The start of the next part

Since I last wrote, a big change took place in our lives.  Tony retired from work, 30 years to the day after starting federal employment.  He is 56, so this is a fairly early retirement.  Having him retire early was a huge decision, mostly for financial reasons, but it was the right decision, I am quite certain.

On the day Tony retired, a thought kept running through my head---"The hardest part is over now".  That's where the title of this post comes from.  Of course, I knocked on wood, and of course I know that there are still going to be many tough parts of life.  But from now on, there are two of us to care for Janey.

The smile of a man 5 minutes into retirement!

About a week after Tony retired, I looked at him and realized he truly looked about 10 years younger than he had for the past few years.  Mothers get all the glory and sympathy often in this special needs parenting game, but it's hard to overstate all Tony has done over the years.  Especially the past few years, he was working a job that was extremely stressful.  He woke very early every morning, helped me get Janey off to school, went to work all day, came home, took over with Janey usually, took her for car rides and made her supper, then had to go to bed when she did so he could get up and do it all over again.  He often went days without any time to himself, save maybe his time on the train.  He did all this while dealing with a serious health condition (severe type 2 diabetes---he's been insulin dependent for many years).  Tony's brother lives upstairs from us and is increasingly disabled from the complications of diabetes also, and Tony helps him a lot too.  When Janey didn't sleep, often Tony didn't sleep, and there were so many days I simply didn't even know how he got through the day.

Financially, retiring this early is not going to be a piece of cake, but that isn't something we find nearly as important as our health and happiness.  As long as we can eat, have health care and have a roof over our heads, the rest is gravy.

I've often thought of how in cartoons, characters run off cliffs, but keep going along just fine until they realize they have gone off the cliff.  That's how a lot of our life the past few years has felt.  Not everything is within the scope of what I write about here, but suffice to say we've been running on fumes a lot of the time.  Despite Janey being our joy, our delight, despite her being far happier than she was during some darker years for her, the demands of special needs parenting are always there.  That is something it can be hard to explain to those who haven't lived the life, and can be seen as a complaint, as something I shouldn't mention because I should only emphasize the joy.  But I want to speak the truth here, and the truth is that it's hard.  It's very hard.  It's very hard having a child that will never, ever care for herself, that needs supervision that realistically only we as parents can safely provide when she is not in school, 24 hour, 7 day a week supervision, and that this will be forever.  I know my dying thought will be of Janey, of her happiness and safety.

And so we start the next part.  The next part has been good, so far.  It's the little things that are the most surprisingly special.  On the 2nd day Tony was home, after Janey went to school, after a long night when she didn't sleep well, we went back to sleep after she got on the bus.  We slept in until 10.  We woke up astonished.  It was the first time ever we have slept in together.  Ever.  Last night, we stayed up to see our beloved Red Sox win the World Series.  We didn't have to think for one minute that we should be getting to sleep.  We knew we could rest a bit today.  Those kind of moments are worth the change in income.  They are the kind of special small things I think our new life will include a lot of. 

And most importantly than anything, it's wonderful to see the joy having Tony home gives Janey.  Afternoons when she got off the bus were always a very tough time.  Now, Daddy greets her, and right away cooks her whatever she wants to eat.  Together, they blissfully eat things I wouldn't touch---fried eggplant, steamed greens, tuna salad---and Janey dances around with happiness. 

Here's to you, Tony.  We made it to the next part.

Hearing myself on a bad day

Yesterday was a Bad Day.  Not the worst day ever, but not a very good day.  I read the news too much, and worried too much, about health care and education and Mary Tyler Moore dying and all else.  I am not political, but it's hard to keep from hearing political decisions and worries and anger unless you are in a remote location with no internet, TV or radio---coincidentally, the location I've been daydreaming about somehow going to.  So long before Janey got home from school, I was not in the best of moods.

Frog and Dog from Word World, feeling like I did yesterday

Janey got off the bus yelling.  It took me a few minutes to figure out what she was yelling.  It was a line from "Word World", one of her favorite shows, over and over---"Who's going to read my book on the radio?"  She was screaming it with the intensity you would usually save for warning people of a fire or flood.  I'm sure it was not easy on the bus driver, aide and other kids on the bus.  She screamed her way in, and I guessed that possibly she wanted to see that episode, and put it on.  She watched it, with not that much screaming, but then it was over and another one came on.  Janey didn't want to see the next one.  Not at all.

