Never Again

 Let's imagine, for a minute, that your child had an illness.  It is a serious illness, enough so going to school has become very troublesome, so that they scream much of the day, so they don't sleep, so they are in obvious pain.  Let's imagine this illness is physical, not what we call mental.  Imagine that everyone agrees the child needs help, urgently.  What would you do?

You'd probably go to the hospital.  So let's picture a scene there.  The hospital agrees you child is very ill, and needs longer term hospitalization to deal with this illness.  However, there are very few hospitals around that treat this particular form of illness, and they are full.  There might be an opening in a day, there might an opening in a week, there might be an opening in a month.  It might be longer than that.  

Let's say the hospital says, that despite the fact they themselves can't treat the illness, your child needs to stay there until there's an opening at the specialized hospital.  You can't take them home and care for them there, even if you feel able to, because then you'll lose your place in line for the specialized care.  

You are in the ER, being told this.  There might be a room available at the hospital that can't treat your child but insists on keeping them there.  Or there might not be, in which case you first must just stay in an ER room until a regular room is available.  This might be for a few hours.  Or it might be days.

When the room, essentially a waiting room, is available, you are moved there.  And told your child can't leave that room, for any reason, until you get a bed at the specialized hospital.  You aren't going to be treated there, aside from having your child's vitals taken every four hours.  You are just going to wait.  And while you wait, there is going to be someone posted in your room, someone called a sitter, who does just that, sits there around the clock watching you and your child, to make sure they don't leave the room.

Because there are so few openings at the specialized hospital, you wait and wait and wait.  You wait there, despite the fact your child is very ill, just waiting.

When finally, finally, there is a space for your child (and the specialized hospital accepts them---decides they are the right age and sex and type of child they want, which is totally their decision and based on rules you aren't told), your child is moved, by an ambulance ride, to the specialized hospital.

When you and your child get to that hospital, you are told you have to leave them there, alone.  You can visit, but there are very strict rules about your visits, what time they can be and how long they can last.  But you breath a sign of relief.  Finally, your child is going to get some help.

Except they aren't.  The hospital houses them there until insurance will no longer pay for them to be there.  Then they tell you the stay is over.  They don't give you any advice for how to treat the illness at home.  They don't talk to your child's school about how to treat the illness.  They might give you a new medication, which might or might not help, but they don't follow up on if it does.  When you take your child home, they are no better than when the whole ordeal started.  You beg the hospital for at least some guidance.  They send you a report with generic information, information you have long ago read on the internet.  In places where your child's name is mentioned in the report, sometimes it's the right name, sometimes it's a whole different child's name, because the whole thing is cut and pasted badly.  

And your child is home.  Worse for wear, as are you.  Stunned, overwhelmed, horrified.  And you have learned one valuable lesson.  Don't take your child to the hospital looking for help with this illness. Ever, ever again.  

If you haven't figured it out, you are probably saying "That would never happen!  Our society would never treat a sick child that way".  But you probably have figured out this story is Janey's and our story, and the illness is not a physical one, but a mental one, a flare up of symptoms related to her autism. We lived this story.  You can read about it starting with this entry ( here's the link ) There are a long series of them, giving pretty much every detail of the ordeal when Janey was 10, her six day stay as a "boarder" at Children's Hospital (starting with a day in the ER that stands out in my mind as the most hellish day of my life), and then her 18 day useless stay at a psychiatric hospital in Rhode Island.

I am thinking of all this because Janey is having quite a spike in her behaviors the last few weeks.  At home, it's been tough but not critically tough.  She's been screaming a lot, but not all the time, she's been sleeping quite badly, but there have been times she slept even worse.  But at school, she's been screaming all day.  She hasn't been like that since starting high school, and understandably, her wonderful teachers and team there are concerned and upset.  Her teacher called yesterday to talk to me about it, and one of the ideas they've had is that she might need to be hospitalized in a psychiatric hospital to adjust her medication.  In an ideal world, this would be a very reasonable idea.  In our real world---well, let's just says the very idea of it sent me into a wave of post-traumatic stress that was...bad.  

In the seven years since that awful day we went to Children's when Janey was in crisis, things have gotten worse and worse, by all reports, in terms of how "easy" it is to get a child mental health help in a psychiatric hospital.  COVID, especially, has lead to an increase in need and decrease in beds.  I've read so many horror stories of children being "boarded", the term for being held at a general hospital waiting for a psychiatric hospital, for long, long periods---sometimes many months. I will not ever take Janey to an ER for psychiatric help.  It will never happen.  

I would consider a direct admission to a psychiatric hospital for children if it were not the one she went to before.  I know there must be better ones.  We are told there is one in New Hampshire.  We were told about that one back seven years ago---told it was one of only 2 in our area, which is a very big area, that could deal with children with severe psychiatric needs that also had severe developmental delays.  We wound up at the other one.  But from everything I understand, children are basically never admitted directly to such hospitals (or I won't say never, as I've learned over the years that if you know the exactly right people and have the exactly right means, things can happen for you, but we don't know those people or have those means).  

It's been striking me, thinking about this all last night as I didn't sleep (and Janey didn't sleep, and she is home today, because school when she's in this state really isn't doing anyone, mostly her, any good), that the whole deal feels almost like a punishment.  You have a child who needs help with the symptoms of mental illness?  Well, we're going to show you just how we feel about that.  We're going to put you and your child through hell for wanting that help.  We are going to make any help out there extremely hard to get.  We are going to show you that they have the "bad" kind of illness, not the "good" kind of illness that hospitals are really meant to treat.  We're going to teach you to just shut up and bear it all, even if what you are bearing is seeing your child in anguish.  I'm sure no-one is consciously doing this, but it's happening, anyway.  Society is not putting its resources into helping those with severe mental illness.  

And so---what do we do?  This is long enough for now, but next time I'm going to write about my daydreams of a system that would actually help Janey and all the kids like Janey out there.  Until then, we'll go on as we have gone on.  We love our Janey more than words can say, and we will give her our best for the rest of our lives.  That we can do, but the incredible person that is our sweet Jane deserves more.

Flashback

Janey went back to school yesterday.  It was a good Christmas vacation.  She was happy a great deal of the time, and I think she enjoyed herself.  But she seemed pleased to be going back to school, back to the routine she likes.

She came home in a good mood yesterday, and I think school went well.  But something set her off around bedtime---tiredness or frustration over something she couldn't explain or who knows what.  Suddenly she was screaming and biting her arm and kicking and in a full meltdown.

That's when I said, without thinking, "I don't want to take her back to Bradley"  Bradley is the psychiatric hospital Janey spent time over two years ago.

Tony looked at me in surprise.  Once Janey was calm enough for us to talk, which actually didn't take long, he said "You are usually the one telling me not to jump ahead to the worst possible outcomes"  He was so right.  And I've been thinking about what I said all last night and all this morning.

I don't know what stress flashbacks technically consist of, but I think I had one there.  And I think I have them a lot.  No matter how well Janey is doing, it almost always feels a moment away from disaster.  She can be having the calmest, happiest day possible, and I fear that something will happen and things will go horribly downhill, and we will wind up in a hospital of one kind or another, or wind up getting a call from school that we need to have a meeting, we need to talk about her placement, or that Tony will call me from a ride with her and say she undid her seatbelt somehow and caused him to crash, or that some other random disaster will hit.

Thinking about the whole thing yesterday, I keep somehow connecting it to an article I read, one that on the surface doesn't have much to do with her meltdown or my reaction.  Here's a link to the article...link.  It's about a boy with autism who has won a Rhodes scholarship, after his mother took him out of school and gave up a career in medicine to homeschool him when he was eight.  It's a very nice article, and it's wonderful news, and inspiring.  But for some reason, it bothered me a great deal to read.

I've read plenty of articles about autistic people who have done great things, and they often include a parent's huge devotion helping them along.  I think this one just hit my eye at the wrong time.  Janey did so well over vacation, and I read this just as I was worrying about her going back to school.  There is no way I'm going to homeschool Janey.  I couldn't do as good a job as the schools do, and I need the respite desperately.  What hit me was the devotion of the mother.  Truthfully, I feel I'm pretty devoted to Janey.  And looking at all the parents I know of kids with autism, either in person or through this blog, there is so much devotion out there it's incredible.  But it doesn't all lead to Rhodes scholars.  And I'm not saying there shouldn't be articles about the times it does.  There should be.  But sometimes, despite my better judgement, it makes me feel like I somehow didn't devote enough, or didn't put my devotion into the right ways to help Janey.

