Tag: mental health

On Thin Ice

Part 2 of An Unexpected Journey

Imagine life is like a frozen lake. You decide to walk out on the ice because you think it is solid. Unfortunately, you hear a cracking sound and feel the ice breaking. The ice is not as solid as it seemed.

We felt those cracks the summer of 2018.

Bay, (our 14 year old) wrote us a five page letter entitled “I Am Still Here”, but in reading an email I wrote to a friend the actual title was “I Am Alive”. In that letter our child told us about his past year and how he was suicidal, depressed and had made plans to kill himself. We were fortunate; Bay took pen to paper, that summer night of 2018, and wrote us the letter rather than taking his life. I was at our family cottage with my husband, eldest daughter, son, and my mother. The morning we read the letter we were in a state of shock and sadness, not knowing how to proceed. A friend of my mother’s telephoned my mom while we were trying to process this. My mom was crying when she answered the call. Our neighbor took it upon herself to come right down to find out what happened. She did not come because she was a gossip and busy body; she was the opposite of that. She showed concern. When she found out what Bay told us, she said: “Take him to the emergency room”. An answer that was staring us in the face, but I never considered a mental condition would be looked at in the ER.

We went to the ER, and they were a great help, but it was determined that Bay was no longer in danger of killing himself and he could go home. We saw a social worker every week, for four weeks, while were at the cottage.

The ice held steady.

When we got home from our time in Canada, it took us a long time to actually find somebody who had any availability to see Bay. He started seeing a therapist in October. Bay seemed OK. However, he hid what he was thinking and feeling from his therapist and from us.

Bay’s friend group changed that fall. A few more cracks formed.

By December of 2018 Bay looked like he was closing in on himself. He would come home from school and go to bed.  On the weekends, he barely got out of bed except to do routine things ( eat, shower, etc.).  I guess the fact he still had a semblance of routine was good, right? He would eat very little and then had junk food late at night. At the dinner table Bay would make himself as small as he could. I was the only person in the house he would have a conversation with.

More cracks in the ice, with open water ahead.

One afternoon, I took him out after school and told him I could see how much he was struggling. I let him know we were trying to find a psychiatrist because therapy alone was not working. Bay agreed that he needed medicine.

I called around to find a psychiatrist that would take our insurance. In December of 2018, just before Christmas, I made an appointment to see a psychiatrist in April. There was no availability to see this psychiatrist for four months! Meanwhile, his therapist knew nothing of what was going on. WE only knew what we saw.

The ice continued to break. But I had not fallen through.

In early January we found Bay’s journal. We discovered many things that might be contributing to his extreme depression and suicidal ideation. He had been depressed for almost two years. Until then, we really didn’t understand how dark things were for him.

You might ask why we didn’t take Bay to the hospital. I wish I could put myself back in that time to answer this question. Why didn’t we? All I can remember is that we were in crises and “walking on eggshells”. Bay wasn’t truthful about how he was feeling and we didn’t want him to know we had been looking in his room for answers. I do know we wouldn’t have been able to get Bay in the car, unless he agreed. To be admitted to a hospital for mental health reasons the person has to be able to say they are in danger of hurting themself; at least that is what we understood at the time.

I ran, I swam, I practiced yoga….This allowed me to sleep at night. Every morning I held my breath not knowing if my child had made it through the night; when I heard him move in his bed I would let out a sigh of relief.

At this point, I felt like I was on a thick piece of ice floating in the middle of an open lake.

I found a little support group of sorts with some women I met in yoga, along with someone I had known for 19 years. One of these women was going through something similar, one was a psychiatric nurse, and the others had been touched by severe depression in one way or another. I also had made another friend, a single mom and pastor, who was easy to talk to.

By late February/early March, my husband found Bay’s journal again and told him so. Everything was out in the open…

With the way our son was treating us, our home had become increasingly unhappy. He would yell at his father, tell us he hated us and to “fuck off”. I knew Bay said these things because he was hurting; no matter what was said, we loved him unconditionally.

