Yesterday, it was one month since Brenna first came home. Amazing that it really doesn’t seem like a month - it seems like she never left in some surreal way. We are still adjusting - more than anything, Ailish is still adjusting, and to some extent, Kieran, but I feel like we’re still moving in the right direction. I realized today when I updated our Dry Erase calendar and could finally write “First Day of School,” that it was still 34 days away. This is when we get into the nitty gritty of things. The girls (with the exception of Kieran) have had their month of sleeping in, hanging out, enjoying their free time. Now, the boredom has set in. What’s funny is that last night at the Awards Ceremony for Jr. Lifeguards, the program team invited anyone in this session to come back to the next session, which starts on Monday. Kieran said no, she wanted to enjoy her summer (and she has swim clinics in the afternoons for the next two weeks, so it wouldn’t work out, timing-wise, anyway), but only a day into her “summer,” she’s already bored to tears. If we didn’t have those swim commitments in the afternoons, I’d take the opportunity over the next two weeks to make bigger outings - head to the beach, maybe to Melrose, or some other cool L.A. institution, maybe hit a museum, but those commitments come first. Her last clinic is on the 23rd, and I am having surgery on the 30th, which will knock me out for at least a week (but hopefully I’ll be upright for Brenna and Ailish’s orientations), and then we’re right back into the school stuff. I need to start brainstorming how to make the best of that week right now, but for the moment, we have to get through the next 13 days without all hell breaking loose.
If you’ve just found me through Michael Schofield’s blog, thank you. Thank you for all of the notes I’ve received over the past couple of days. I can’t believe my blog has been up and running for four tumultuous years. Michael and Susan have been through such a horrible time, and Jani’s situation is in some ways so much worse than ours. We definitely struggle with medications - Brenna has a tremor that will not go away, but without her meds, she can’t function, so it’s one of the things we trade off. But the Schofields are struggling with some huge issues of medication and long term hospitalizations that we have not had to deal with. I can only hope to give them as much information as I can about my journey, and to help them spread the word that these are true medical conditions we are dealing with, medical conditions that need more support, empathy and funding.
To that end, I was just looking back at my blog today, going back to June/July 2007. Because I did not want to make waves, I did not share the reason for my numerous trips to Texas that summer, the reason for Brenna and Ailish’s quick departure. But I shared that reason with Michael and Susan, and that is why their daughter is not in the placement my girls were in, the only placement that would agree to take Jani.
This placement, as I mentioned before, is in the middle of nowhere in Texas. It’s two hours from everything - Austin, Houston, San Antonio, Corpus - you name it, it’s in the heart of nowhere. This might seem a good location for kids who are out of control, given that they might think twice about running if there’s nowhere to run, but what I found is that the employment pool is not what you would hope for when you’re thinking about who will be caring for your children, day in and day out. I had some misgivings along the way, but mostly I thought things were going well. Until the day in June when I received a call from the girls’ case manager. She wanted to follow up with me about the incident. “What incident?” I asked as I pulled up to the elementary school to pick up Kieran. “You weren’t called about this earlier?” No, no I wasn’t. As it turns out, *four* days prior to this call, my girls had indeed been involved in an “incident.” One of the girls on their cottage had told them for months that she was psychic, which they had played off as no big deal. But then the girl told them that on my next flight out, my plane was going to crash, and they had to stop me from flying out. As Brenna told me later, she knew it probably wasn’t true, but what if she didn’t try, and I ended up dying? It broke my heart as she explained she’d never forgive herself if it had been true.
The three girls devised a plan to run during their pool time. The pool was an outdoor one, near the edge of the campus. While the girls ran laps drying off, the three of them, led by their “friend,” diverted away from the rest of the group. It wasn’t until one of the other girls in the group noticed the three of them missing that staff responded. Two of the staff members pursued on foot, while Brenna and Ailish and the other girl ran through the coarse wooded area barefoot. It was a few hundred yards before staff caught up with them. Ailish stopped, scared out of her mind, and Brenna slowed, but even though she slowed, the staff who caught up with her grabbed her by the hair and slammed her, face-first, into the ground. Her face was cut, from eye to chin, by a large branch. The other girl was thrown to the ground as well. On the way back to campus, as Ailish (who has no reason to lie for her sister, since she doesn’t like her and has nothing to gain from this) told me Brenna was repeatedly pushed or knocked into rocks, trees and branches, and when she tried to get up, staff would knock her back down and then scream at her to get up, asking her why she was resisting. She wasn’t resisting. This happened over and over and over again. When they finally got back to campus, got back to the van, staff literally *threw* Brenna into the van, where she hit the bar attaching the bench to the floor, leaving a huge bruise on her thigh. Ailish was unhurt - she was actually offended by this. “What? Didn’t they think I was running? I was doing it too!”
