Princess is back in the hospital. School started on August 25, and I have been monitoring her homework (checking her agenda book and comparing it to the completed work in her binder) and asking her about her school day and doing my best to keep the line of communication open. She met with her therapist on the Saturday before school started and again this past Saturday so she could first prepare herself to return to school and then process the first (partial) week of school to assess its success. Everything seemed fine.

When I picked Princess up from her aftercare program on Tuesday, I had a message that the school counselor wanted to see me. Princess and I gathered her things and sat down in the counselor’s office to talk. The counselor relayed that another student came to her to say that Princess had indicated that she was planning to bring a knife to school for the purpose of stabbing herself or cutting her throat. She’s never articulated a plan before, and never expressed thoughts so boldly violent. The counselor advised me that she would need written confirmation from some mental health professional regarding Princess’ abililty to return to class.

We made an appointment with the therapist, and Princess was vehement in saying she did not want to go back to the hospital. She later had an outburst that culminated in her locking herself in the bathroom, refusing to speak to me, and I told her through the door that if I could not get the key to work, I would call 911 and have them break the door down and take her to the ER in an ambulance. She came out, and finally admitted that her thoughts were too overwhelming to handle alone, and she thought she needed to go back to the hospital.

We arrived at the pediatric ER around 2:00. We met with the intake nurses and pediatrician and social worker. We waited for word about which hospital had a bed and would accept her into the program. I called and texted my husband (who was home with the boys) and my parents and my siblings with updates through the night. The food service people delivered Princess’ dinner to the adult ER, so it was cold by the time we hunted it down, but she ate it anyway. They fixed another dinner for her, so I ended up getting to eat something, too. The ambulance transport came just before midnight. I took my car and agreed to meet them at the hospital.

About halfway to the hospital, my car blew a tire. I sat at the side of the highway, sobbing so hard I thought I would vomit. My  husband called the pediatric ER staff, who called the transport company, who contacted the ambulance driver to  have him come back to get me. Another bus from the same transport company arrived a few minutes after we did, so the drivers kept me distracted with their chatter. I barely remember filling out the paperwork for the intake. The coordinator on the unit asked me if I had a ride home, and I asked her to help me call a cab. She did one better- she arranged for a transport voucher for me, since I wasn’t sure I had enough cash on me to pay for the 40 minute ride home.

I got about 3 hours of sleep before taking the boys to school and coming into the office. My boss is wonderfully understanding and supportive, and is allowing me to make my schedule day by day depending on what I feel I need. I don’t know what it is I need, though.

I am still standing, and I know that Princess is getting the help she needs. This is a different hospital than the one she was in during May. That program seemed to work then, but the doctor’s willingness to dismiss my suspicions of a biploar disorder bothered me. This hospital seems more open to the possibility that there is more going on than her anxiety/depression. And we will once again find our light at the end of the tunnel