Both my flashback and my reaction to the article are parts of the stress that I think most of us parenting children like Janey feel.  No matter how well things are going, we remember when it all fell apart.  No matter how hard we work at being good parents, we can find examples that make us feel like we didn't do enough.  I wish I had a pithy thought to put here, something to reassure myself and everyone else reading this that everything is going to be fine, that we are doing all we can for our kids, that we shouldn't have the fears and doubts we do.  But I don't have a thought like that.  I have only a hope that if you've also suddenly flashed back to the darkest times, if you've read an article that makes you feel like a slacker, that if you have lived this life too, you're not alone.

Thanksgiving 2015

Last year, Janey spent Thanksgiving at Bradley Hospital, hospitalized for her increasingly agitated and aggressive behavior.  This year, she was home.  That alone was something to feel very thankful for.

There's a lot else to feel thankful for, of course.  There's my husband and sons, three amazing, brilliant, kind and interesting people.  There is Janey herself, my beautiful, fascinating daughter.  There's my extended family.  There's my friends, including all of you.  There's the fact that we have enough to eat, and a roof over our heads, and don't go to bed at night in fear.  That puts us far up on the things to be thankful for scale compared to so many in the world.  There's the many other things that make life worthwhile, for me anyway---books, cats, Scrabble, music, coffee---all of life's little pleasures that really aren't that little in terms of the pleasure they bring.  And there's just the fact we are all here, seeing another Thanksgiving Day.

It wasn't an easy day, really.  The thing about autism is that it never, ever takes a holiday or vacation.  It is with Janey always.  I wish so much she could have a day off from it now and then (and that we could, too)  The 2015 version of Janey has a hair-trigger.  She gets instantly, overwhelmingly upset over things she doesn't like, and there's a long list of things she doesn't like.  The anger, though, doesn't last a long time.  Within five or so minutes, she is usually not screaming.  But the screams are a daily, or pretty much really an hourly, occurrence.  They make it very hard to relax, ever.  We had our big meal upstairs with my brother-in-law.  The food was good, the conversation was good, but Janey was unhappy.  She screamed and flung clothes around and was generally extremely unhappy.  We were determined to eat anyway, together, something that I must admit doesn't get done a lot with our family.  But as soon as we finished, before dessert, I took her downstairs.  There is only so much that we can make her endure, and, honestly, endure ourselves.

Autism is our reality.  It's a huge, huge, huge part of our lives.  And I am not thankful for that.  As I think I've said before, I am hugely thankful for PEOPLE with autism, such as Janey.  But I am not thankful for Janey's autism.  I very much understand it when other people ARE thankful for their autism, or their children's autism.  But Janey's particular breed of autism takes away far, far, far more from her life than it gives her.  She is so unhappy so often.  She is hurting, and not just mentally---she bites her arm constantly, and not lightly.  She is unable to participate in so much of life.  It would be cruel for me to say I'm thankful for what autism has brought into our lives---the devoted teachers, the wonderful friends, the fascinating glimpses into Janey's unusual mind.  I AM thankful for all those things, but it's like saying "It's okay that Janey has to suffer so much, because it has brought us some very good things"  

So I will say to all of you reading this---you are a remarkable bunch of people.  I'm glad I know you.  But I wish we could have met under different circumstances.  

Happy Thanksgiving.

A Year Later

I didn't sleep well last night.  I kept waking up and having flashback type memories.  I've always heard the anniversaries of events can bring them back vividly, and I guess it's true.  It was a year ago tomorrow that Janey was taken to the emergency room from her school by ambulance, the Friday of Veteran's Day week---like today.  She was in a state of agitation such that she was biting, lashing out, screaming non-stop, taking off her clothes, flinging things around---it was a nightmare.  She stayed 6 days at Children's Hospital as a boarder, waiting for a place at a psychiatric hospital, and then 19 days at Bradley Hospital in Rhode Island (as most of you already know).

Of all the memories of that horrible time, the most vivid one, the one that kept coming back last night, took place the morning after the first night in the ER.  Janey had slept very little.  She had no clean clothes---Tony had gone home to get some and hopefully get a little bit of sleep.  I asked if there were any scrubs or anything she could wear---thinking a children's ER sure might have something.  They gave me, to go with the hospital top, a pair of pants that were about a child's size 2 and a Depends style pullup that would have fit a men's XXL.  Janey wouldn't keep them on.  We were in a tiny room, split in half by a pull-down metal wall that covered all the "medical" parts of the room, so we had only a cot on a bare, dirty floor---absolutely no room to move.  We were required to leave the door open, so an eye could be kept on Janey.  We were right by a busy desk.  Janey wanted out.  She kept taking off the ill-fitting clothes and trying to run down the hall.  As I tried to stop her, she bit me on the hand, very hard.  Then she grabbed some chocolate milk and flung it around the room, and tried to break the tray it was on.

The room was suddenly filled with people---probably 10 people, including two cops.  A nurse pulled me into the hall and told me I had to go elsewhere, that I was the focus of Janey's anger and I needed to not get hurt more.  I was taken to a small meeting-type room.  Another nurse brought me some ice for my hand, and some tea and toast.  I sat there, stunned.  It felt impossible that this all was actually happening.  A few minutes later, a third nurse came in and asked me "How does Jane usually react to Haldol?"  Haldol?  Wasn't that what they give violent criminals on TV shows to sedate them?  Why would Janey have ever had Haldol?  I said blankly she had never had Haldol.  The nurse looked skeptical and left.  And I sat there, feeling that my life had changed into something I didn't recognize.

That sequence, that scene, is what kept me awake.  It still seems unbelievable, like something that could not possibly have happened.  But it did.

I could write for hours about the past year, a year in which we spent far too much time in hospitals.  I have a lot brewing in my head about the difference between treatment in different hospitals, and treatment when you are there for a psychiatric reason and for a medical reason.  But I will save that, and say only two more things.

One is that a year later, Janey is doing well.  We are in probably the longest stretch even without any tough times that have lasted more than a day.  I think the changes are due to both a change in medications and a change in our parenting.  Whatever it is, it's good.  However, we know all too well now that things can change suddenly, and we don't take the good for granted, not for a second.

The other is that while I had my dark night last night, what kept the memories from overwhelming me was remembering the support I got from friends at that horrible time---friends in person and friends from around the world I know from this blog.  You all were incredible.  Your love and support and generosity---I cannot possibly say how much they meant to me.

Here's a picture of my big girl, wearing a jacket I bought for her brother that he didn't like but she loves for some reason.  My love for this amazing girl keeps me going---with a little help from my friends.

800th Post!

Eight hundred posts.  Wow.  That's over eight years, but boy, do I like to write a lot, and ramble on at times, and most of all, have all of you to talk to and share lives with.

I thought, for fun, my own fun anyway, I'd look at each 100th post---the 100th post, the 200ths, etc., and see what they were about.  So here goes!

Post 100---"Crying Day"

Okay, that's not a cheerful one to start with.  It's about a common theme---Janey's crying.  She was 5 and a half then, and I was discouraged, and dissing the Holland story.

Post 200---"Toys"

Another theme I hit on fairly often---how it's hard to find toys for Janey, and what kind of toys she does like.  I think I obsess over this a little, as I did here when she had just turned 7.  I like toys.  I love toys, maybe, and sometimes the hardest things to feel at peace about with autism or I think any special need in a child are the things you looked forward to sharing with them that are never going to happen.  Janey's not going to beg me for an American Girl doll, or the latest Shopkins, or anything like that, and I don't think even now I'm quite resigned to that.

Post 300---"Why is the Crying So Hard?"

Another crying post!  This time, I was trying to figure out why crying in particular is something I get so upset by, and just can't ever ignore.  Janey was seven and a half here.

Post 400---"Another Day, Another Book"

A little different!  I love to read, and I do a lot of book reviewing, and that other life snuck into the blog here, in the form of an autism memoir.  I don't read as many of them as I'd think I would---I think I need a break from autism when I read, most of the time.  But when I do read a book about autism, I usually write a blog post about it.

Post 500---"Good Night, Daddy!"

A cheerful one, for a change, about Janey telling Tony good night totally on her own.  She was eight and a half.  Whenever something like that happened, you can tell on the blog that although I'm trying not to get my hopes up, I'm still hoping it's the start of a big new change.  I guess it's good not to give up that hope, but now I do try to enjoy those little moments on their own, without projecting what they might mean for the future.