The girls were seen by a nurse who said Brenna’s injuries were, “consistent with those of someone running through the woods.” I don’t think so.
The staff who did this to the girls continued to work on the cottage over the next several days. The girls were afraid to tell me because they didn’t want staff to hear. They were terrified. When I found out from the case manager, who had been on vacation, she downplayed the whole thing, saying Brenna just had a few scratches, nothing serious, everything was fine. When I talked to the girls, their voices small and scared, I knew there was more to it than that. I immediately booked a full price flight out to Texas. I had to see for myself.
Brenna’s wounds, though five days old, were still deep. The gash on her face was still red and crusted, the bruises on her legs, arms and stomach were readily apparent. She looked as if she’d been beaten. She had. I took pictures, documenting everything. I was ready to fight this. I didn’t want these staff members ever near my daughters again.
The next day, armed with photos, I met with state investigators and with the administrators of the school. They interviewed the girls. I offered to give them photos - they declined. I told them everything I knew regarding the incident. I kept the girls at my hotel, trying to give them some semblance of security during my brief four days there. I was told the staff was on administrative leave, and regardless of what happened, they would never work on the same cottage as my girls again.
A few weeks later, I received a phone call that the matter had been, “resolved,” and that the state and the school had found no negligence or abuse on the part of the staff. I disagreed with both of those findings. They were clearly negligent in allowing the run to happen in the first place. They didn’t even realize the girls were gone until another girl told them, and had the girls been successful in their run, they would have found themselves in darkness, on a creek that housed alligators, among other things. As for the abuse, it was self evident. Whatever the girls did, Brenna did not deserve to be treated the way she was, and every single girl on her cottage witnessed the way she was brutally thrown into the van.
Still, the authorities found no cause of action, and reinstated the two employees involved, on the same cottage as the girls. This was devastating. My girls were terrified of these women, and yet they would be forced to be with them. They were clearly in an unsafe environment - it was definitely no longer therapeutic for them to be there.
My first instinct was to run and grab them from the school, but I also knew that I could not have them here. They still needed help, far more than I could give them. Yet, my heart was absolutely breaking. I made the decision for my girls to go to this school - I put them in harm’s way. I was responsible for the scars they were bearing. I went out the next weekend to spend time with them and explain that it was not okay what those staff had done, and that I was doing everything I could to change things.
I wanted to file a complaint with police, but Brad told me I probably wouldn’t have any case, especially not in Texas, where the “had it coming,” defense is still used to this day. My girls were just some other delinquents, not worthy of being treated with kindness or respect. Instead, I called the Department of Mental Health, who knew about the situation, and explained that my girls could no longer be there. They worked quickly to find new placements, but explained that the girls would most likely be split up. As difficult as it was to hear that, I knew the primary goal had to be getting them out of there.
Soon, we had beds available in San Francisco for Ailish, and in Denver for Brenna. I had no idea what I was looking for, or what was right versus wrong, what would work out for the best. That’s the hardest part about this whole placement situation. It *all* looks depressing - how do you separate that from the situation and decide whether this is a place you’d leave your child in someone (in a multitude of people’s) else’s care?
Ailish’s placement looked very depressing - it was an old, well-worn building, but at home, our doors had been knocked in, our walls had holes in them from the kicking, I knew what they could do. My sister-in-law and I asked lots of questions, and we heard all the right answers, and I loved the idea that she was in this state. Without many options (okay, no options), I said yes. With Brenna’s, I didn’t even look first, I just said go. I had seen the website for it and thought it looked like exactly what she needed. That whole week was a blur of movement, colored now by the threat of medical emergency, given the fact that I was harboring a dangerous blood clot the entire time. Even if I’d known then that I had the clot, I would have kept going. I was driven by a desire to get them out, get them out as quickly as possible, keep them safe, let them know I love them and I will never stop fighting for them.
When I picked Brenna up first, the absolutely hardest part was leaving Ailish. Even though I knew I’d be back three days later, I couldn’t stand leaving her there. I wanted to just take her home with me, keep her safe for those three days. But I also knew that the staff thought Ailish was cute, harmless, and that they wouldn’t hurt her, whereas Brenna was in more danger. I don’t think I have ever breathed a larger sigh of relief as when our flight left Texas, and I knew Brenna was going to a better place.
