A Long Night in the Garden

Daybreak couldn't come soon enough.

Yesterday was one of those days

that will not be forgotten.

It started out rough

because I'd been worried about my Dean--

something was up,

my mother heart warned.

I didn't sleep well the night before,

thoughts dragged through my mind

kept me alert

as if on a watchtower.

The routines of morning kept me going,

small distractions really.

Then,

the phone rang.

And I knew.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood

as an agency social worker told me the news:

Dean was in the hospital.

He had a major psychotic breakdown at his day program

and had a police escort to the local hospital.

I noted which hospital,

made a couple of phone calls,

got myself together--

that took longer than one would think,

because I could not,

for the life of me,

make a decision about what shoes to wear!

Stupid. Time-delaying decision.

I ended up grabbing sandals

and heading out the door

towards the hospital for Dean.

In the car,

I prayed,

"Please let him be OK. Please tell me what I can do? 

Please save him."

I cried. I sobbed. I begged.

I re-traced all of the events that have led up to this moment.

I'd just had a meeting on Monday

discussing Dean's need for a medication check-up,

a neurologist appointment,

a psychiatry evaluation,

and everyone at that meeting agreeing 

it all needed to be done quickly,

yet lamenting about Medicaid's delays

in scheduling those appointments.

And here it was, 

twenty-four hours later,

the culmination of my worst fears.

I was met at the door of the ER

by Dean's day program director, Rob.

His eyes wide opened,

relating the awful events of the day

that led to Dean being placed on lockdown

in the Psych Unit.

Events so awful,

I felt the blood leave my head 

and had to sit down

or faint on the spot.

This is not my Dean.

This is not my son.

This is mis-managed drugs in his system.

This is the lesion on his brain that is inflamed

and still has not been addressed

since we found out about it in December!

Who is accountable here, the Psych Unit Intake Director asked--

the Agency case workers shrugged their shoulders,

casting their eyes around each other and at the floor.

I raised my hand,

"I am. I'm his mother. 

And while these other agencies were supposed 

to be making the appointments,

and caring for my son's needs, 

they didn't, so I should have.

He's my son."

The case worker guy offers the lame excuse

that Dean's hospital-stay-paperwork

was mis-filed--

the needed referral, lost.

So they didn't know.

Seriously, that's what the guy said.

Is it ok if I'm angry about that?

I didn't get to see Dean.

His attending nurse came out

and asked if any of us knew what would help

calm Dean down?

The other agency workers shook their heads 'No',

but I got her attention,

and dug into my pocket

to pull out a set of latex surgical gloves

that I had intentionally grabbed 

from under my bathroom sink

for Dean.

He loves those kind of gloves,

has, since he was a little boy,

and in my haste to leave the house,

I wanted to bring something,

anything,

with me for Dean--

"Here. He likes gloves. 

He wore a pair of these every day he was in the hospital

in December. I don't know why, but these make him happy."

Smiling, she took the gloves from my hands

and headed towards Dean's room.

My positive thoughts from this are that

hopefully, now,

Dean will get his meds adjusted,

get that appointment with a neuro that he needs,

and he'll be better.

I was told it would be better for me

to come home than to sit in the waiting room

and that when a doctor had evaluated Dean,

I would get a phone call.

That was 14 hours ago.

I held it together pretty good,

I think.

It wasn't until Kent came home from work

last night,

found me in the kitchen cleaning like a madwoman,

wrapped me into his arms

and held onto me,

that the dam burst forth with tears.

This is hard.

I have prayed on my knees,

in my car,

in the shower,

in my heart.

Returning again and again to the Garden,

I have lifted my sorrow to the heavens.

This morning,

I woke early,

but feel calm.

I can trust that for whatever reason(s),

this,

THIS experience is part of God's plan 

for my son, Dean

and me

and our family.

We are not alone today.

If you're so inclined,

prayers are appreciated.