Living IS possible

She cried a little, but mostly out of habit. I sent her to her room to think about it while I showered and then had her help pack. This was different than November 2009 when I packed her and piled her into the van, drove her 3 hours to the RTC and told her after intake that she was staying. In that instance, it was the best option. This time?

This time after she had a 10 minute pout session in her room she was smiling, singing, happy, relaxed and content; the most contented I've seen her in months. She's actually at a hospital this time and it is an hour closer with in-person therapy sessions only mandatory once a month.

Sissy ... is gone.

I met a few of her floor mates when we were in the clinic doing vitals. Oh yeah, these girls are her speed I thought. I met the therapist and M.D. briefly. Oh yeah, these women know their stuff. No triangulation happening here. A much more appropriate placement providing significantly more clinical care.

Sissy ... is gone.

I spent the night with my cousin who lives just a 45 minute drive away. It was nice to crash. I'd driven straight home from Orlando, repacked my bag, refueled the van and departed 12 hours after I'd returned home. My eyes were wiggling in my head from all the road time. And let's not discuss my achey-breaky bum.

This morning I returned to the hospital to do a two hour intake on Sissy's social history. I spared nothing and the therapist only flinched a little when I told her about the dissociations, multiple personalites and schizophrenic activity we'd seen in the last six months. She didn't screw up her nose when I told her that at this point in the game, I educate the professionals. She chimed in, "which confounds your struggle because we're the ones that are supposed to help. and we can't."

Wow. Yeah.

I explained that at discharge, they will send Sissy home to a vast wasteland; unsupported, no respite, no therapy, nothing. I told her how we are washed up, at the end of the road, that the only choices left are to consider placement of some form. She still didn't flinch.

This chick's good I thought. she's seen crap.

She was impressed by my ability to assume just a caregiver role and to be emotionally OK with that. She was glad to hear that we've already processed so much of our grief about Sissy. She was ecstatic that I'd just come from a weekend with other women that have kids like this (RIGHT? Because she has NO idea how awesome it is to be with women that have BTDT. She can say all day how awesome it is but she doesn't KNOW know.)

She even admitted that her role as a professional never compares to a parent's role because they are staffers with hours and can tap out when a patient is overwhelming them. She understood that being "in it" 24/7 is a whole other ball of wax.

Sissy ... is gone.

How long? The next huge question on everyone's lips. AB wouldn't quit asking until I'd given him a number. I don't really have a number. The issue becomes just how hard Sissy plays the "perfect patty princess' card. No behaviors = no treatment necessary, regardless of social history. The therapist knows this is how kids do. It can't be helped. Sissy can't be forced to show her crap. And Sissy knows how to hide it, has the patent on how to hide one's mental illness crap.

Driving home was euphoric despite the deluge that forced me to get off the interstate twice. Picking up WG and AB was exciting. "Oh dear!" I pretended to be worried, "I forgot to bring Sissy home!" WG looked puzzled at first and then as if on cue we both shouted, "because she's at the HOSPITAL!" then squealed and laughed and giggled and hugged and kissed. So much fun.

Sissy ... is gone.

Ten tons has been lifted off my shoulder. I have insane amounts of energy and time as if an hour has been elongated to 120 minutes. I had no clue how much Sissy's issues were stealing and oppressing. Such an eye opener.

Sissy ... is gone.

I can't even fake sadness. I haven't been this happy in a very long time. WG and AB were delighted. The Dad came home to super on the stove and coffee in the pot. No one was screaming. I wasn't stressed. Homework was done. AB and WG were engaging in free time activities. Magic.

Living is possible ... if Sissy is gone.