Post 600---"Letting Go of Janey's Hand"

Written when Janey was nine, this one is about the baby steps I was taking toward letting Janey walk without holding my hand all the time.  Unlike the talking breakthroughs, this one has lasted.  Janey really doesn't bolt any more, and I feel pretty safe letting her walk without holding her hand, even on the sidewalk of our busy street.  It's nice to read back about when I started doing that!

Post 700---"What it's like to visit a psychiatric hospital"

Well, that's not an uplifting one.  I wrote it last December, when Janey was 10 and was an inpatient at Bradley Hospital in Rhode Island.  I wrote this one partly just for myself, to remember what the visits were like, and partly because I was so unprepared for the whole hospitalization time.  I hoped (and hope) none of you ever have to go through that, or go through it again if you have before, but if sometime in the future you did (and it happens more than I ever realized), I wanted others to have a little bit of an idea what it was like.


And here we are at post 800, sort of a clip show post!  It's been a long, strange last 8 years, the eight years since Janey was diagnosed at age 3.  I can see me writing post 1800 some day in the future.  Autism is lifelong, and I will write about Janey until I am no longer able to.  I hope that is a long time from now.

Hopeful visit to an autism clinic

Today we had our visit to the Lurie Center, an autism center connected to Massachusetts General Hospital.  We had been waiting a long time for this appointment.  A lot of people had recommended this center to us back when Janey had her crisis in November, and I contacted them then.  To get the appointment, I had to fill out a lot of form, wait for them to be processed, and then I got a call to set a time, which was far in the future---but the future finally arrived!

Cheery Janey before the appointment

I was trying not to get my hopes up much for this appointment.  We've had several other such clinic visits at different places, and they have been mostly letdowns.  I didn't want to pin a lot of hopes on this one, but I must say I'm feeling good about it, and quite hopeful in a lot of ways.

The appointment mostly consisted of me talking to a psychiatrist specialist in autism.  Tony came along, and Janey was in and out of the room, as her patience for sitting around during long talks is limited.  I knew as soon as I started talking to the psychiatrist that she seemed to truly understand and ask the right questions about Janey.  In analyzing what was different in my head, I realized that it seemed like she had a lot of experience dealing with children like Janey---children on the lower end of the autistic spectrum, the children that wind up in hospitals and in psychiatric wards.  That was strangely comforting.  Often, even in the world of autism, I feel like an outsider.  I don't need peppy "resources" about camps Janey never could attend or ideas for games or books she could never read or play.  I need practical advice and help, and I felt like I got it there.

First, we got a prescription for a new medication.  This one will eventually replace the Risperidone that Janey has been taking for a long time.  The psychiatrist was very, very familiar with the various medications for kids like Janey.  We were pleased to hear her say that the psychiatrist Janey has seen up to this point has done quite a decent job with her medication so far.  However, he is a more mainstream guy, who I believe sees mostly kids with things like school anxiety.  Today's psychiatrist knows more about kids with severe mood swing, aggressive behaviors and self-injury, and we are hopeful about the new medication.  We did have a scare when our pharmacy said our co-pay would be $150 a month (for 30 pills!)  But we reminded them she has the supplemental state insurance, and for the first time, that worked well for us, and we didn't have to pay at all.  Out of pocket, the cost would have been $1124!  We joked that we certainly hope they are miracle pills.

Next, we talked about how we can get more help for Janey, and what we will do if she has another crisis.  The psychiatrist finally convinced me to consider in-home help.  I have been resistant to it, for many reasons---it is not respite, but rather someone working with Janey AND us, I am not terribly into having strangers come into my house, I don't feel like it would be helpful for our family, and a bit of "I don't need someone telling me how handle Janey".  But at this point, we are ready for any help we can get, and what most convinced me is that she told us it's the first step to getting almost any other kinds of respite style help.  So...okay.  We'll talk to someone about it.

If Janey has another crisis, we will take her to Mass General.  The psychiatrist said everyone in the ER there is trained to deal with autism, and she herself has connections to Bradley Hospital, where Janey went before.  She said it's possible that if Janey truly needs help quickly, she might even be able to get her directly admitted to Bradley.  I think that is what most made me feel a burden had been lifted from me.  I think I've been living in fear of Janey having another hospitalization, and of feeling completely alone in that, like it would be the end of the world.  The way this woman talked so matter-of-factly about it melted a frozen place in me.  She said it like it would be something we could deal with, something that is not shocking or horrible or unspeakable.  She said it like she expects it to happen at some point.  It's strange that would feel so freeing to me.  But I think I've been trying for a long, long time to fit Janey into a mold that doesn't fit her.  She is NOT mildly affected by her autism. Today I somehow felt for one of the first times that she is not one of a kind, that there are actually protocols in place for kids like her.  I'm not sure I'm explaining this as well as I can, but having a plan for what might happen makes it not feel like the world's worth thing.

Janey and William at Noodles and Company, eating out!

We will take Janey to her first follow-up appointment at the center in a few months, and in December we will see a geneticist, something I have long wanted to do.

The rest of the day was very nice.  We did a lunch out at an upscale fast food place, along with William, and Janey was quite good.  Then she went for a long ride with Tony and William to a guitar store.  She was cheerful almost all day.  And I am feeling better than I have in a while, feeling like there is a place, there are people, there are systems set up for kids like Janey.  I've always know there were others like her, thanks to all of you, but this is one of the first times I've truly felt there are others outside the world of us hardcore insiders who really get what we live, and that is a good feeling.

Surprises during the storm

The last few weeks have been tough with Janey (why do I feel like that's a common opening line when writing this blog?)  She's doing a lot of crying, screaming, hitting and self-biting.  She just doesn't seem very happy, and reports from school say she's the same there.  She isn't sleeping well (she's up right now at 10:20 pm, but using her iPad for a minute or two) and we are pretty worn out and quite discouraged.

However, the last few days, Janey has surprised me quite a few times with things she's said or understood.  Sometimes, she seems to break down during a learning time, like the greater knowledge or realization leads to her being upset.  I wonder if that's the case now.

Yesterday, Janey came home from school in a state.  She was hitting me over and over.  An email from her teacher told me she'd hit some kids at school, too.  I was feeling near the end of my rope.  I decided to try talking to Janey seriously, assuming she understood me.  This is something I try to do more often lately, although it's often very unclear if Janey does understand me or not.  This time, I told her she really, really needed to try not to hit people or bite people.  I asked her if she remembered last fall when we went to the hospital and then the "hospital-house" (which is what we have called Bradley Hospital, the psychiatric hospital she was in for about three weeks)  She didn't answer.  I said "Do you know why we took you to the hospital?"  I didn't expect an answer, but Janey said "You were biting your arm" (reversing her pronouns) and demonstrated how she bites her arm.  I was very surprised.  That was one of the issues---her increasing self-injury.  I've never before been sure Janey even understood that self-biting was something that was a problem, and I gave her a big hug and told her I hoped she would not hurt herself in the future.

Today, I offered to take Janey and Freddy to Chipotle, as Tony was at his high school reunion.  Janey was excited to go, but had a few minutes before done her Lady Godiva routine.  She put on her Crocs and said "Go in the car?"  I said "Can you think what you need before we can go in the car?" and she answered right away "Clothes!"  I was so happy.  My wording of the question was not completely straightforward, but Janey understood both what I was saying and what the answer was.

Freddy went into the Chipotle to get our food, and there was quite a line, so I was left to entertain Janey in the car for about 20 minutes.  I started asking her questions, kind of to see if she was still on a roll.  She was amazing.  First, we did counting, alternating between us with the numbers, and she easily caught on.  Then, I said "A...B...C" and with just a few times jumping in with a letter, she recited the alphabet perfectly.  I then said "Some people are girls, and some people are boys.  Janey is a...." and she filled in eagerly "Girl!"  I said it again the same way replacing "Janey" with "Freddy", and she said "Boy!"  Then I got fancy.  I said "Our sun has lots of planets.  It has Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus and...." and Janey, without missing a beat, said "Neptune!"  I was blown away---truly blown away.

I think Janey knows much more than she ever lets on.  Part of figuring out what she knows is asking in exactly the right away.  She does much better filling in blanks than just answering questions.   Her mood makes a huge difference, too.  She was calm and happy in the car.  However, she wasn't when she gave me the answer about the hospital.  I think in that case, talking to her at a level beyond what I usually do made her reflective.

