I remember how tired I was when a nurse finally came up to us and said it was time to go upstairs. It was a Saturday afternoon. She ushered us to the 4th floor. 4B. Over the years I have become so familliar with it, but this trip through the maze of white hallways and up the old elevator is the one I remember most. The place makes quite a first impression.
This particular hospital's hallways are sparkling clean. You won't find a speck of dust on the floor or a mark on the wall. The building is really old--maybe a hundred years old. The elevator is an antique-but it works. We took the elevator to the 4th floor. The doors open to a short hallway with double doors at the end, which are grey. And locked. The hallway has some benches and chairs along with colorful posters on the walls having to do with children. Behind the locked doors is a hallway containing some rooms and offices and another set of locked doors. Behind those locked doors is the place we had waited for hours on end to go-the place where I would leave my son with the hope that the doctors would be able to give us some answers.
We went through both sets of doors to yet another empty room where we waited some more. Since our first visit, this area of the hospital has been completely remodeled. It is really a much nicer place now than it was then. What it looked like did not matter to me much. It was clean and the professionals seemed to be competent. That was good enough for me. I had the idea that this one stay in the hospital was the answer. I believed that the doctors would assess and diagnose and perscribe effective medication and we would all go on with our lives.
Younger Kid and I stayed in the room by ourselves for quite a long time. The nurse said she would be back. I sat and waited patiently for her return. Younger Kid was restless, annoyed, and struggling with the waiting. It was Saturday afternoon and we had been waiting to get Younger Kid in since Wednesday. When the nurse finally came back she had a lot of paperwork. She interviewed Younger Kid for a long time. He hated it. He did not handle it well. He would not sit. He paced all over the room. I remember listening and feeling detached. I really felt that Younger Kid was in good hands and that what was going on inside his head was way beyond any help that I could give him.
I signed all the paperwork and the nurse told me that the average stay in "the unit" was 7-10 days. She made an appointment for me and my husband to visit with the Social Worker/Therapist (some people say therapist, the guy calls himself a social worker--who knows what his title actually is?) It is called a Family Meeting and it is suposed to take place as soon as possible after admission. I told the nurse I was going to go home for awhile and that I would be back later. "Why?", she asked.
Why?
Because my kid is in the hospital. I imagine I will be here a lot. I need to be here, don't I? I have to talk to doctors and staff and be available. Yes? If your kid were in the hospital, you would be there--a lot--am I right?
Not if your kid is hospitalized for mental health. The nurse informed me that visiting hours were-get this-Tuesday and Thursday evenings from 7-9 pm and Saturdays and Sundays from 1-3 pm. Oh no, I am not making that up. Can you see your kid outside of visiting hours? Are you ready for the answer? "Only with the permission of the nurse in charge of that particular shift."
Blink.
I was stunned. I didn't argue though. I was too tired to argue. I felt guilty too, because a tiny part of me (not that tiny, actually) was relieved that I could go home and sleep, knowing that my kid was safe and being cared for by professionals. So, I left my my sweet boy in the Psychiatric Unit and I went home.
Our meeting with the Social Worker was an interesting one. He was an interesting man. He looked young but he said he had worked at that hospital since 1974! He listened a lot, without revealing what he thought. I hated that. I like to know what people think. I like people's opionions. He sent my husband and me home with a questionaire designed to help determine weather or not Younger Kid had Bipolar Disorder. There were 37 statements on the questionaire. We said 34 of them sounded like Younger Kid. I remember that.
I think it was Tuesday before I spoke to the Doctor. My husband and I were out for dinner at Buffalo Wild Wings when the Doctor called. I remember because it was loud at the restaurant and I had to go outside to take the call. The Doctor talked to me for a long time. I was impressed by that. He explained that he lived in a city about 90 minutes away from the hospital and he called people during his commute. I appreciated the time he took to explain what he said because what he said was hard to hear. "Mrs. Advocate Mom, Your son is a very disturbed, very troubled young man."
Gulp. I knew Younger Kid was "very disturbed". That is why I brought him to the hospital. But, as a mother, it is one thing to believe something bad about your kid. It is another to hear it from an actual doctor. The doctor explained that he was not convinced Younger Kid had Bipolar. He explained that many of the symptoms of disorders Younger Kid was already diagnosed with, specifically Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD), often mimic Bipolar. It was too soon to know for sure. The doctor said he would not rule out Bipolar, but he would not diagnose it either. He did agree with our feelings that Younger Kid's PTSD was a major contributor to his behaviors.
Younger Kid ended up staying at the hospital until May 12. A little longer than 7-10 days. When he was discharged, the doctor sent us off with a really wonderful letter explaining PTSD and what was going on in my kid's head when he took out the teacher. When we went to court on the Disorderly Conduct charge, the Judge read the Doctor's letter and dismissed the case.
Someone at the hospital-I think it was the Social Worker-suggested that we contact our county for Children's Mental Health Case Management Services. "What the heck is that?" For children who qualify, a social worker can be assigned. The social worker's job would be to connect Younger Kid to appropriate available services. While I didn't really understand what "case management" was, I went ahead and called the county anyway. As it turned out, one hospital stay was not the answer to all of Younger Kid's behaviors. I knew our family needed all the help we could get.
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