My youngest daughter, who has the biggest heart, was beginning to suffer. I was sad all the time and my husband was hurting too. Luckily my eldest child was in her second semester of college and away from home.

In early February we went to our lawyer to change our will and prepare for what the future might hold. Tears came to my eyes and I started crying because I didn’t  know if my middle child  had a life ahead of him. Our lawyer gave us the name of a fantastic psychologist who had saved her daughter. I called the psychologist and left a message using our lawyer’s name. I discovered, at the time, it is all about who you know to get anywhere. A week later I had heard nothing back. Then a friend, who was (and still is) a school counselor gave me the name of the same psychologist. I called, using the names of both the women who recommended us to this psychologist and was called back right away. Unfortunately, we had to wait at least a month for an appointment.

I continued to float on my piece of ice.

In February and March we told Bay’s therapist (the one he started with in October) all the things we had found out, they finally started to make some headway. Really, it was too little too late. The last time they met, she finally suggested medication.

The first day we saw the new psychologist, she suggested we take Bay to an inpatient clinic right away. She didn’t know how he was still alive. Bay would have been admitted to the clinic, however there were no beds. We went to the ER. In an emergency room, if it’s determined a person is a danger to themself, they have an obligation to find that person a bed. After 9 hours between the inpatient clinic and then the ER, Bay came home with us.

My heart was heavy, I was constantly afraid of what I might wake to. I was still floating, but my piece of ice was shrinking.

The following week (mid April), we saw the psychiatrist that we had been waiting months to see, only to be told: “Did you know March, April and May are the highest months for suicide? I fully believe that Bay will need medication, but it may take several appointments to reach that point”. We were looking at the end of May before our son MIGHT be given medication. When Bay told his new psychologist this (on his third visit) she was appalled and suggested we pay out of pocket for a private psychiatrist. She gave us two names. I called both of them. Simultaneously, she gave them the heads up that I would be calling. We were seen within a week.

We saw the psychiatrist and Bay was put on Zoloft; a medication that starts on a low dose and takes some time to take effect.

Not quite a week later, My eldest called us in the middle of the night and said she was really worried about Bay. She had been sent pictures of her brother’s side of a Snapchat conversation. What Bay had said was extremely ominous. My eldest thought her brother might take his life that night. After I hung up the phone, I went into see my son. He said the crisis had passed for the night.  My eldest sent the pictures to me. I, in turn, sent them to both of his doctors.

In real life, the area of Muskoka, where our cottage is, was flooding and destroying property at this time. I was worrying about that along with what was happening here. My little piece of ice felt like it was being tossed in the flood.

We had an emergency visit with Bay’s psychiatrist the afternoon following the phone call from my eldest and an emergency visit with the psychologist the day after. When I say an “emergency visit”, it’s because there are certain times that are saved for a patient in crisis; he was in crisis. The psychiatrist put him on lithium, a medication that helps reduce the risk of suicide.

The lithium seemed to be working. However, there was still a long road ahead of us. 

The ice started to freeze over again; I felt safer.

A few cracks were heard along the way:

I was called about a finding on my mammogram; I went in for further testing and was fine. Then my mother fell and broke three ribs. She probably would have died if her significant other hadn’t been with her.

During this emotional turmoil I ran so I could breathe; went to yoga so I could focus; swam to allow the water to hold me up; and went to therapy so I didn’t drown if I fell through frozen water. Sometimes you don’t realize the how fragile life can be. Four years ago we were a family standing on thin ice, every day thinking it might break. Even now that life is fairly solid, I hear distant echoes of the ice cracking.

Author’s notes:

In May of 2019 I wrote an email to a friend to explain what I had been going through since the summer of 2018. This story is taken from the “letter” I wrote, hoping to paint a picture of why my year had been so incredibly hard. For those of you who have not read The Beginning- An Unexpected Journey, this story summarized some of it. The name of my child has been changed.