Sometimes, seeing glimpses of what Janey can understand and what she knows almost makes it harder.  I feel heartbroken when I think of what is trapped in her while she screams and hits and yells and bites.  I wish so much I could help her be all she is capable of being in a way that works better than whatever I am doing right now.

A Cold Day in Hell

Last night, when the word came that Boston was calling off school for today due to very cold temperatures, I immediately braced myself.  A day off in the middle of the week, for whatever reason, seems like the thing that sets Janey off more than any other.  You might recall how Veteran's Day set off a recent chain of events---yeah.  So I was not happy.  I know all the arguments for calling off the day, I know it was probably the right thing to do, I certainly don't want any children getting frostbitten waiting for buses---none of that.  But thinking strictly of Janey, I was not happy.

The day was hellish.  I have to say---you know how sometimes you think a day is going to be bad but it turns out okay?  That wasn't today.  Janey spent huge parts of the day screaming, just plain screaming her lungs out.  There were a few hours in the middle of the day with slightly less screaming, and the boys helped all they could---thank goodness they were home---but mostly, it was pure hell.  Before the boys were awake, by 10 am, Janey had hit me many times, bitten me a few times, bitten her arm over and over, screamed for a couple hours and generally worn out all my reserves for the day.

Lest it seem like I didn't try to distract her, I'll say that before 10 I also had read her about 15 books.  She has lost interest in TV or videos lately, but I tried, with putting on "Annie" and sitting with her and watching it, to find something she'd enjoy.  I had made her another breakfast, after Tony made her one before he left.  I had played toys with her, I had sung with her, I had looked at birds with her, I'd done everything I could think of to do except go outside, which seemed ill-advised to do when the temp was 2 below and there was a strong wind.   The longest any of this kept her happy was about 5 minutes in a row.

Tony got out of work a bit early, and we had hopes she'd feel better when he got home, but she didn't.  She has been screaming now for an hour.  I am writing to keep myself sane.

We are at a loss lately.  The new medication doesn't seem to be doing a thing.  In fact, she seems less happy than ever.  It is especially supposed to treat mania, and maybe mania was all that made her happy.  She is not enjoying life.  The aggression is as bad as ever.  The screaming is worse than usual.  And we feel out of options.

I got the bill for the stay at Bradley Hospital.  Our insurance covered it pretty well, unlike the Children's Hospital stay, but if we had had to pay out of pocket, it would have cost more than $80,000.  For what?  I noticed on the bill that only about $200 of that was for psychiatric care.  From what I know of costs for that, that is less than an hour.  The rest was almost all for housing.  I know there were nurses there, I know the milieu therapists were trained and worked well with kids, but the stay was not something that helped long term.  It certainly held her in a time of crisis, but knowing now exactly what is out there for help in a time of crisis---well, there isn't much.  And to get what there is requires the horrific "boarding" at the regular hospital first.

Hopefully, tomorrow will be a school day.  And hopefully, the fact it's just one day and then weekend won't cause too many problems.  Hopefully, we will all regroup and keep on trying to do what we can to help Janey.  Hopefully, someday, somehow, she will be happier.

No Christmas Miracles

I am not sure why I always hope Christmas will be a better day for Janey than it is.  I guess I have a deep seeded, secret, well-hidden belief in Christmas miracles.  I think if I do things right, and believe really, really sincerely, something will work and Janey will have a wonderful Christmas.

Needless to say, the miracle didn't happen again this year.  I won't say it was a bad Christmas, because it was a very good one, in ways that were apart from Janey.  My parents were very generous and therefore the boys each got a present they very much were surprised by and loved.  The kindness of so many people allowed me to not have to worry about medical bills much, so I was able to get the kids some presents they very much liked from us,  too.  And we even had a bag of presents from an organization that provides help to families with disabled children, including hats and gloves for the boys and several presents for Janey, one of which she hasn't even opened yet.  The boys got into the spirit and gave us presents, we did our traditional cheese and cracker tasting, we had a great night at my friend Maryellen's house on Christmas eve, we had a beautiful tree and so much was terrific.  But Janey....

If the mood stablizers are working at all for Janey, they are working to stablizer her mood as bad.  She was cranky, screaming, hitting almost all day yesterday.  There were a few very brief happy moments, mostly while eating, but most of the day, it wasn't good.  She opened a few presents with extreme half-heartedness, mostly giving up halfway through unwrapping.  She did like a giant SpongeBob I gave her, and a fuzzy Care Bear that was in the present bag, but mostly she ignored all presents as usual.  Her screaming was the backdrop for most everything we did.  It was very wearing.

It's on days like Christmas I most feel for Janey's brothers.  They didn't sign up for this.  They deserve a great Christmas.  We are Janey's parents.  We DID sign up for this.  We are responsible for her.  But they aren't, and so often, their lives are so affected by her.  They don't say that.  They both thanked us for a great day.  They are wonderful boys.  But sometimes I feel awful for them having to always come second.

I think we are weary.  It's been a very long few months.  So many things have been tough, and then there has been hope followed by disappointment.  The Bradley Hospital stay turned out to be just respite---nothing long term was gained.  The new medication seems like a flop so far.  The state insurance help is now just another piece of annoying bureaucracy I soon need to figure out.  And there is always the screaming, the crying, the hitting.

I don't want to write such a negative post today.  If it were not for the amazing support and kindness of so many people, I think this post would not just be negative, it would be despairing.  And we are not despairing.  We are tired, we are discouraged, but we are hanging in there.  I guess that's good, for now.

So--a few pictures of our Christmas, and my hope that all of you had a wonderful Christmas, if you celebrate it.  Let's all look to the future and keep hope alive for 2015.

The Month That Wasn't

It's been a month today since the day that I got the call from Janey's school, the call that they were calling an ambulance to take her to the hospital.  It's been a month that in many ways, I would like to erase from my life.  In other ways, it's been an important month---in some ways, even a good month.  But I think it's fair to say I hope I never have another month like this one.

Here's a little synopsis of the month.  Janey's behavior, which had been escalating for a week or so, got even worse on November 14th.  I rode with her as she went by ambulance to Children's Hospital in Boston.  In the emergency room, she was assessed and it was determined she needed hospitalization in a psych ward for children.  There were no appropriate placements available right way, so we spent 6 days at Children's as boarders, waiting for a placement.  We got one after those 6 days at Bradley Hospital in Providence, and Janey was there for 18 days.  She came home after that, when they felt she was stable enough to leave.

Those are the bare facts, stripped of emotion.  Here's some of the emotion.  The stay at Children's was hell.  I can never think of another word to use for it.  The 28 or so hours in the emergency room were the deepest, darkest levels of hell, and the next 5 days in a room on a kidney transplant ward were regular hell.  Janey wasn't able to leave the room, was periodically attacking the nurses, the sitters who sat in the room and me.  She screamed extremely often, asked frantically for one thing after another we couldn't do, and slept poorly.  I don't think I'd survive another 6 days like those.  The stay at Bradley was in some ways a relief and in other ways not.  The drive to Providence was often very, very tough, both in terms of traffic and in terms of giving us time to think what we were doing---visiting our precious daughter in a locked psych ward.  The visits with her were both wonderful, because we missed her so much, but also awful, because in what was a theme for the month, we were not supposed to leave the room with her, and she would quickly become bored of us and restless.  It would become a situation where either we saw her for far shorter than we wished or we risked setting her off into a spiral of a meltdown.  Having her home, although joyous, led us to see nothing had really changed.  Janey has been often very unhappy the 5 days since she's been home, although there have been good times too.  A few days ago, she attacked my father, in a frightening repeat of what started this whole time.

What has been good?  Well, we got a letter yesterday saying we had been approved for state supplemental insurance for Janey, so going forward, we might be qualified for help with therapy and things like pull-ups.  I need to work on getting that all set up, but it's something we probably should have done years ago.  Janey is off two of the three medications she had been taking, and we are seeing some improvement in her talking, which leads to the upsetting thought that she may have been overmedicated for a while, but in trying to be positive, also means she might be no longer overmedicated.  And the greatest good part--the absolutely overwhelming and incredible support, in so very many ways, from all of you, all my friends who read this blog---those I know in person and those I know through the magic of the internet.  You are a wonderful bunch of people, and you let me live through this.  I mean that with all of my heart.

