Black Thursday
Today is not a good day.
I spent most of yesterday on the phone, fielding calls from the hospital. First, a call from me to the unit staff, asking how Bob did through the night. (Good, he had to be "redirected" for language, but he got settled in and he's been actively participating this morning.) At lunch time, a call from the nurse advising me of what changes the psychiatrist has made to his medication regimen (continue Trileptal, discontinue Concerta, add Risperdal and Prozac). And several calls from the client services coordinator, acting as liaison between myself and db.
I had expected a torrent of emails from him yesterday morning, but there was nothing. Nor did he try to call Bob Tuesday night. The silence was almost more disturbing than the predicted shit storm. So it was almost a relief when the CSC called me around 10:00am, stating db had called and demanded information, and she was calling me to determine what information I wanted them to give him. (None--he is to request all records through me.)
The CSC called back later, stating db was calling back demanding his Wednesday visitation. I told her (reluctantly) that I would consent to Bob's visitation with db, provided such visit was supervised by hospital staff. The CSC advised me she would speak to the treatment team about it and call me back. Ten minutes later, she advised me the treatment team agreed db's visits should be supervised, but they didn't have the staff resources during visiting hours. They suggested db come to visit Bob during the day, between 9 and 5, when a staff member could supervise. I agreed with that suggestion, and said I would email db and let him know. The CSC said she would also call db and tell him the same.
About an hour after my email, the CSC called back. (He's not happy about that, and says he's going to come pick up Bob tonight at 4:00, and bring him back at 8:00, and if we don't release Bob, db will call the police.) The CSC advised me they absolutely would not bow to db's demands (nor would the police), and that if he acted a fool, the treatment team would determine him unsafe and not allow him visitation at all.
I sent him an email to that effect.
An hour later, the CSC called back. Db agreed to wait til Thursday to visit under supervision of a staff member (the CSC he'd been bitching at all day), at 11:00 am.
I expect it will be a rather short visit.
Ben and I drove out there to see Bob last night. He was happy to see us. He looked tired, pale, and sad, despite the smile. One arm sported a Band-Aid from a TB test, the other had obviously been stuck for blood. He relayed the tales of bravely enduring these tortures, said the food was good, and that he'd made some friends. He'd gotten to choose the evening movie because he'd been good at following directions after dinner. (An earlier report from the CSC had included him having an issue with a staff member and threatening to turn a table over her if she didn't get out of his way, so this was good news.) We sat down and started to read a book, but he wasn't terribly interested in it. At that point, a nurse spotted him and told us she'd been trying all day (without success) to get a urine sample from him, and asked if we could help in that respect. (Bob's exact reply had been "lady, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard--I will NOT pee in a cup.") We tried to get his compliance, but it was nothing doing, and his mood deteriorated. The nurse overheard him telling us he was going to kill us if we made him pee in a cup, and firmly told him she would cut the visit short if he was going to talk to us that way. He settled down somewhat, then wanted to take me to see his room. But parents aren't allowed on the unit, so he decided to say his good-byes and go back to the main room. There were hugs and kisses and cracking voices (mine and his) as we tried to hold it together. I managed to do so until he was out of sight.
I cried all the way home.
It was another pretty sleepless night. I slept from about 11 to 3, then woke up, read until 4, and went back to sleep until 6:30. I managed not to cry this morning until around 10:30. The main adrenaline rush has left me, and I'm now sitting with the reality of the situation.
I miss my baby. It's been a while since I've seen him. And I mean him, not the child who has replaced him.
I'm scared. I'm afraid it's gone too far, that this is as good as it gets.
And db won't be going to jail tomorrow. His attorney has filed a demand for jury trial--hoping, I suppose, that they'll be able to find 6 jurors who are wife-beating construction workers--so it will be reset. I can't imagine why any attorney with half a brain would be willing to put db in front of a jury, but I'm sure it's probably just another way for db to stall.
I just want my Bob back.
I spent most of yesterday on the phone, fielding calls from the hospital. First, a call from me to the unit staff, asking how Bob did through the night. (Good, he had to be "redirected" for language, but he got settled in and he's been actively participating this morning.) At lunch time, a call from the nurse advising me of what changes the psychiatrist has made to his medication regimen (continue Trileptal, discontinue Concerta, add Risperdal and Prozac). And several calls from the client services coordinator, acting as liaison between myself and db.
I had expected a torrent of emails from him yesterday morning, but there was nothing. Nor did he try to call Bob Tuesday night. The silence was almost more disturbing than the predicted shit storm. So it was almost a relief when the CSC called me around 10:00am, stating db had called and demanded information, and she was calling me to determine what information I wanted them to give him. (None--he is to request all records through me.)
The CSC called back later, stating db was calling back demanding his Wednesday visitation. I told her (reluctantly) that I would consent to Bob's visitation with db, provided such visit was supervised by hospital staff. The CSC advised me she would speak to the treatment team about it and call me back. Ten minutes later, she advised me the treatment team agreed db's visits should be supervised, but they didn't have the staff resources during visiting hours. They suggested db come to visit Bob during the day, between 9 and 5, when a staff member could supervise. I agreed with that suggestion, and said I would email db and let him know. The CSC said she would also call db and tell him the same.