If you or someone you know is experiencing a mental health related crises, please call 988 or chat with somebody at https://988lifeline.org/ . Suicide is a leading cause of death in the United States; if you are reading this story from another country and have a help line to add, please share it in the comment section.

Then The Quiet: The Little Things Chapter 4

Part 5 of An Unexpected Journey

(Unedited)

2020 started out on a positive note when Bailey decided to embrace “new year, new you”. We were told she was starting to do what she needed to do to help herself. Although I didn’t go to Los Angeles for a month following this news, the improvement in Bailey’s mood and spirit was evident through our phone calls and therapy sessions. When I reached the residence on Saturday, February 1st, one of the parents (who I had become friendly with) said: “You will be amazed by how much Bailey has changed!”. I was stunned! Before the new year, during Saturday morning family sessions, Bailey sat with her hoodie pulled up and barely spoke a word. That morning, in the parent/child group, Bailey was engaged and talkative, offering constructive comments and insights on herself and others; things had definitely improved! About a week after my visit, she moved from the residential treatment center back to the extended care house.

In mid-February, my husband youngest daughter and I went to visit Bailey. On the flight out to California, there was a medical emergency on the plane. We didn’t make an extra stop, nor did we find out what was wrong with the woman. In hindsight, I feel maybe it was the beginning of what was to come….

The first morning in LA, while Bailey was in school, we spent some time on Venice Beach. I don’t recall what we did with Bailey that weekend, most likely a road trip and a movie; the fact that I don’t remember means that it felt natural and good.

My next trip to LA was by myself, at the beginning of March. There were rumors that things were going to shut down because of something called the Coronavirus. I was worried that the planes in California were going to be grounded. Arrangements were made with my sister, that if my flight was canceled, I would drive my rental car to San Francisco to stay with her family; this was something small I could do to give me peace of mind. With the assurance that I had somewhere to go in case the inevitable happened, my weekend out west was thoroughly enjoyable.

A little thing I always did on my trips to LA was add some extra time just for me; this trip was no exception. After a morning swim on Friday, I spent time exploring a new area to me: Marina del Rey.

That evening, after family therapy, Bailey snd I went to dinner at a sushi restaurant where we tried sea urchin. Later, after a trip to Target, she showed me an area she liked to view at night.

On Saturday, we drove up the PCH to Santa Barbara to see the old mission. The two of us spent a really great weekend together!

By the time I visited in early March, our middle child had made such progress that we would be able to have an overnight with her on our next visit. If the overnight was successful, a weekend together was the next step. I started planning to venture farther than LA. The prospect of taking Bailey out of the city was exciting! At the end of our time together, when my goodbyes were said to my middle child, I didn’t realize it would be several months until we saw her (in person) again. Three days after I arrived home, it was evident that the world was going to close down: the stores were packed and an announcement was made that public schools were going to close. Then, for me, the quiet came and the world stopped…

Dark Days: Chapter 3 of The little Things

Part 5 of An Unexpected Journey

In December of 2019, as the days grew shorter, we realized Bailey wasn’t getting better; in fact, she was worse than we thought. Our middle child was put on new medicines, but these would take some time to start working. If it was within my means, I would do anything to help my middle child. Besides going to LA and spending time with our daughter, there wasn’t much more that I could do. Speaking with my therapist, she suggested I talk with someone she knew who might be able to help: a holistic healer. My thoughts were skeptical, but needing to do something, I reached out to this woman who said she could help heal my child from a distance. Perhaps this was an aspiration. However, if a little thing would help Bailey, maybe this was it. I still had hope. The holistic healer was hired, and the first appointment was held on December 12. When the session ended, I asked how long it would take to see a change in Bailey. The answer “about 3 weeks”.

As we moved toward winter solstice, darkness slammed into us. My husband and I were told we would need to look for a long-term residential treatment center for our child. Again, this was taking us down a path unimagined.