What are our fears?  We have many fears.  The biggest is that Janey is going back to school tomorrow, if everything goes well.  Her school has been wonderful, and they are eager to have her back, but we truly feel everything might repeat itself.  I have no confidence Janey is going to be able to not repeat the behaviors that started all this.  We have realized places like Bradley are not set up to change the future.  They are set up to deal with children in crisis, during the crisis, and they do a outstanding job with that.  But they are not set up to change the child.  I am not sure it's possible to do that, to be fair to them.  I don't think I'll ever relax again while Janey is at school.  I will always be waiting for another call like that horrible one a month ago, a call saying she is out of control and they think she should be in the hospital.

I will close with right now.  Right now, Janey is happy.  She is having bacon that Daddy is making---bacon made by the best father in the world.  We are looking forward to getting a Christmas tree today.  We are together, our older son William will be home from college soon, and we will celebrate Christmas and look toward 2015 with hope.  And that is enough, for right now.

Joy and Lessons

Janey is home, and the overwhelming feeling we have, so far, is joy.  It is wonderful to have her home.  We realized, this past month, what a crucial part of our family she is.  She is our focus, our center, our mission.  Without her, I think all of us felt a little lost.  She is a huge challenge, a huge job, but most of all, a huge joy.

We have, however, learned a few lessons which are tougher to take than the lesson of how we need her.

Janey's release from Bradley was sudden.  Late last week, when both the school and I talked to the hospital, it seemed that her release was not going to be soon.  Then, on Monday, I got a call from the social worker at first asking how our visits were going and then telling me they were planning on releasing her the next day, Tuesday.  I had a huge mix of emotions.  First, happiness, but then, a little confusion and a lot of "what next?"  Yes, she had calmed down.  Yes, her medication had been adjusted.  Yes, the immediate crisis was over.  But most things had not changed.  Janey was still screaming often, biting her arm quite a bit, often upset.  We still had no respite.  We had no new ideas for dealing with Janey, no new plan.  There was not going to be any release meeting.  We didn't speak to the psychiatrist in charge---we had met him only once, at the intake meeting.  Basically, Janey was coming home because her mood had changed.  That is something that has happened at home, without a hospital, many, many times.  We could have done that here.

To play the devil's advocate with myself---we did get some respite.  We had the 18 days with Janey at Bradley, where we were able to sleep all night.  We were able to spend 18 days, when we weren't driving to Providence, doing the kind of things we haven't done for a while---mindless games, mostly.  We probably didn't relax as much as we should have during that time.  We were still in a bit of shock, and we still were thinking about her constantly, and driving to see her often.  But we did have that time.

However, I would have to say overall, I am still quite troubled by the state of our country's mental health treatment for children.  The Children's Hospital time, when Janey was a "boarder", was hell.  I don't have another term for it.  It was hell, hellish.  The Bradley hospital is a lovely place, full of kind people.  I know Janey was treated well there.  But it is an extremely short term solution, and in the end, it changed almost nothing.

There was a moment as Janey was being released when I was signing forms at the nurse's station.  The nurse and the social worker asked me if I had any questions.  I think they could see the look on my face, a look that was that was a mix of concern and something like internal laughter.  Yes, I had questions.  Just where do we go from here?  What I said was "We just wonder if you have some suggestions on dealing with Janey's difficult behaviors at home?" or something along those lines.  The answer was that they had sent a list of their strategies to Janey's school.  The social worker said "You know, we could send a copy to your house if you want!"  Um, yeah.  That might be good.  Although excuse me for saying I don't hold out huge hopes that the list will solve everything.

But I'll end here on a more cheerful note, one more appropriate for this Christmas season.  We HAVE learned something.  We have learned that we are the ones who are the experts on Janey.  It isn't like there are people out there who can tell us how best to help her.  We are the people who know that.  There are places she can go in times of extreme crisis, if we are able to first endure the horrors of boarding.  We have learned that besides that, one of our best allies is the Boston school system---who stood by us during all this, stayed in close touch and showed a huge level of caring for Janey.

And we learned how many wonderful people out there care for Janey---the readers of this blog and the friends we have made through the blog and throughout our lives.  We were blown away, stunned, overwhelmed, by all the thoughts, prayers, support through monetary help and kindness and love and offers to help and notes and emails and just plain love from all of you.  We might feel alone sometimes in dealing with Janey, but we are not alone.  Far from it.  Thank you, from the deepest parts of our hearts.

A little Janey update

Janey has been at Bradley Hospital for two weeks tonight.  It is still hard to believe she is there, but I think we are coming to accept it and, if not exactly embrace it, to feel grateful she is being cared for at such a caring and loving place.  I'd encourage anyone with time and interest to look at this link----at the right side of that page, under the picture, there is another link that says "Read Legacy of Hope"  It's a PDF file I can't figure out how to link to, but it's a booklet that has pieces about some children Bradley has helped, along with a portrait and history of the hospital.  Janey is in the Center for Autism and Development Disabilities.  The book talks about how this section of the hospital was formed because there was almost no-place that could treat children like Janey, who were autistic and developmentally delayed, and who also had a mental illness.  It wasn't even thought in the past that could be possible, but it is, indeed.  They treat about 100 children a year in her ward, from all over the country.  I am starting to realize how lucky we are that they are relatively close and that they had room for her.

I talked a lot to Janey's social worker recently about how she is doing.  In some ways, she is doing much better.  She is lashing out at others far less, and that is great.  However, she is still doing a lot of the arm biting of herself.  That behavior has been tough for the past few years.  She said their counts show she does it about 40 times a day, which seems accurate.  She usually doesn't bite herself hard, but hard enough so she has a permanent callus on her arm.  She is also doing a lot of the screaming she does at home.  One thing I found very, very interesting and also sort of comforting is that although sometimes they can figure out what prompts the screaming, other times it seems completely inexplicable.  That is just what we had seen at home---that sometimes, there is no possible trigger we can see.

They don't yet have a timetable for her to come home.  That is hard, but I do very much appreciate that they don't want her to come home until she is ready.  I think I'd heard so many stories about people being rushed out of psych wards that somehow I had the time frame "two weeks" strongly in my head as some kind of maximum, but that doesn't seem to be the case here.

We have settled into visiting Janey every other day.  That seems to work best to balance our major desire to see her with how the visit are for her.  She always seems very happy to see us, but she is ready for us to go after about a half hour or 45 minutes.  This is partly that she doesn't want to stay in her room, where the visits take place, but I think also partly that she is eager to join into the activities going on outside the room.  The program keeps her extremely busy---there is something planned for every minute, and I have come to realize how much she needs that.

We are starting to think about how we will do a few things differently when she comes home.  I am going to work on having a schedule for Janey, and on having vigorous exercise as part of every day.  She has been sleeping through the night at the hospital, and although we aren't going to be able to completely recreate her bedroom there, which is almost all empty and not on a busy street in a small apartment, we are going to work on her sleep.  I like very much how the social worker and others at the hospital are careful to say that they know home is different than the unit---that home isn't and shouldn't be the same as the hospital, but at the same time we are able to get good ideas from them.

I worked through in my mind what my two biggest fears about this whole situation were.  One is that Janey would somehow never come home---that this was the start of her not living at home.  Talking to her social worker helped me see that is not what they are going to recommend.  Nobody had said that was the plan, but it was a fear I had anyway.  The other fear was (and is, to some extent) that this all would happen again and again and again.  I felt somehow the worse possible thing would be Janey coming home, getting upset again in a month or two and then having to go through the whole thing again.  In talking to a few people, I was comforted on this in an odd way---by learning that a lot of kids do have to go back to hospitals several times.  Not all do---sometimes it's a one time thing, but some kids going through adolescence do have a few years where they need a lot of extra help.  Somehow knowing that although it can happen, it's not unheard and not the end of the world, helped, although I'm not sure why.  Maybe it's just always better to know what might happen than to just worry about it.

I miss my Janey every minute.  I know she is where she needs to be right now, and I am trying to use this time to rest and to have a little break from 10 years of constant vigilance to ensure her safety, but I still miss her a huge amount.  She is part of us---she is a huge part of who we are as a family.  And I am gradually learning that getting help to keep her safe and happy is not going to change that.