Tony says that Janey's screaming often hurts his ears.  I thought this was more of a figure of speech.  Maybe I'm half deaf already, but I hadn't had my ears literally hurt by a scream---until yesterday.  Janey's scream over the wrong show coming on felt like someone was poking an ice pick into my head through my ears.  It was truly ear-piercing.

I tried, and in my mind did a good job with, starting my calming patter with Janey as she screamed.  I said things like I knew she was upset, I wanted her to feel better, the wrong show was over...things like that.  However, I also must have said "I don't like it when you scream"  I know I must have said that, because that is the phrase she started repeating.  At the top of her lungs.  For a long, long fifteen minutes or so.  I hope I didn't really sound like her echoing of me.  If I did, I sounded like, well, someone seriously unhinged.

Finally, she calmed a bit and asked for a snuggle.  I put blankets over us, as she likes, and lay next to her and we sang together a bit.  Things seemed better.  Then---the bed was soaked.

As I pulled the sheets and blankets and everything else off the bed, I must have said "I'm so tired of this"  I didn't mean to.  I meant to...I don't know what I meant to say.  I meant to say whatever it is you are supposed to say to a twelve year old autistic girl who is sometimes toilet trained and sometimes not, and who refused at least three times that afternoon to try to use the toilet.  I don't know exactly what that right thing to say is.  I don't know if anyone does.  But she heard me.  She heard me and started repeating, again in scream mode "I'M SO TIRED OF THIS!"  For half an hour.

When Tony got home, I was pretty much reduced to a quivering, ranting mess.  Often upon his entrance after work, I say "Thanks for coming home".  I mean it.  I know there are men, and women, who would, after the years of coming home to a spouse who is acting like I was acting, would say "to heck with it" and just stop coming home.  Tony is not that man.  I am very lucky.  He took over with Janey and I sat for hours watching dumb shows on TV and trying to empty my mind.

Janey slept well last night, and woke up in what seemed to be a good mood.  I hope school is okay.  Reports are she's been having a tough time there lately too.  Yesterday her teacher said she was singing loudly in the morning, and I could picture it quite well.  I honestly don't know how the other kids in the room can work at all when Janey gets loud.

I don't know how to conclude this.  I wish I could say I'll try not to say things that aren't positive to Janey, that her repeating of them shows she hears negative messages from me.  But honestly, I don't know if I can be that perfect.  I don't know if anyone could, anyone on earth.  Most of the time, I can truly say I do the best I can, and I'll keep doing that, but some days, it's a lot harder than others, and I am sure that goes for Janey too.  Thanks for listening, my friends.

Ready for the help that doesn't exist

Today wasn't much of a good day.

Janey has been having a hard time lately.  The new medication, if it's doing anything, isn't doing much.  Janey seems very unhappy, and her aggression has increased.  She's hitting me a lot, and over the weekend, she tried very hard to bite me over and over.  Tonight, she bit Freddy out of the blue, quite hard.  School reports aren't good either.  Her teacher reported that she was screaming a lot, and biting randomly, and reacting very strongly when anyone tried to get her to sit down and work.  I've seen that at home---a quick and angry reaction to any redirection or being told "no".  We are feeling overwhelmed.

Over and over, we've been asked if we have had in home ABA services.  I always said no, and that it wasn't help we wanted at this point.  I am becoming less and less of a fan of ABA as the years go by.  Janey doesn't seem to respond to it well.  And the help we need is RESPITE, not someone coming into the house in a situation where we can be at furthest from Janey in the next room.  I can picture Janey screaming non-stop, trying to bite the therapist, them looking to me for help I don't have.  I can picture cancelled appointments, as we found to be the case with Early Intervention, leaving us sitting around the house without plans waiting for someone who never shows up.  I can picture spending the rare moments of peace I have cleaning up in anticipation of therapists arriving.  I can picture....well, you get the picture.

However, the doctor at the Lurie Center and several other people have implied that I need to get this service as sort of a starting point to get any other help.  And lately, I'm ready for any, any, any help I can get, including someone to come in and work with Janey.  I'm ready for any suggestions, for even a ten second moment of respite in the next room.  I felt ready, finally.

SO----here's the kicker.  I'm ready.  I called the family service person for the Lurie Center.  And what I half suspected to be true is indeed true.  We CAN'T GET in home services.  We have the wrong kind of insurance.  Tony has federal Blue Cross, which for some bizarre reason is exempted from the FEDERAL laws mandating coverage.  The Mass Health supplemental plan we recently got for Janey ALSO doesn't cover ABA in the home.

