I am tired of holding on, and worried about how much longer I can keep doing what I am doing. Princess is still out of school, but in a holding pattern. The doctors do not feel as though she can return to school, and I agree. We do not know what the problem is, whether the overwhelming anxiety is school in general or that school in particular. So she is home, or at her grandparents, each day while we figure out what comes next.

The treatment coordinator at our practice began the process of looking for an partial hospitalization program after Princess’ appointment last Tuesday. On Thursday they told us that there was no space currently, but that a space might open this week. Yesterday I got a call that a space had opened up but that I needed to bring her in before her scheduled group therapy session (we’ve reverted to the 5:00-7:00 program every night until we can get her into a hospital program) because the hospital requires a referral evalation that is no more than 24 hours old,and the paperwork needed to be in hand by 4:00. So, the assessment from Friday’s session was no longer valid and last night’s assessment would have been too late to be processed. I left work at 1:00 so I could pick Princess and make one of the open spots. I called the hospital around 4:15 to verify what time I was supposed to bring Princess this morning, only to be told that they  had no idea what I was talking about and that no spaces were available. When I arrived at her group therapy appointment, our treatment coordinator told me that she submitted the paperwork as agreed only to be informed that the space promised a few hours earlier was no longer there. Best case scenario is an opening on Thursday or Friday, but it’s more likely to be some time next week. And so we wait some more, trying not to be overwhelmed by the concern that each day out of a therapeutic and educational routine means more difficulty adjusting back into the routine that one would expect for a 12 year old girl.

I was home with Princess on Wednesday, and she while trying to reason her out of her room in order to get her to tell me what was wrong (and so I could watch her carefully), the phone rang from the boys’ school. The principal informed me that Hoss had run away from the property and that the police had to be called. She expressed her intention of keeping Hoss in the school building under the care of his gang (principal, VP, counselor, school psychologist, special ed team members, whoever) until something close to normal pick up time. She wanted to let me focus on Princess without needing to also watch Hoss. A few minutes later, the school called again, saying that the police were requiring me to come. In the time it took me to dry my tears, get my shoes on, close up the house and get myself and my daughter into the car, the police officer called to exhort me to get to the school. I arrived and was judged harshly by an officer who was aghast that I was initially not going to come pick Hoss up, who said he was taking Hoss to the emergency room because he had expressed a desire to end his life. Despite the professional opinions of the psychologist, counselor and school principal who administered the suicide threat assessment (a group who understand that his “I hate my life. I wish someone would just kill me” is not actually a true suicidal ideation), the officer took my son to the hospital in a patrol car. I was not allowed to leave until the mobile crisis team dispatched by the county arrived to speak to me. After some begging on my part, the officer allowed the counselor to go to the ER until my husband could get there.  The social worker and psychiatrist at the ER released my son within a few hours, noting that he was not a threat to himself or to others.

I am playing phone tag with my prospective new doctor, in hopes of getting an appointment so I can tell her about the mounting crises that make up my daily life and so I can try to get some relief. I called her on Thursday, but missed her return call at lunchtime on Friday. I called Friday night and left my work number as well as my cell and home, and have not heard back, so I am calling again. The mobile crisis team last Wednesday (a pair of neo-hippies who meant well but had nothing to offer me that I didn’t already have in place) listened to my account of the things that are happening and the things I am going to try to mitigate the turmoil, and they told me that I am doing all the right things. But doing all the right things does not seem to be making anything get better. I shudder to think of what our lives would be right now if I were doing the wrong things.

The energy it takes to get through my day is increasing. The reserves I have are decreasing. Something has got to give very soon.