Along for the ride

You may feel like you've read this post before. I certainly feel like I've written this post before. But trust me, it's a whole new episode.

After three days in the Baptist Hospital ER, Elizabeth's PRTF reconsidered and agreed to take her back. It took a good 24 hours for the Hospital to change courses and let her be discharged to them. Taking her back was the right thing for them to do. I was a little nervous, but overall I was okay with this. They are, after all, a facility that works with kids with behavioral problems. Everyone deserves a second chance to get it right. They assured me they were ready. They weren't.

Once again on Friday night, three days after they took her back, they take Elizabeth to the ER. When I talk to her on the phone, I have to admit that her actions are logical, at least once you understand her logic. The PRTF told her that if she acted up again, she'd have to go to Butner. As she said, "I wanted to go to Butner." Duh. What would you do? She has discovered a way to control the world to reach her goals: feeling safe and liked. That's not crazy. But it sure as hell makes life difficult.

The immediate problem is that there doesn't seem to be a child psych bed available in the state. Some feel that she is too difficult for them to handle. The ones that can handle her have no beds. It doesn't help that it's the weekend. Butner, being the state hospital, is mandated to take her, but only if there are beds. They don't have any either, so Elizabeth waits in the hospital. She's only been there about 50 hours this time. Our record is 74 and I suspect we'll beat it this time. She tells the nurse she can speed things up and so she starts acting out. They have to sedate and restrain her. I don't really blame her. Those little cubicles make me a bit violent too.

I spent all day yesterday working to keep her from going back to Butner. If we reward this behavior by giving her what she wants, it will take a long time to unlearn it. The social worker there reads me the list of places she has tried. Finally I have to admit that I can't fix this one and start thinking of how to redeem it.

A digression: as our legislators talk about cutting the budget, one of the areas that may be cut is mental health. One result of that is children and adults waiting weeks for a hospital bed. This is not acceptable. People with mental illness do not need to be stuck in a tiny cubicle waiting for treatment. Taxpayers are not saving money by doing this. I would guess that her ER treatment is far more than it would be in a properly staffed unit.

And how am I doing?

When I was a child, we used to fish in the creek near our house, using chunks of bologna as bait. I never caught anything, but I did love seeing my bobber go under and then pop back up empty. I am like one of those bobbers. I may go under for a brief violent moment, but I pop right back up. Last weekend I crashed for a day; this weekend I am merely resigned.

I love my daughter. But I can't cure her nor fix her; I can only love her as she is and work to shape her world so that she can be successful. Sometimes it works, much of the time it doesn't. And so I shift gears and try something else. So often I tell my students, "The only reaction you can control is your own." It's good advice if I do say so myself.

I find solace in dark humor shared with other parents of children with mental illness, in a beautiful handwritten card from a friend, in an unexpected gift. I find joy in small moments that are all the more precious because of their dark setting: eating ice cream under the "supermoon" last night; holding one of the kittens who looks up at me adoringly; watching a student collapse in giggles; having dinner with Claire and listening to her tell a funny story. I feel contentment in doing my job well, in having a conversation with a friend, in rereading a book I love. I am not unhappy.

On Friday, after I received the call telling me Elizabeth was headed for the hospital, my friend and I talked. She works with cancer patients and we talked about the fact that sometimes one has reason to be sad. It's not pathological. It's a normal part of living and doesn't always need to be treated. I have moments where I am unhappy about my life. But I have many more moments when I am content.

The truth is that I am proud of both my daughters. I have no desire to trade either one of them in. They are who they are and I am honored to share their journeys.

Even the one who tells me she likes Butner because their padded room is nicer.