Which means, of course, the only help anyone ever said there was didn't actually exist.  Not for us.  Not now.  Supposedly, starting this coming winter, Mass Health will cover ABA, but there will be waiting lists and huge backups and priorities for younger kids.  In reality, even then it's not going to be easy to actually get.  And for the past few years, when I've been thinking I was someone holding out on help that I didn't think would be that helpful---well, surprise.  I couldn't have gotten that help anyway.

So where does that leave us?  THERE IS NO HELP.  That is something I am putting in caps, because despite it being the truth, I think many people still believe it isn't.  I asked the family service person today, in any way I could think of, if there were ANY respite available, ANY program Janey could attend on weekends, ANY way to get more help.  And the answer was...no.  There isn't.

I have a child who requires around the clock supervision, who is aggressive to the point of hurting us, who cries for hours on end, who is not toilet trained, who bites herself badly all the time---and there is no help.

I guess this the reality I need to accept.  The feeling I got, the implication I felt I was hearing, at the clinic is that the only real help is now and then kids going into hospitals like Bradley, where Janey went in November.  I'm not willing to accept that.  Although our insurance was very good at covering it (but not Children's Hospital---they are supposed to pay some of that bill, but have yet to pay a cent), it cost the insurance a huge amount.  It makes no sense---they will pay for a psychiatric hospital but not the much cheaper help that could keep her out of one?

I will stop now, for fear of rambling.  But I wanted to get this down before I calmed down, for a change.  I try to not get angry.  I try to not get upset.  But tonight, I am.  Janey is my daughter.  I love her.  I will care for her as best I can for the rest of my life.  But somewhere, somehow, something is drastically wrong when there is no help at all for those like her that need it most.

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.

A good day, then a bad day

Saturday was the good day.  Janey was happy pretty much from morning to night.  We hadn't had a day like that in several months.  It was wonderful.  She was cheerful, talkative and laughing---a real laugh, not the manic strange laugh she sometimes does.  She interacted so nicely with both brothers, and she sang and danced and was a joy.

During the day, Tony and I did a lot of knocking on wood and reminding each other not to think a corner had turned.  We enjoyed the day very, very much as it happened, but we tried not to get our hopes up.  I think we did, though.  Janey had been on the new mood stablizer medication for two days, two doses, and even though she's on a very low dose to start, we somehow hoped it was doing something, making her feel better.  Maybe it was.  But...

Today, Sunday, was awful.  It was right back to the typical bad days of the past few months.  Janey screamed a great deal, smashed her fists on the TV and the computer when they annoyed her, tried to hit us (we are getting better at being guarded and didn't get badly hit) and cried for hours.  It was a very tiring day.  It felt more discouraging than other bad days recently, almost, because there had been that little bit of hope.

Of course, I am trying to say the right things to myself, that things don't change instantly, that just because today was a setback doesn't mean the new medication might not be helping, that even "normal" kids have ups and downs---all those things I should think.  But I don't think I'm as good as bouncing back as I used to be.  The events lately make me see how bad things can get, and how little the medical or psychiatric profession can really do.

I've decided to give myself next week, Christmas week, off from anything autism related that isn't strictly about daily Janey care.  Most especially, I'm going to not think about the Mass Health debacle.  You might remember how when I gave our health plan Janey's new Mass Health card (state insurance for low income or disabled people), they freaked out and said it was the wrong kind.  After a lot of research and talking to an expert who luckily was holding a meeting at Janey's school, I think I figured out what happened.  When Tony talked to a financial person at Children's Hospital, he told her our income, and she said that when we first applied, we would be refused, and then we would have to do a special appeal that gave the details of Janey's disability, so she would get a special type of Mass Health for children with disabilities.  However, I don't think the woman realized we have 3 kids, not 1, and our income was actually within a range where we qualified for state help without Janey having any disability.  So the insurance was approved for her with that initial application, but approved as a type that is used as a primary insurance, not the special disability kind.

If the above paragraph confuses you, you are not alone.  I guess fixing this kind of mix-up is extremely tough, and requires all kinds of sending papers here and there and somehow getting through to the right people.  I wish I had gone with my feelings over the past 10 years and never applied.  The expert also told me that both insurances, our federal Blue Cross and Mass Health, don't cover special autism services anyway.  This is despite the fact there is a federal mandate for insurances to cover autism services, but there are many, many exceptions, and strangely enough, federal Blue Cross is one of them.  So there you go.  It's another example of what might be perceived by those outside of the autism world as "all those services out there you can get", which is reality either don't exist or are not accessible.

