Her homecoming...

It was comforting to have 'A' home. She was very glad to finally be home and told us of what she experienced and learned in the hospital. She called just about everyone in the family to tell them of her adventures in the psych unit and gossiped about the others there too. It was there that she learned about cutting...she had a 12yr old roommate who told her all about it.

Towards the end of the of the evening, I noticed her becoming more volatile but she felt comfortable and aware enough to tell me how she was feeling. She began crying, it came out of nowhere and she wasn't able to control it. She didn't feel comfortable sleeping in her room so she cried herself to sleep in the hallway until I put her back to bed in her room.

I tried calling the psych unit and they were no help. I later found out that psych units are only to "stabilize" and discharge. They claim that insurance companies force them to discharge ASAP and the insurance company denies it. They truth is, they could care less what happens outside of the unit.

We were so greatful that 'A' had such a wonderful and devoted teacher that always kept in contact with us. When I asked how her week was going, 'A's teacher told me that 'A' wasn't able to sit still or stay quiet for any length of time and that she was a wealth of information. I imagine she was telling all of her and the rest of the family's business. I crossed my fingers and prayed that 'A' wasn't becoming more unstable but it was only a matter of time that her depression and crying turned into rage.

As each day passed, her instability became more severe. We couldn't get in to see her psychiatrist, who moved to a new practice, for 2 more weeks and it got bad very quickly. She would get off the school bus aggitated and ready for a fight. She would cry, scream, annoy, throw furniture, threaten, destroy, and do her best to get everyone involved in her world of instability. It scared the baby so much to see and hear her sister act out-of-control. Whenever she would switch into that mode, my husband would take the baby and go to the basement while I tried to keep everyone safe.

'A' totally lost control and was attacking my husband while he held a terrified and screaming toddler, when I made the difficult and quick decision to call the police. My husband hated that I had to call them because they always sent several cars and he feared what the neighbors thought was goin on in our home. Of course, when 'A' saw them coming, she broke down and felt horrible for what happened. They took her by ambulance to the hospital where they transferred her to a treatment center/hospital for mentally ill.

The intake seemed to take forever and all 'A' wanted to do was eat and go to sleep. I was very hesitant about leaving her there because it seemed that while I was there, all the nurses did was sit behind a glass barrier at a desk. I knew that she couldn't come home and that everyone was at least safe for the night. I kissed her goodnight, told her that I loved her, and left my baby in the care of strangers once again.

I called her father and gave him the details of the center. I was once again, traumatized, angry and felt so guilty for what happened. Her father and I agreed to take turns visiting her and when I got there...he came to me with tears in his eyes and asked me to have her discharged to go home with him. He was concerned about what was going on in the center. I explained to him that it was a place for mentally ill children like ours and that some were even psychotic.

'A' was as pleasant and agreeable as she could be which was somewhat frustrating for me. Once again, I had to prove and explain to the doctors that what they saw there was not the child that I sometimes had at home. After seeing how the facility was run and some of the children there, I went to my car, made some phone calls to her dad,the first hospital that she was at and the insurance company to see if a bed was available so that she could be transferred. I spoke to a supervisor who said that he'd try to get her transferred and everything seemed to be going fine when I got a call back from the supervisor and he told me that they were discharging her. I didn't even have shoes for her to come home in and ran to pick some up.

I went back in the building to talk to the supervisor and he told me that the psychiatrist spoke to 'A' and determined that she wasn't bipolar. I felt so helpless...tears began to fall from my eyes. I questioned him as to how he could make that determination without getting a history from me and talking to her for 10 minutes. I explained that 'A' wasn't psychotic like many of their patients but definately too dangerous and unstable to come home then. They apologized and ran through their discharge script and let us go.

As soon as we got in the car, 'A' began insisting that I take her to McDonalds and the ride home became a fit of screaming, crying, kicking and threatening. I told her that if she didn't stop...I would have no choice but to take her back to the hospital. As we approached the exit off the freeway, she continued and I passed the exit and headed directly to the hospital where she originally was admitted. In hindsight, I should have pulled the car over and called for an ambulance to take her because things got out-of-hand. She opened the car door and hit me off and on during the whole drive. I called the ER and let them know that we were on our way and they gave me instructions on what to do when we arrived.