What it's like to visit a psychiatric hospital

Having Janey at Bradley Hospital, visiting her there, felt at first like something no other parent in the world has ever done.  However, when I thought about it more, I realized I can think of four other parents I know who have been in this situation, who have had children at psychiatric hospitals. Although I don't ever want anyone else I know to have to go through this, knowing that others have lived this somehow helped a little.  I won't tell their stories, what I know of them---they aren't mine to tell.  But I thought I'd describe what it's like to visit Janey in more detail, just in case any of you ever do have to live this.  You won't find this story in the cheery pages of parenting magazines.  The other mothers volunteering at the school or with their kids at the playground probably won't be chatting about this.  But it happens.

Driving to see Janey takes a varying amount of time, depending on traffic.  It's been as quick a drive as 50 minutes and as long a drive as two and a half hours.  During the drives, Tony and I listen to the radio, a classic rock station I don't know if I'll ever be able to listen to in the future, as it will feel forever associated with this time in my life.  But for now, it helps.  We can talk about the songs instead of our lives right now.  Often, Tony has worked all day before we drive, so I try to keep talking, to keep him alert.  But sometimes, there feels like there is little to say.  We cry now and then.

When we reach the hospital parking lot, every single time I get a strange feeling in my stomach.  It's a dread feeling, a scared feeling, a odd feeling I don't think I've ever felt in other situations.  I've felt dread and fear plenty of times, but this is different.  No matter how much I think I'm prepared for the visit, no matter how much I try to feel upbeat, it hits me.  I don't want to be here.  I want to see Janey, desperately, but I don't want to go in there.  It's not that it's not a nice place.  It's a beautiful place---clean, as friendly as it can be under the circumstances.  But I doubt anyone really wants to visit a psychiatric hospital.

When we park, I leave my pocketbook in the trunk.  You can take almost nothing in with you---no cameras, cell phones, watches, things like that.  I get my licence out.  We go into the waiting room and go to the desk, to tell them we are there.  We give Janey's name and our names, and show them our driver's licences.  We get visitor stickers.  Then we wait for someone to come get us.  The waiting room has lots of magazines and comfy chairs. But I hate being there.

After a few minutes, either someone comes from Janey's ward to get us, or one of the receptionists takes us to her ward.  To get there, three different doors need to be unlocked--that is why we always need to be escorted.  Outside the final door, there are lockers, and there Tony puts his car keys, switching them for the locker key, and we put anything else we might have that can't go into the ward.  Usually all we are carrying in is a bag of clean clothes for Janey.

When we get inside, we are in a big common room.  It's open and airy and nice, but it somehow doesn't seem like the kids spend much time there, at least when we visit.  We sign in there, and are taken to where Janey is, which usually is a smaller room near her bedroom.  There are two sections to the part of the hospital Janey is in, with a total maximum for both parts of 19 children.  Here's a link to more information, if you are interested.  The smaller room has tables and a television, and there are usually more adults working there than there are kids.

Janey generally spots us quickly, and looks happy to see us.  That's the best part of the visit---her smile when we get there.  My heart leaps every time I see her after being away.  Last night, we both felt she looked taller and older, even after seeing her just two days before.  It is so strange to see her there.  We take her into her room.  All the visits take place in her room, so we don't disturb the workings of the ward or the other kids.  The room has a bed, a table and a chair.  It has a closet which is usually locked, but which they unlock for us so I can get her laundry and put in her clean clothes.  There is a bathroom which is for her and a child on the other side of the bathroom.  Only one side is unlocked at once, so she has in essence a private bathroom.

Our visits are not as long as I wish.  We usually stay about a half hour to an hour.  We leave when Janey starts get restless, hopefully before she gets frantic.  We have not been able to spend time with her outside of one room for two and a half weeks now.  I think she is starting to see time with us as the boring time.  It gets hard to entertain her.  We play catch with her Care Bear, we sing songs, we tell her what is going on at home, we try to keep her engaged.  She asks for singing---last night she said "Christmas songs?" and started singing "We Three Kings of Orient Are" to prompt me.  She asks us for things we don't have there---cookies, bacon, chicken nuggets, fries, chips.  We never happen to bring the right things.  Eventually, she starts asking to take a walk.  We can't walk around with her there.  She starts to show signs of getting anxious, and eventually we reach the point where we know it's time to go.  We take her back out to the workers and say goodbye.  Sometimes she gets upset when we leave, and asks to go home with us.  Other times she seems relieved we are going.  I am not sure which is harder to take.

Usually, someone walks us out to the front desk, although a few times we've walked ourselves out.  We give back the visitor stickers  On the drive home, we analyze the visit.  We talk about how she seemed---calmer?  Happier?  We think about how things will be when she's home.  Then, we concentrate on getting home safely.  There's a part of the highway, near Pawtucket, which seems to be a center for cars chasing each other in some scary highway race, and we brace to drive through that.  Sometimes, we stop to get Freddy fast food on the way back, as we often don't have time for dinner before we leave.  We get home, exhausted.  We spend time with Freddy, the one child home right now, the child who is almost an adult.  We breath, and we get ready for the next visit.

Once you notice you've walked off the cliff

In cartoons, often characters walk or run off cliffs, being chased or chasing someone.  In their world, unless you look down, you don't fall---you run along nicely in the air.  It's only when you notice you've left solid ground that you fall.  I've been feeling like we've looked down, and we are no longer able to walk on the air.  We are thinking non-stop about when Janey comes home, and how we will be able to keep running now that we've noticed we are off the cliff.

I tend to wait until the last possible moment to seek help.  When I was pregnant with Janey, and taking the supposedly safe for pregnancy blood pressure medication Aldomet, it took a week of even increasing severe signs of allergy and reaction for me to finally realize I needed medical attention.  By the time I did, I had a high fever, a very low white blood cell count and a liver that was showing signs of severe distress.  That reaction, at 12 weeks into my pregnancy, is one of the prime candidates in my mind for what might have caused Janey's autism.

With Janey's increasing agitation and aggression to others and herself, I feel like I again waited too long to realize how bad the problem was becoming.  In fact, I'd probably have waited forever, had the school not pretty much insisted I take her to the hospital.  By the time we did, two weeks ago, it was highly apparent to almost everyone that there was a serious problem.

Why am I like this?  Part of it is a fear of crying wolf, of saying there's a problem beyond what there really is.  Part of it is a feeling that our children are our own responsibility, that we need to care for them on our own, without help beyond school.  And part of it is denial.  If you don't want there to be a problem, you don't seek help for it.

But now, we have looked down and seen we are in a tough position.  I don't know how long Janey will be at the Bradley hospital.  I got another of the letters today, the ones I am supposed to not worry about, saying she was approved to stay two more days, until the 27th, which is of course two days in the past.  We miss her so much, but we also see they have barely had a chance yet to really get to know her.  They have eliminated two of her medications, which hopefully will help, but nothing new has been added, and we don't know any new techniques to handle her.  When she comes home, I have no real reason to think she won't still be hurting herself and others.  And what do I do then?  I'm certainly not taking her back to Children's Hospital to start another round of waiting for a placement.  I think that would hurt her, and us, more than anything.  She could not take another period of time shut in one small room.

I am scared.  Not scared of Janey, although I don't like to have my hair pulled and my eyes gouged at and my hands bitten, but I can handle that if I need to.  I am scared FOR Janey.  I am scared of what the future holds.  Will it be an endless round of cycles of calm times and then horrible times like the past month?  Will her school still be able to handle her?  Will we?  What will become of us all?  that is what I wake up in fear of.

I said, before this all happened, in a post the day before she went to the hospital, that I wasn't sure there was any help out there.  Now, I see that there are places like Bradley, places besides home and school that can delight in Janey while dealing with her difficult behavior.  However, her time there is very limited, even if she is able to stay the few more weeks I hope for.  

I don't know what is going to happen next.  I don't even know how I'm going to pay all the bills from this current go-round (although this GoFundMe site has made that much less of a worry---have a look here if you are interested)  I want to think Janey will come home my same wonderful girl but with changed behavior, and it will be changed for good, and we all will live happily ever after.  But I don't think so.  One clue to this is how often we have been asked "Is this her first hospitalization?"  I guess there usually isn't just one.

If this whole experience teaches me anything at all, it's going to be to seek out and accept help a little more readily.  Even if it seems like help isn't available, I can see that might be at times because I am extremely resistant to ever saying "I can't do this any more".  I still am.  It makes me cry to think of our family not being able to care for Janey on our own.  I hope we can.  And even if we can't, I'm not sure we have a choice.  I think sometimes I need to stop looking down, to just keep on walking on the air.