Despite the discouraged tone of this post, I am doing fairly well.  I am not dreading Christmas---I am actually feeling a bit of spirit, more than in the past few years.  Maybe it's because, as the song says, "I need a little Christmas"  Maybe it's because so many people have been so kind to me over the past year, and even when things are this tough, that has given me an inner resolve, an inner core that I am able to reach to most of the time.  Maybe it's the music, which even on Janey's worst days is one of her favorite things in the world.

Here's a picture of Janey's smile, from yesterday.  Her beautiful smile, even on days when I don't see it, is another reason I keep getting up on the morning.

A Stronger Word Than Stress

As I was thinking about yesterday, I was trying to think of a word I am not sure exists.  What word could describe a feeling that the word "stress" doesn't seem to cover?  What word is there for a day that felt like more than the mind was designed to take?  I am not sure.  But I know if such a word did exist, that many of my fellow autism parents would like to use it, because I know I'm not alone.  We deal with uber-stress on a regular basis.  We all have our ways of dealing with it.  I will write about my day, because other options that start to seem desirable, like hard core adult beverage time or getting in my car and driving thousands of miles away are probably not productive.

The day started with Janey getting on the bus.  She seemed happy enough.  However, as soon as the bus got to the school, her bus aide called to say she had had a very, very tough time during the ride.  She bit herself, hit him, got on the floor of the bus, screamed---all of her routine when she is completely out of control.  He was shaken, and made the suggestion "Maybe she needs to go back to the hospital?"  I don't blame him for having that thought.  I called her teacher, to see if I needed to go get her, and the teacher called back to say she was okay at that moment, and indeed, she made it through the day, with a few screaming periods, but she made it.  Needless to say, however, I spent the whole time she was at school on tenterhooks, waiting for a call that things had gone badly south.

After school, we had an appointment with Janey's psychiatrist.  This was the appointment that Bradley Hospital made as a followup.  They had said it was for the day after we got home, but something got messed up along the way, and it was actually a week after we came home.  When checking in for the appointment, I happily took out our brand new MassHealth card, the card that I had thought Janey qualified by means of being disabled, the card that would help us with co-pays and therapies and from many of the stories of hype I'd heard about it, would basically open a world of help up.  I had always resisted getting this card.  Partly it was that I didn't want to ask for help, but partly it was because I have a huge fear of bureaucracy.  But I was reassured it was a GREAT thing to apply for, nothing but good, and when the card arrived, I allowed myself to feel hopeful.

Well, the staff tried to add the card to Janey's record.  They made some calls and then looked at me with huge alarm.  I didn't totally understand what they were saying, but basically they said the card was for PRIMARY insurance, not SECONDARY, which seemed to make a huge difference.  We already have primary insurance for Janey, our family Blue Cross, and this state insurance was supposed to be a supplement, but from what they were telling me, it had been processed somehow as "family assistance" and that meant we had two primary insurances for her, which from the looks on their faces, was a Very Bad Thing.  They said I needed to immediately call the number on the card and get everything straightened out, or Very Bad Things would happen.

So I went into Janey's appointment feeling terrified about that.  I think the psychiatrist could see we were at the end of some very long rope.  He asked how Janey's behavior was since coming home from the hospital, and we basically said it was pretty much no better.  We wound up discussing a new medication, the long considered "mood stabilizer"  I won't get into the whole ins and outs of it, but basically there seems to be quite a bit of conflict in the psychological world about what would usually be termed bi-polar disorder, and whether it possibly might be something Janey might have.  I am not up to thinking about all the debate, but I will say it's long seemed like Janey has manic times and depressed times.  At this point, we are ready to try something new.  How she is right now is not a way I would want her to have to live long term.  So---we will be trying this new medication.  It will require careful monitoring at first, and I have to say at this point my hope levels aren't great, but we will try it.

So---after all that fun in the day---a breakdown on the bus, a huge insurance snafu and a new possible diagnosis for Janey of a major psychiatric disorder---I thought I would cap off the day with trying to call the Mass Health people.  Of course, there was a half hour hold, and of course, once I got someone, and again was on and off hold for half an hour, the phone somehow got hung up.  I was on the cell phone, and I don't know if it was me or him.  But that truly did add a needed final touch to my day of the word beyond stress.

All that was left was Janey screaming a lot at night off and on, and hitting me hard a few times.  She fell asleep about eight.  Tony had been out getting William home from college.  The day ended listening to my two amazing boys joking around and discussing world events.  I was able to fall asleep by pushing aside until today the day's worries.  I listened to them talk as I drifted off.  Even the toughest day has moments that are golden like that, and I need very much to keep remembering that.

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.