About an hour after my email, the CSC called back. (He's not happy about that, and says he's going to come pick up Bob tonight at 4:00, and bring him back at 8:00, and if we don't release Bob, db will call the police.) The CSC advised me they absolutely would not bow to db's demands (nor would the police), and that if he acted a fool, the treatment team would determine him unsafe and not allow him visitation at all.
I sent him an email to that effect.
An hour later, the CSC called back. Db agreed to wait til Thursday to visit under supervision of a staff member (the CSC he'd been bitching at all day), at 11:00 am.
I expect it will be a rather short visit.
Ben and I drove out there to see Bob last night. He was happy to see us. He looked tired, pale, and sad, despite the smile. One arm sported a Band-Aid from a TB test, the other had obviously been stuck for blood. He relayed the tales of bravely enduring these tortures, said the food was good, and that he'd made some friends. He'd gotten to choose the evening movie because he'd been good at following directions after dinner. (An earlier report from the CSC had included him having an issue with a staff member and threatening to turn a table over her if she didn't get out of his way, so this was good news.) We sat down and started to read a book, but he wasn't terribly interested in it. At that point, a nurse spotted him and told us she'd been trying all day (without success) to get a urine sample from him, and asked if we could help in that respect. (Bob's exact reply had been "lady, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard--I will NOT pee in a cup.") We tried to get his compliance, but it was nothing doing, and his mood deteriorated. The nurse overheard him telling us he was going to kill us if we made him pee in a cup, and firmly told him she would cut the visit short if he was going to talk to us that way. He settled down somewhat, then wanted to take me to see his room. But parents aren't allowed on the unit, so he decided to say his good-byes and go back to the main room. There were hugs and kisses and cracking voices (mine and his) as we tried to hold it together. I managed to do so until he was out of sight.
I cried all the way home.
It was another pretty sleepless night. I slept from about 11 to 3, then woke up, read until 4, and went back to sleep until 6:30. I managed not to cry this morning until around 10:30. The main adrenaline rush has left me, and I'm now sitting with the reality of the situation.
I miss my baby. It's been a while since I've seen him. And I mean him, not the child who has replaced him.
I'm scared. I'm afraid it's gone too far, that this is as good as it gets.
And db won't be going to jail tomorrow. His attorney has filed a demand for jury trial--hoping, I suppose, that they'll be able to find 6 jurors who are wife-beating construction workers--so it will be reset. I can't imagine why any attorney with half a brain would be willing to put db in front of a jury, but I'm sure it's probably just another way for db to stall.
I just want my Bob back.
posted by Mitzi Green at 8:18 AM
3 Comments:
I feel your pain. We had to admit Zak to a hospital up in Maine for depression when he was 13. I had FINALLY gotten my ex to listen to what I was telling him, that Zak was very depressed and despondant, upon the intake with the shrink, shrink said we need to get this boy hospitalized right now. I remember Zak talking about the TB test and the blood test - Zak hates needles. His definace wasn't over peeing in a cup though, it was over food. The only thing he could really control was food so he chose to stop eating. Well, he's 16 (going on 17 in August) and he's past that. We had him on Prozac, but he didn't like who he was on that, so he tried self-medicating until I discovered that (which is hard to do from 4 hours away. I'm the non-cusotdial in this relationship - TOTALLY long divergent story - email me if you want to hear the gory details - and a lesson learned the hard way, but in Zak's best interest, I've kept it that way - consistency it better for a child than a parent being in the right.) He's not on Wellbutrin (sp) and usually remembers to take the pill. I can tell when he's slipped and call him on it and he's good about being honest with me about that, but it's taken time.
Zak was admitted on a Friday (read weekend), so the 2 days he was there weren't very structured and my idiot ex decided he didn't want HIS son with all the "city" kids - as if Zak was better than everyone else. Thankfully, one of the girls here at the firm used to be a social worker and she told me to use the magic words "blue paper". So we blue papered Zak, which meant he had to be held an additional 72 hours to have a second opinion issued. In those 72 hours Zak was able to get counseling and he started eating and I am so grateful for what the hospital was able to do.
I know the feeling you have - the aswufl dibiliating feeling that you're not able to touch your son, just ruffle his hair as he runs by, because he's not there. You miss him being under foot, etc.
This too shall pass and you all will be stronger for it. Behavior is learned, he sees db acting out and getting his way, so he probably thinks that's what you do to get what you want. Learned behavior takes much more time to unlearn, and it's hard work.
I'm with you in spirit,
Marcia
I hope tonight went well for you. I'm so proud of you for doing what must have been the most difficult thing a parent can do. I hope you get some sleep and some peace of mind.
Thinking of you .. .
It sounds like Bob's getting the best care there and I was thrilled to read they're keeping db well and truly in line. I think you're amazing doing this, I really do. Things can only get better from here. He's getting professional help, they're keeping you informed and you've got a great husband supporting you through this.
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