What would a long-term treatment program look like? This was something I needed to know, but didn’t want to find out what it entailed. We received this information mid-December. I was trying my hardest to plan a nice a trip out west for Christmas. A hotel had been booked: a room for my oldest and youngest daughters and a room for my husband and me; it was in a good location near stores and restaurants and within walking distance of the residence where Bailey was living. I had made reservations for a late lunch on Christmas Day, at a Jewish deli, as it was the one restaurant in the area that was open. My sister and her family were hoping to drive down from San Francisco to LA the day after Christmas to be with us for part of our time out west……would Bailey still be in California?

We kept our reservations and had our fingers crossed that everything would come together as planned. Gifts had been bought, but our most important tradition of making Christmas cookie hadn’t been completed. When my first born arrived home from college she took the reins and made sure we had Christmas cookies for us to decorate.

Our search for a long term treatment center had barely begun when the Christmas holiday was upon us. Bailey stayed in California. We arrived the day before day Christmas. The week we spent in the San Fernando Valley was excruciating at times. Bailey was very unstable; all she wanted to do was to go home and kill herself. Luckily my sister, her husband, and their two teenage boys came down the evening of December 26 and added the distraction my oldest and youngest daughters needed. Although I enjoyed our times as a nuclear family, before and after the arrival of my extended family, Bailey’s sisters needed more than just my husband and me. I found solace during my early morning swims (in the 40° darkness under the stars, with only the pool lights to see onto the deck). However, the arrival of my sister’s family also added the extra layer of levity I needed…

Christmas week in pictures

On New Year’s Eve we came home from California. Either that night, or New Years’s day, we received a call from Bailey’s therapist: she had turned a corner. She had decided to embrace “new year, new you” and was starting to do what she needed to do to help herself.  Whether it was the new medicines taking effect, the support she received from her extended family or something else, we will never know. Perhaps the strength that had allowed Bailey to stay alive all of this time, through the years of depression, had finally come through in full force. Whatever it was, the stars aligned and we were so thankful!

I Didn’t Break: Chapter 2 of The Little Things

Part 5 of An Unexpected Journey

In early August, many of our conversations focused around Bailey going to an extended care program before coming home; this would be with the same treatment center. At one point, Bailey said, “the only reason you think I should go is because it is better for you”.  I tried to explain how it would be a good segue from residential care into normal life: we wanted her to have a healthy transition so that she would be in the best place possible when she came home. Frankly, I wasn’t sure Bailey was ready to come home. She had a way of misleading people into believing all was well when it wasn’t….in the end Bailey moved to extended care.

I missed Bailey, but maybe her words “it would be better for you” rang true. Perhaps knowing she was somewhere safe was what I needed to focus on my own healing; it hadn’t occurred to me how the “trauma” from my past had taken a toll on me. Actually, I hadn’t thought of all the hard things I went through as trauma. Late in the summer, as schools were already in session, I realized that running, swimming, yoga and talk therapy were only helping me feel a little better. Were the tears that were always ready to flow partly due to my changing hormones? Mid September was the time when I had my women’s wellness check. Sobbing when I saw my gynecologist of 21 years, my story was told. She put me put me on Zoloft. I also started energy healing along with traditional therapy. The Zoloft calmed the anxiety I felt for my middle child. Energy healing helped me let go of things I was holding deep inside myself.

October began with my mother, husband, youngest daughter and me flying to LA to celebrate Bailey’s 16th birthday. The weather was beautiful! We were staying in a new area of LA. Our first full day was without our middle child. We spent a good part of that day at the Getty Museum.

We picked up Bailey on Saturday morning and she appeared to be doing well. There seemed to be enthusiasm about spending her down time with us: driving around the city; taking in a museum; hanging out and playing cards.

The Museum of Death was the place of interest that we decided to visit with Bailey. Permission was given from the treatment center. In hindsight, this might not have been the best choice.