Visiting Janey

Bradley Hospital, where Janey is being held, is in Providence.  In ideal conditions, it could be a 50 minute drive from our house.  However, anyone who has ever driven in or around Boston knows that those ideal conditions exist only at the rarest of times.  In some ways, the drive to get to Janey seems like a metaphor for so much of the last few weeks---frustrating, exhausting, yet crucially important.

I'll give yesterday as an example.  Tony went in to work extremely early, so he could leave at 2 and we could get an early jump on going to see Janey.  We left the house right around 3.  When we got to where we get on the highway (about 10 minutes from our house), we could see it was almost completely gridlocked.  There is s storm predicted for today, and Boston is full of college students and others who want to go elsewhere for Thanksgiving.  So Tony made a change and got on some local routes.  We used our GPS, which seemed intent on giving us a tour of southeastern Massachusetts.  After a long time, we made our way back onto the highway, and proceeded to creep toward Providence, at 10 miles an hour.

Finally, we got past an area where bridge work was being done, and we were able to make some time.  Regardless, the drive to Bradley took two and a half hours.

We had agreed a few days ago to be part of a major study of autism while Janey was at the hospital.  I spent a big part of yesterday filling out about 10 long forms about Janey's behavior.  We had agreed to have blood drawn last night.  By the time we got there, the woman we were going to meet with was gone, but a head of the study and the blood-drawer had stayed late to get the blood.  We explained the traffic, and I hope they understood, although Boston traffic seems to be something very Boston, which although Providence is quite close, they seem somewhat mystified by.

After having the blood drawn, we had to go back to the waiting room to wait to see Janey.  We were told she was a bit upset and we'd have to wait a minute or two.  When they came for us, they said she had been taking off her clothes again, and asking to go to sleep, as she often does at home, far too early.  They calmed her down and she was waiting for us in her room.

The visit on Monday was great---Janey was calm and happy.  Last night, she was less content.  It was nothing like the scenes at Children's, but she bit herself a few times and at one point half-heartedly pulled my hair.  She also did the repeated asking for things "Want chicken nuggets?  Want to take a walk?  Want water?"  We finally resorted to singing---we sang her a mixed medley of her favorite Beatles and Black Sabbath songs, Black Sabbath being my older son's favorite group.  We modified words as necessary!

After about 40 minutes, though, Janey wanted more action.  We aren't allowed to visit with her outside her room, and she wanted to get out.  So we said goodbye.

Before we went home, we needed to drive to Waltham and pick up William at college, so he could come home for Thanksgiving.  We were thrilled to be getting him home, but tired beyond belief.  The traffic was okay on the way back, but not perfect.  We took local routes home, and finally got home about 9:30.

When I got in and checked the mail, there was a badly photocopied 5 page letter from something called something like Value Health in Rhode Island.  It said they had authorized a 5 day stay for Janey at Bradley, and that any longer of a stay would have to be arranged by the hospital.  I am assuming that has been done, as today would be day 6, but I am not sure at all.  In my hazy state, the form was hard to understand.  We have Blue Cross, so I am unsure why some other agency is the one to decide on Janey's stay.  There was no number on the letter.  Instead, there was a form for JANEY to fill out to authorize me to get information on her behalf.  I need to read the form more today, but a quick look last night said this had to be done even if the patient was a minor.  I need to make calls and try to figure out what is up with all of that, but I have a feeling the day before Thanksgiving is not a good day to reach the right people.  I also know my mind is not in a great place for figuring out complicated letters and forms.  I assume the hospital would let us know if the funding for her stay had ended, but I have nightmares of multi-thousand dollar bills arriving.

And that is where we are.  Janey is calmer, but far from all the way back to what I am learning is called "baseline".  We are tired and stressed almost beyond functioning, worried about Janey and money and what comes next.  Today the weather will keep us from visiting, it seems, and although the drive is a nightmare, it kills me to think of a day without seeing Janey.  Nothing feels settled, nothing feels calm.  And I wonder if it ever will again.

The day it all hit me

It's funny how the mind and body work when you are in the middle of a crisis.  There must be some kind of system that kicks in that lets you keep going when normally you would have collapsed on the floor, overwhelmed.  That system was in high gear from last Friday until yesterday.  It's not that I didn't cry some or feel exhausted, but I was functioning.  Last night, the system wore out and I was hit hard.

I was okay yesterday morning.  I did housework and laundry and dishes, enjoying the feeling of doing everyday work again.  We drove to Providence to see Janey midday.  Freddy came too, to see her in the new hospital.  The drive went quickly---we are figuring out new routes to take, and it's a pretty straight shot to drive there, although a long straight shot.  We are starting to know the routine, how to check in, what not to bring into the hospital, where the long locked halls lead, all that.

Janey looked well cared for, which was great to see.  Her hair was clean and brushed, and she was dressed in her nice clothes.  She seemed much quieter, calmer overall.  We visited with her in her room, as we are required to do.  She seemed happy to see us.  We brought her her toy Olivia and Beanie Baby style My Little Pony, and we played with those a bit.  Then I sang her some Christmas carols, letting her choose what I would sing next.  She looked at me with the look I only see when she is totally overcome with music---a look of wonder and amazement, as if she can barely believe the perfection of the songs (not my singing!)  When I sang "O Little Town of Bethlehem", she kept repeating the line "yet in thy dark streets shineth" and I sang that part over and over.

After a while, she was getting restless and started asking for the kind of things she asked for in the hospital, over and over..."Want to take a shower?  Want to watch Olivia?  Want bacon?  Want take off socks?"  We realized it was probably time to go, before she got more upset, and we told her we were going to say goodbye.  She said "Put on shoes?  Go to Mama's house?"  If there is a moment when a parent has their heart broken, that is it---when your ten year old daughter, in a locked psychiatric ward, asks for you to take her home.  I hope I never again feel what I felt that moment, and I hope none of you ever have to feel that feeling.

We took her back out to the ward---the area they seem to spend weekend days in, outside her room.  I won't write much about the other kids there, because it is not my story to tell and I respect their privacy, but I will say Janey was the only girl I saw, and also the only child that seemed to talk.  She stood out, as it feels like she has done all her life.  I wish so much sometimes I could gather all the girls together that I have met through this blog, that we could get our girls together in a room so Janey for once could have peers like herself.  Maybe someday that can happen.  But for now, it so often feels like Janey is very alone.

After we got home, I did mindless things---watching some Star Trek, reading, knitting.  Tony was working on a long, long application we have to do to try to get state supplemental insurance for Janey, to help with the bills that will soon start rolling in.  At one point, he asked me for a little information for the form.  I found I couldn't answer.  I couldn't think.  I couldn't put together simple sentences.

Tony quickly realized what he was dealing with.  He stopped asking any questions.  He made me some hot chocolate, and then, a French bread pizza.  He comforted me as I collapsed into my bed, crying and crying.  I am incredibly lucky to have a husband like him.

Later, my rock of a friend Maryellen called me, and we talked for an hour.  She listened to my teary account of the visit to Janey.  That is so important---to have someone I can pour my heart out to, someone outside the family but still very connected.  I am so lucky in the support I have, from friends like Maryellen, from my family and from my extended blog family.  I truly want you all to know that---how much you all have helped.

Today I feel stronger.  I am sad we will probably not visit Janey today.  The Patriots play in between where we are and where she is, and traffic back and forth becomes a nightmare.  I would not let that keep me away, but I think also Janey might need a day without the confusion our visits seem to bring.  I hope I am right there.  I know she is in the place she needs to be, but I miss her so intensely.  It is not the normal course of things to have your little girl so far away, literally locked away.  My life has taken a turn which is often feeling surreal.  I need to get through this.  I think today, I will retreat to gather strength for the next round, to go on and keep on fighting.

Third post of the day!

I've never written three posts in a day before now, and I don't think I ever will again, but I wanted to write about visiting Janey at Bradley Hospital while it was fresh in my mind.  I'm blogging lately for myself as much as anyone, to remember these eventful and challenging days accurately.

The couple pictures here are ones I found on the internet of Bradley.  You can't take pictures there yourself.  The room looks very similar to the common room of the ward Janey is on.  I'm not sure it's the exact same ward, but you can get an idea how nice it is.

