On Thursday, the family therapy session that was scheduled to be done by phone was bumped to Friday evening. Our plans to do a family session at the hospital on Sunday with AB and WG present (for the first time) had not been changed. By Friday evening, thirty minutes after the scheduled family phone session was to have occurred, the phone finally rang ...
yeah. dot dot dot
because that's the story of my life with mental health services.
We did the family therapy session, The Dad and I on the house phone, WG and AB running around playing, begging for food and being shushed. WG doesn't like being shushed, fyi. That is to say, she gets down right angry. Then, as we wrapped up the session the therapist says, "oh, by the way, I just found out, this is our last family session together. I will no longer be working with your family effective immediately. The hospital has hired a new unit director who begins on Monday."
I paused. Dumbfounded. We had be asked by many on our various therapy teams to do a full family session at the hospital so the staff could get a better picture of our family dynamics, which include another impaired child. We finally set up one such appointment, which requires driving 140 miles one way with AB who is NOT a happy traveler and at 6 pm on a Friday evening, less than 48 hours from said scheduled visit, the hospital changed staff. "Oh, you can still do your birthday celebration with Sissy as you planned, we just won't be having a session."
"So... staff will not be overseeing our visit, no one will be with us getting a glimpse of how our WHOLE family interacts when Sissy is added to the mix?"
"No. Sorry about that. I just found out myself just a little while ago. *slight awkward chuckle*"
*expletive expletive expletive expletive expletive expletive expletive*
No, I didn't say them out loud. I'm a good girl that way.
Sunday came and we celebrated my birthday with Sissy in a 7x12 therapy play room that was riddled with sand and broken toys. Sissy barely interacted with us with the exception of WG whose time she monopolized. She was bored while I opened presents, made an insane mess with the cupcakes but at least she sang happy birthday to me. (A first, I believe)
She also colored a folder, picture and card for me. It was clear she worked very hard and I thanked her generously. She wrote:
Happy Birthday Mommy I *heart* you very much and I wish you the best! Sincerly [sic], Sissy S.
I read the card out loud and WG said without missing a beat, "How do you even SPELL 'sincerely'?!"
I must confess, it's odd to have your daughter sign a card with "sincerely" followed by her first name, middle initial and last name. But still, it's pretty. And she HAS wished me the best. Admittedly, that's pretty standard speak for an eleven year old, complete wit Just!n Be!ber sticker on the front. lol
The drive was tedious, there is construction on the one and only interstate that takes us from our city to the metro area where Sissy's hospital is located. AB managed better than I figured and as a whole, outside of the therapy debacle (what else is new?) I'd have to report that my 37th birthday went rather nicely.
Today, we meet the new therapist via phone session.
dot dot dot