Her grandmother treated us all to a wonderful dinner to celebrate Bailey’s birthday. One afternoon we brought cake to the hotel. Then our time with Bailey was over for awhile…my next trip was not for a month.

When the leaves on the trees started their transformation from greens to the bright autumn hues, my mindset also began to change. The weekend before Halloween I took a solo trip to visit my eldest daughter, who was a Sophomore in college; this was I knew something had altered for me. I had planned my weekend around long walks with and without my daughter. For a few weeks I hadn’t been running because my knee had been bothering me, so a hotel with a pool had been booked. I arrived on a Thursday night. Friday morning I met my daughter for breakfast. My plans were set for the day: first breakfast, then a long walk to make returns that I hadn’t had time to do at the stores near home. The walk was at least five miles round trip. After breakfast I said goodbye to my adult child until that evening. The day was beautiful and very warm for a fall day in Massachusetts. Enjoying my walk, I was about a mile from the stores when my knee buckled and took me down to the ground. With the pain surging through my knee I sat on someone’s stairs in the middle of Somerville, MA. Eventually the pain lessened. I got up and decided to hobble the rest of the way to Assembly Row. Once I reached the the Mystic River, near the shops, I calmly installed the Lyft App, then went into the stores to return my things. The 2.5 mile walk back to the parking garage where my car was parked wouldn’t be happening.

Although, I was in pain and spent a good part of the afternoon icing my knee and resting, a satisfaction of sorts settled over me: with the exception of not having a great walk, everything I set out to do had been accomplished. An appointment with the orthopedic surgeon was made. Also, I learned how to use a Lyft. The last thing may seem extremely small, but every time I learn something new I hear my dad’s voice in my head: “It’s good to learn something new every day”.

That evening, I met my daughter and her boyfriend, at the university, and walked into town for dinner. Sadly, the dinner was interrupted; it was necessary to talk with someone at Bailey’s treatment facility. Once again, my thoughts were divided between the conversation at the dinner table and my concern for my middle child out west. For the second time, I felt sad that the small amount of time I had to get to know my daughter’s significant other was interrupted. Although I knew my child in LA was going back to in treatment care, my college age daughter and I enjoyed the rest of our weekend together. We took a road trip on Saturday to Marblehead. Sunday we met for brunch, then I made the long drive home in the pouring rain.

Between my weekend drive to Massachusetts and my flight at the end of the week to LA, I was able to see the orthopedic surgeon about my knee. On my visit I was informed that there was “severe arthritis behind each knee cap”. My main question of the doctor was “Will I be able to run anymore?” He gave me a look and said, “What do you think?”. Obviously the answer was “no”. “Just another ending, another thing to mourn”, was my thought that fall day. I had been running for 33 years. I was not old, just 51, but I had known for a long time my knees would give up on me. For so many years I ran through worst things to happen in life. I could’ve railed against the unfairness of this news, along with everything else that was happening/ had happened in my life. Walking through the hard things and stopping to face them was something I knew could be done. As much as it hurt to stop running, I didn’t break. There was pleasure taken in my growth to be able to stand up to the bad; this is how recognizing joy the little things began for me: to take something negative and find the positive…..

The Beginning-An Unexpected Journey (Part 2 Of The Summer That Could Have Been Idyllic)

Everything was going well the summer of 2018. Having just arrived in Canada after a wonderful trip to Alaska, I was at the cottage with my husband, two oldest children, and mother. My youngest daughter was at camp.  We were in the one place that has always brought me happiness: Muskoka;  a wonderful place to continue an already idyllic summer. Life, however, has a funny way of sneaking up on you.  Just when you stop holding your breath waiting for the next bad thing to happen,  you are hit hard. The path you thought you were taking changes course completely.

The day started like any other. I was getting ready for an early morning run because I was training for a half marathon, the first in many years. Outside, the sun shone bright; we were promised a beautiful day ahead. My husband had been over at the cottage. I heard him walk up the stairs and enter the bunkie (the rooms over the boathouse where the two of us were staying). When he walked into the room, I heard him say: “Bay is ok, he’s asleep, but we have a problem”. Confused and readjusting my thinking, I sat down on the couch.  