We called this morning to make a time to meet with the staff at the hospital, and agreed on 11 am.  We left about 10, thinking the drive was an hour, but it was actually more like an hour and 15 minutes, which was fine, but good to know for the future.  It's a pretty drive at the end, through Providence, a city I've never spent much time in, although both my parents and my sister have lived there at points in their life.  It's great the hospital is south of Boston instead of north of it, as that avoids the horrible traffic that driving through the city always involves.

When we got to the hospital, we had to show ID at the main desk and wait for someone to come get us.  Everything is very, very secure there, which we don't mind at all.  It was striking at Boston Children's Hospital how very UN-secure everything was.  It was only on the weekend you had to show any kind of visitor's badge at all.  Anyone could walk into any room there pretty much unchallenged.  But at Bradley, that would not happen.

The social worker assigned to us came to get us, and we went into a meeting room.  There we talked for a long time to quite a few people---the psychiatrist that has been assigned to Janey, a speech therapist, an occupational therapist, someone I think was a behavior therapist and a few more people whose roles I am not sure about right now!  They asked us many, many good questions about Janey, things like what upsets her, what calms her, what her speech is like, how her behavior has recently changed, what medications she takes, how she is at school, how her sleep and eating area---all that.  Everyone was very understanding and respectful.  The process felt unrushed, unlike anything at all at the regular hospital.

After the long talk, we went to the ward to see Janey.  We had to put our things into a locker---my pocketbook, Tony's jacket, a clipboard---you can't take much of anything in with you.  I did bring in a big bag of clothes for Janey.  Once in the ward, we had to sign in again.  And then we saw Janey!  She looked very cheerful.  There was a relaxed smile on her face we hadn't seen for several weeks.  It was wonderful to see.

The rules of visiting are that we have to visit with Janey in her room, not in the common area.  Therefore, we stayed just a minute, because I couldn't bear to have Janey shut in a room again.  She was happy being active, and it was the middle of their day there.  She was about to have arts and crafts with other kids.  So we put away her clothes, gave her a few big hugs and said goodbye.

The hospital is very strict about talking to other children.  We saw a few boys who are on the ward with Janey, but the rules are that you can greet them if they greet you, but can't talk to them otherwise.  I can see the reasons for this, although I would love to get to know other children like Janey a bit more.

We got the feeling that Janey is already winning over the staff.  They had a few cute stories to tell about her already, including how they did the "Turkey Pokey", like the "Hokey Pokey", and that Janey loved that and did an impromptu solo dance and song after it was over.  I can see Janey being very happy there.  They will keep her busy and give her attention.  I think the question will be more---will this carry over?  Will we get help and ideas and medication changes and so on that will help us once she is home?  I am going to try hard for right now not to think about that, to just be glad she is in such a great place and to try to relax at home.  This is the respite we had wanted.   Not in the way we ever wanted to get it, but I still need to use this time to regroup mentally---between drives to Rhode Island.  I am certainly going to sleep well tonight, and I hope Janey does too, a whole state away from me.

The Long Day's Journey---Part Two

After we got the news that Janey would be going to Bradley Hospital, we started packing up the room and getting ready for the call that is was time to go.  We were told it would be a few hours, probably into the afternoon before we went, which was fine.  Janey wasn't having a good day.  Maybe just the change in the mood and the moving around of the stuff in the room upset her.  She was screaming a lot, very agitated---not happy.  Our "sitter" for the day was the same one we had had on Sunday.  On Sunday, she had been one of our least favorite sitters.  This day, however, after we took a while to talk to her, we found her to be a wonderful woman---warm and understanding and interesting.  It taught me something I need to be taught over and over in life---that first impressions aren't always right.  She told us she was praying hard for Janey.  I am not much of a prayer, but I am a huge appreciator of people praying for me, and I was touched by her saying that.

As the day wore on, it was apparent that Janey's discharge was taking longer than anyone had said it would.  Finally we were told there was some kind of hold-up with the insurance, but that it would be taken care of and we shouldn't worry.  Well, I worried.  A nurse once again checked with the referring department, and they said it wasn't the insurance, it was that they were waiting for a call from Bradley, and she suggested I call Bradley myself.  I did, and they said it WAS the insurance---that they had not yet gotten the authorization.  I told that to the Children's Hospital people, and they said not to worry again.  I decided to call our insurance myself.  That was not a fun call.  The department that deals with our particular brand within the brand closes at 4:30pm.  I called about 4:35, and although the woman I reached was very kind, she said there was no way at all she could access those records.  I told her we could lose a placement we had been desperately waiting for, and she was very upset, but I don't think sincerely could do anything.  I started calling every number on my card.  I finally reached someone who might have been able to help.  At that moment, a nurse found me and showed me a wonderful set of numbers--the authorization had come through.

The next wait was for the ambulance to take Janey to Rhode Island---about an hour's drive.  It's a little unusual for people to be moved medically from Boston to Rhode Island.  Usually it would be the other way around.  So it took a while to get the ambulance.  In the meantime, Janey was very upset.  At one point, she suddenly lunged at and bit the sitter.  The sitter was great---she said it was nothing, that Janey was sick and we should not worry about it.  But word got out and the nurse in charge told the sitter she had to go report the incident to the hospital police and then go to the workman's comp office.  The sitter tried to say the bite had not broken the skin and there was no need, but the nurse insisted, so the sitter left and I never really got to thank her.  She was the last sitter we had---I guess since we were leaving, it was no longer considered necessary.

Finally, about 8 o'clock, we got an ambulance.  The EMTs were wonderful.  EMTs must be a special breed of people---they always seem great.  Janey was thrilled to be leaving the room.  She got onto the gurney very willingly, and was happy and alert almost the whole long trip to Rhode Island.  I saat behind her, so she couldn't see me, and I did have to reassure her several times that was there.  But overall, the ride was great.  We arrived at the hospital about 9.

My first impression of the hospital, in the dark, was that it was much bigger than I pictured---all kinds of buildings.  We were ushered into the admitting lobby.  A security guard checked us for metal and took my bag to inspect.  We didn't mind that at all---it kind of felt reassuring.  The lobby was lovely---a gorgeous room, and we were met right away with lots of people.  There were a lot of preliminary questions to be asked, and paperwork to be done.  Janey was mostly happy, although she did bite herself a few times and once lunged at Tony, so it was seen why she was there.

One funny moment---I guess to certify that Janey was being admitted voluntarily, since she is 10, if possible they wanted her to sign a form saying she was there willingly.  Janey can make a "J", and occasionally write the rest of her name if she is in the mood.  We got the form and explained it to her---I am quite sure she didn't totally get it, but she took the pen and made a big "J" all over the paper.  And that counted.  Janey's first signature of a legal document!  Thanks to all the teachers who taught her to write the J!

After a bit, a nurse came to take Janey to her ward.  We stayed behind for a bit, signing a lot more papers.  We learned a bit about her ward.  It holds in total up to 18 kids, in two wings.  Right then, there were 16 kids including Janey.  And were were told that at the current time (even then at night) there were SIXTEEN milieu therapists.  Milieu therapists was a another new term for us.  Here's a definition---Milieu Therapist  That is an amazing amount of hands on help!  We were starting to realize we might be in a very good place.

We went to say goodnight to Janey in the ward after that.  She had been given a room, her own room.  It has a nice bed and a comfy chair, and a bathroom next to it.  We were told someone would stay outside her door until she fell asleep.  She was happy and excited.  When we said goodnight, she waved dismissively and said "goodbye!"  She has never been one to have a hard time separating from us, which in this case was good---we were able to leave without breaking down much.

The ride home continued the theme of the week---being stuck.  We had a nice drive for the first 45 minutes or so, although we were both beyond tired.  Then---nothing but brakelights.  Something had stopped traffic on Route 95.  We sat totally stopped for over an hour.  We finally turned off the car and just waited.  We called my sister in Colorado to see if she could look on line what was happening, as we don't have any smart phones, just dumb phones.  She figured out the problem was something to do with downed wires.  Finally, traffic started again and we finally got home about 1 am.

We slept very soundly last night!  Now we are about to call to see what time the hospital wants to meet with us today.  We are going to meet Janey's psychiatrist and start working on a plan as to what happens next.  I am feeling hopeful, but still---overwhelmed, nervous, scared, stunned.  I think she is in the right place, and I think we are on our way, but it's going to take a while for me to be able to really feel less than on full alert.  It's been an experience so far like none in my life, like no experience I ever expected to have in my life.  And it's a journey that is going to continue.