One part that I flash to and get lost in is the day after Mother's Day this last year. For months my son had been getting more and more belligerent, irrational, explosive and intense. I had spent most of Mother's Day in tears where he would cycle from screaming at me to crying and begging forgiveness and then back to screaming at me. He could not get a rational, straight thought in his head nor keep a conversation going. His thoughts were erratic and his behavior unpredictable. He had not slept for 7 weeks despite trying a multitude of sleep medicines. At one point, during the evening hours of Mother's Day he was begging for me to help him and I told him I had heard that if we took him to the E.R. that they would have to get him psychiatric help since we could not get a psychiatric appointment any sooner then months away. He agreed, in tears, got in the car. We drove to the freeway entrance and both started crying. I told him that if he could just get himself to bed then first thing in the morning I would get him to the pediatrician and the therapist and someone could help us. He agreed and went to bed, both of us exhausted.
The next day we went to the pediatrician who could do no more to help us then had already been done, gave us a number to call for a psych referral which we already had an appointment months away that could not be moved up or expedited. We went to the therapist for an emergency appointment. I sat out in my car while he went in to his session. The two of them were not in there for more then ten minutes before they came out together and walked over to my car. I had a sinking feeling....sort of the opposite feeling of thinking you might win the lottery today. The therapist told me that he feels it is imperative that my son go immediately to the ER, he was unstable and not sure he could keep himself safe.
To say that my heart sank would be a gross understatement. I've been through a lot wit this kid, autistic rage tantrums, lots of broken property, doctors, specialists, diagnosis, school battles and so on but there is no way to describe how awful it feels to process in your head that a mental health professional feels that your child is unsafe to take home with you. He asked me to agree to take my son immediately to the ER. I did.
What I flash back to is how I do not remember breathing after that agreement. If I did breathe, I would have cried and I needed to be strong to get my son help, to empower his honesty and courage to ask for help. I needed to process and hold my family together even though it felt like a scud missile just hit my heart and home and family. We drove to the local ER in sort of a surreal state of quiet. He was afraid to go but afraid not to go. I told him how proud I was of his courage to be honest and get help. He whispered, "I'm scared, Mom." I reached my hand over to his hand and in a very rare moment of our lives, he allowed me to break through his autistic tactile defensive wall and we held on to each other for a few minutes, hand in hand, grasping for hope, grasping for strength in each other as I tried with all my soul to let him know that I was not going to let go of him.
This was the first of six mental health hospitalizations,. This one did not involve an actual suicide attempt like the others did. This was the first and last time that I cried as soon as he was strapped on to the gurney and rolled away by the EMT's to be taken to the psych hospital and the release of him being out of sight created a burst of tears from deep in my gut. The shock, the horror, the fear, the confusion, the pain of the process, the exhaustion that vomited out of my body when he was out of my range.
I will never let go and I will hold on to him and to hope. I will work every muscle I have in my heart and soul to help him because I am his mother, I am his advocate, his warrior, his guide and teacher. I am so sorry for any other mothers who have walked a parallel path, and I've known a few who have followed me in to the same ER for their first times. I tell them the view from the frequent flyer seat now, how to find the more comfortable chair, who to ask for a warm blanket, where to find the coffee or juice and how to navigate the time and waiting between the process landmarks. I am now a frequent flyer and seasoned Mom of the autistic/bipolar world but I remember that reach, that grip, that invocaton of the first time. Like a flash back, I remember that first time.
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