As my spouse sat down beside me, I was handed a letter my son had written the night before. The only words I remember are “I’M STILL HERE”. The letter went onto explain the depression and plans of suicide that he had over the last few years. My middle child had planned to take his life the night before, but instead wrote us a letter. We were lucky. 

I was stunned and in shock. My husband and I both were. Over the last year we had asked Bay to talk with us, but he kept insisting everything was “FINE”.  My middle child did not want to let us know just how much he was suffering. Everyone has their breaking point. The point that tips someone over the edge can be something that others would find insignificant, but to that person it is everything.  Bay had reached the edge and was at a critical point.

Memory is a funny thing. Sights, sounds, smells, and music are among the things that can trigger a part of your brain that pulls a vision from the past, forward. Sometimes it is the wind blowing, with undercurrents of cold, or the way the sunlight plays upon the landscape that allows me to recall years gone by. When I think about that day just over four years ago, I remember the numbness. For me time stopped and I didn’t know what to do…..

How should we proceed? Would the correct thing be for both my husband and I to take Bay home? With both our daughters in Canada, maybe one parent should stay at the cottage and the other take our son back to the states…..we went over many scenarios about what to do for our child. In the end, the answers was staring us right in the face, but it never even occurred to me.

That morning while, Bay was still asleep, we went over to the cottage and told my mother what had happened. We all sat, with tears in our eyes, while we talked about the best path forward. Suicide was not new to my family: my aunt was schizophrenic and took her life in the late 1960’s, then my dad took his life in the September 0f 2010.

The phone rang, it was our neighbor. My mother automatically picked up the phone, although she was too choked up to talk. The friend on the other end of the phone line knew something was wrong. Down the road our neighbor drove in her golf cart. When she walked into our cottage, she asked my mother what was wrong. Our neighbor was told what had happened. This no nonsense woman looked directly at me and said: “take him to the emergency room”.  If my child had an accident or was extremely ill physically, I would have done just that.  For a mental health condition, it never occurred to me that an emergency room would be the right place to go. The advice was taken. We woke Bay up, grabbed him something to eat, then headed into town.  The whole way to the hospital I asked myself: “Is this my fault?”; “Has DNA been the cause of Bay’s suicidal ideation?”; “Did I make a mistake in finally telling my two youngest children, just the summer before, how their grandfather died?”.   These thoughts circled, around in my mind.

Once we arrived at the emergency room we were seen quickly. The morning was long however, with all of us being spoken to: Bay by himself, then my husband and I together, then the three of us. We needed to give the history of our family’s mental heath issues.  My family had the conditions that were known, so my part in the discussion with the doctor and social worker were detailed and tiring. Little did I know this would not be the last time I told of my family’s past.

The morning turned into early afternoon. In the end, it was determined that our son was safe to return to the cottage with us. Weekly we drove to town, Bay would meet with social worker that he felt comfortable with. Calls were made, and mostly unanswered, to find a therapist for him to see when the summer ended and we were home. For the time being our middle child was free from self harm.

That summer I needed to talk. Not having a therapist to talk to, I was fortunate to have a life long friend that I could confide in. We took some long walks together. During one of these excursions, she said to me: “you are only as happy as your saddest child”.  For months, those words felt solid and true. This morning, four summers later, I look over the calm lake and think about how far this unexpected journey has taken me….

Authors note: As a mother, I feel fortunate to have a strong bond with all three of my children.  Each relationship is different, yet wonderful. This story, although mine, surrounds my middle child. For those of you who do not know me, the name of my second child has been changed to “Bay”, to protect their privacy. As this is a story of my experience, it will be continued, most likely with other stories in between.  Keep reading to find out where this journey leads. Perhaps my story will help some of you.