Anyone who reads my blog knows that our daughter, Mary, has been inpatient at the psychiatric hospital for almost 2 weeks now. It’s her second stint since right before Christmas. It’s been terribly hard on all of us. Children with attachment issues need to be close to their caregivers. Mothers of any kind need to be near their children.
In this case, safety is paramount in all of our decisions. I have a serious spinal injury, . Therefore I cannot physically assist in any way, if Mary has a dangerous dissociative episode. She hasn’t had one in almost 2 years until now. Just our luck that it happens when I’m at my most vulnerable, physically.
They’ve been titrating a new medication for her. We aren’t sure yet if it’s at a therapeutic level. Her emotions are still all over the place. She fluctuates from one minute to the next. She is angry, then giggly, then despondent within 10 minutes. She’s had several physical outbursts on the unit. She’s been defiant towards staff, throwing things at them. During one incident, she pounded on the window of her door, trying to break it. Too bad we don’t have unbreakable plexiglass on our windows at home.
No, she isn’t “there” yet. She isn’t at that place that keeps her safe enough to access all of the therapies and interventions we have in place for her. No amount of TBRI parenting, PHP treatment, TF-CBT therapy, coping skills, or sensory diet can help her until her brain is in a place to process it. The medication helps her brain to get there.
I need a contingency plan. I admit, I plan for all scenarios as much as possible. It helps me to feel productive and in control. Frankly, there are some things entirely beyond my control. But I’ll probably never accept that. At least, not in this lifetime (I swear, I’ve tried!)
My spinal fusion surgery takes place this Tuesday. We are taking our girl home from the hospital on Monday. We will have a meeting to hear the results of the full psychological evaluation they gave her. Maybe we will gain some insight. Maybe not. Either way, she comes home with us.
We have to take her home because I need all of my chickens together on Monday night. We’ve planned a “Pajama Party” where we all pile onto the king-sized bed in our matching Jammies (lame, I know!) and have popcorn.
The next day is my surgery. This is a big long, serious operation. I can face anything if I’ve had my family with me. I’m one tough Mama so I feel like it will turn out just fine. But if it doesn’t? I’ve had that one last family night.
When I was little, my mom used to read to me all the time. Even a series of books called “Sweet Valley High,” which she hated yet read anyway. My mom has probably made me macaroni and cheese thousands of times. She’s tucked me in, kissed my boo-boos, and generally made things better for me my whole life. She’s taught (or tried) to teach me good lady-like manners my whole life.
I’m not the best student but she loves me anyway (remember my zombie centerpiece at Christmas dinner, mom?) She has perfect hair, perfect make-up, and a perfectly dirty joke when you least expect it. My mom could give Emily Post, Lauren Bacall, and Elizabeth Taylor a run for their money. In the same breathe she can out-do Chris Rock for shockingly funny dry wit. And she’s mine. I’ve gotten to have her for my entire 35 years on this earth. Lucky me.
Mary hasn’t had me since infancy, so I’m making up for lost time. By my calculation, I still have dozens of horrible books from a predictably plotted children’s series to read to her. I have thousands more mac and cheese meals to go. And let’s face it, I’ll probably never have the center-piece thing down. But still. Mary is owed the full mommy experience. The kind I got to have. The kind that always makes it better.
My kids need me. They can’t afford to lose another mom. But if the worst should happen, I cannot, I WILL NOT allow Mary to think that it was all somehow her fault.
It like an oncoming storm. Maybe it will hit and maybe it won’t. Maybe my surgery will be a shining success, maybe it won’t. Maybe Mary has to go back inpatient this week, maybe not.
Either way, we are going to batten down the hatches, and ride it out. Together. As a family. Because that is the most important thing I have ever had in this lifetime. My family.
**Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.