"s and hugs in the mornings after a long, exhausting day of work and tech school. I had my boys, but I didn't have my little love bug.

She called every day, several times a day; and I relished in the few minutes we had. She only had a limited amount of time to talk so she made sure to call everyone on her "allowed" list that included: me, her dad, my parents, and my grandma. When she first would call, the meds she was given made her sound sluggish and tired, but it took a few days to get used to. The doctor would call me every few days and give me updates; she was doing well and they were starting to "see what I was talking about", for which I was grateful for. The group therapy and individual counseling was getting her to open up and they were able to see past her dishonesty.

When I got the phone call to come pick her up, I was elated! We had a girls day while the boys were with there dad and she was over the moon. I just wanted to show her that we still loved her and she was important. I was worried that it would feel like a "reward", but it's been nearly a month and it doesn't seem that she thought of it that way; again, I am grateful for that. We went to a small, tourist town near by that I am very familiar with and their new zoo. I gave her a little more time with her dad when we met the boys to go back home and she showed him her bobcat she got and told him everything that she did at the clinic.

When we were alone, he told me she sounded drugged, and I let him know that they were still the low dose, slow releasing meds that I had told him about while we were at the hospital. I kept him very well informed every step of the way and now it was a waiting game. It's nearing the end of the school year and I have yet to get another email or phone call concerning her behavior in class and around the other kids.

I am so proud of her and she has taken everything very seriously and to heart. I hope it keeps going like this and we'll eventually be able to get her off the meds and counselling will one day be enough. It's been a tough road, and it's far from over or perfect, but we're finally making strides forward towards something better; for her and for us as a family. The divorce is still a tough spot for her, but with the help of all the people that love and care about her, we'll be here to help her move on as we have, and that's all we can do.

If you ever have a feeling that your child is in need of more help than you can provide, PLEASE don't think of yourself as a failure or hesitate to ask someone, anyone, for help. Experts and doctors of all kinds exist for a reason and every child's needs are different. Good luck! You've got this!