Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Friday, March 18, 2011
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Last night I heard the sad story of another failure by our mental health system. I met with the parents of a young man who committed suicide. He was adopted. The big differences between Daughter and this young man were IQ (his was very high) and the fact that he had had access to drugs, and had become addicted. His parents kept things locked up for his safety. He died after successfully cracking open the safe in which they stored their pain medications.
As we talked last night it was such a familiar story: Admissions to psych units followed by discharges by psychiatrists claiming that the only problem was the parents. Threats and violence in the home, and a wonderful, cooperative individual in public. Parents who researched and searched for answers and help for their son. A master manipulator who pitted his parents against each other. Parents who were afraid to leave him home alone, not sure he would be safe. Professionals who didn't cooperate in their treatment of the young man, and worked at cross purposes. Laws that said since he was over 18, he was an adult and his parents had no rights, even though he lived in their home and they provided for all his needs, including the insurance that paid for his mental health treatment. Judgment from those who think they caused their son's problems. Disputes over diagnoses: Bipolar? Borderline?
I could go on, but I won't. The details aren't important. I'll just say there were multiple mistakes made by people in the system. There were multiple missed opportunities. There are multiple possibilities for lawsuits. There won't be any lawsuits, though. The parents are exhausted. The truly sad part: on some level, they're relieved. Their living hell has ended. They have been grieving for years. In spite of all he put them through, they were devoted to him and never stopped loving him or seeking help for him. Last night they were so grateful-- because I understood. I have walked down a similar path. The only difference: I don't know where my journey will end. I hope mine has a different outcome, but there are no guarantees.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Monday, March 7, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Friday, March 4, 2011
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
I also know, from experience, that if I let it sit a while, the chunk soaks up some moisture, becomes softer, and clears more easily. Leaving the plunger in the toilet so that neither of us would use it until it was clear, I went to bed. I got up at 5:30 this morning and flushed the toilet to see if it had cleared. It hadn't. I began plunging again, and discovered that my plunging last night had had an impact. It had compacted the clog into cement, and water could no longer flow around it. The toilet began to overflow. I grabbed the lid off the tank and stuck two hands in to hold the flapper down and the shut-off up to stop the flow of water. I stood, there pondering my next step, when I remembered there should be a shut-off valve under the tank. I called Daughter. She answered with her standard, "Okay, I'm moving."
"No, right now! I need help!"
That actually got her moving.
"There's a knob under the toilet I need you to turn off."
She reached her hand into the tank.
She touched the bottom of the tank.
"NO, get down and look under the tank and find the knob!"
She got down and looked under, "This thing on the wall?"
"Yes, turn it."
She managed to stop the flow of water so I could let go of things and step away. I grabbed towels to soak up the lake we now had on the bathroom floor. "Go get a bucket." She scurried off and I grabbed the microfiber cloths I use for cleaning, spreading them around the floor.
When she returned with the bucket, I told her she needed to get down and mop up the water. She started picking up the cloths and dumping them in the bucket. "You're going to have to wring them out and reused them."
She obediently rang it out-- back onto the floor.
"No, in the bucket!"
I left the bathroom to leave her to clean up. I had to point out several areas she missed, but she got it done. She was shaken up by the fact water was dripping into the basement when she went in search of the bucket. She realizes it is her fault, and feels guilty. I asked her what she could do to prevent this happening again. She took some more of her clear lax this morning.
It was interesting to be reminded of some of her issues-- not understanding what under the tank meant, or grasping that she needed to wring the water out into the bucket.
I was reminded of my own disconnects after we got to the church. I had grown tired of wearing the church keys around my neck, so I've been keeping them in my pocket. This morning I took them out of my pocket and laid them down in my study-- and closed the door when I walked out. I'm waiting for Administrative Assistant to arrive and let me back into my study.
The library computer downstairs is password protected, so I couldn't get on it, but the computer on the AV desk in the sanctuary is locked by a hidden key, and I know the location of the hidden key, so I was able to get computer access while I wait. I like being in a high-tech church.
No, I'm not in a bad mood. I will call one of the saints with a background in plumbing in a little while and ask him if he could help clear the clog in my bathroom. I have a key in a box locked by a combination lock, so he can do it at his convenience (hopefully today). I choose to see the humor in all of this. Everything can be fixed, and hopefully Daughter learned something from this.
Sister Best Friend is on her way to do worship planning. It's going to be a good day, even after an interesting beginning.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
- She might really be sick, but she'd lied to me about being sick so many times to get attention, I didn't believe her.
- Her attempts to engage me by making herself sick were pushing me further away.
- I had set aside all Sunday afternoon and evening to do things with her, and she chose to sleep instead.
- Her current strategy isn't working.
- If she wants my attention, she'd be better off being cooperative and responsible, which makes her happy and gives me time to spend with her.
Once we got to the church, I realized I forgot to give her milk with breakfast, which meant she hadn't had enough carbs for the insulin I gave her. I handed her some crackers I keep in my office for lows to make up for the lack of milk. She refused to eat them.
I have informed her that I will not listen to her complaints about not feeling well that are a direct result of her refusal to take care of herself. (She also didn't brush her hair this morning). She has responded by "sleeping". She's ignoring me and unresponsive to anything I say to her this morning. I don't think I'll be very responsive when she starts texting and calling me today to tell me how sorry she is, or that she's really sick. I know that won't help, but I'm tired of the games.
She sees her new therapist again this afternoon. I hope she can get through to her, because I sure can't.
After I wrote and posted this, I read an email that sent me to this post. Think there's a message for me in there?