It would be her home for almost the next two years, and she *was* safe there. The location of the school, in the suburbs of a major metropolitan area, made it much more possible that staff would be selected not just for the fact that they were walking and talking, but also because they truly wanted to work with kids who had difficulties. I loved that they had a unit dedicated solely to working with out of control kids. I knew this was what Brenna needed.
As for Ailish, the school she went to gave me misgivings almost immediately, as she was attacked by another child with peanut butter - I know that sounds a little silly, but Ailish is deathly allergic to peanut butter, and the staff took a very nonchalant attitude towards it. She also had health issues that were never clearly addressed by staff - when I picked her up, I’d find out she was medically in a near-crisis state, and I would have to deal with that first before any kind of visiting could happen. The computers in the placement, touted as being completely safe, also became a vessel for other residents to introduce her to very adult subjects, something she brought home with her. I am still to this day convinced that something more happened to her there, but she will not talk about it. I only know that she brought home scars that lie much deeper than Brenna’s ever will. Was she ready to come home when she did? Absolutely not, but at that point, I had no choice. I had to get her out of that environment. I wish more than ever that what happened at home hadn’t happened, because it made Ailish feel like a failure, and it gave Kieran her own physical and emotional scars, but I didn’t have a choice. Something about these illnesses creates the most impossible choices imaginable. How do I pick one child over the other? How do I leave a child in a place where I’m not sure they’ll get the best care? Think about how much thought goes into hiring a babysitter - now imagine considering a whole group of people taking care of your child for months, even years, at a time. How do you know those people actually have your child’s best interests at heart? You don’t, and you never will. You can only say that the alternative is not livable. At the time, it truly wasn’t. We were in fear for our lives, we were in fear for their lives. We had no other choice but to remove them to another, more secure, more regulated placement. Now, we weigh the odds again. Are they “cured?” By all means, no. Will we ever be that happy family I once imagined? No. Can we avoid any more hospitalizations or placements? I have no idea. I only know that at the time, that was the only option we had. More than anything, I strongly believe that California needs its own placement options - ones that don’t require us to be destitute, on MediCal, or single parents. We shouldn’t have to relinquish our children to the state (as parents I know have had to do) just to get them the help they desperately need. It was a horrible feeling to know that my children were 1500 miles away - a three hour plane ride plus two hour drive plus two hour time change, that’s a whole day away - from any help we could provide them. Do I regret the scars they bear from their time in placement? Absolutely, but I cannot bear that on my own. Those scars belong to the institutions, to the people who refused to listen, who refused to bear witness to the photographs I produced, who refused to help them when they needed it the most.
I truly believe that the girls' last placement was the best. I believe that it was exactly what they needed, and ultimately, it has given them a lot of the skills they needed to make it in the real world. Will they use them? I won't know until August. But even with its flaws, it is the only placement I would recommend without question. No placement can substitute for a family, no placement can give a child the attention she would receive from her parents, but they got the big stuff right, and that's important.
Do I think this system is corrupt? No. I think this system is badly, badly broken. I think that most people view mentally ill kids as “bad” ones. Kids who can’t be fixed, so why bother? Is that the way we view pediatric cancer patients, or kids with CF, or with some other life-threatening illness? These kids deserve every chance that can be offered to them. There are shining examples of those who overcome mental illnesses to do great things - there are also examples of those who are incredible geniuses, eventually succumbing to the illnesses they fought for years to hold back. Our kids need every ounce of energy, every bit of money, poured into their futures. Because it’s not just about our kids succeeding - it’s about preventing useless tragedies, such as Columbine, Virginia Tech, Kip Kinkle, the list goes on. People may want to demonize the criminals in these cases, but they were every bit the kids who needed our help the most. Where was the help when they needed it? I don’t know - but I know I will do everything in my power to make sure my girls find their way in this world. I don’t know if I will succeed, but I won’t give up. I will never give up.
I found my way here from January First, and I've spent the past few days reading your story, your familiy's story.
I want to thank you for sharing your story. I had (still have) a mental illness as a young adolescent - severe anxiety and depression. I was hospitalized several times, once for 3 months. Reading your blog has given me a lot of insight into what my mom had to go through during that time. I was 12 when I went off the rails, and I caused so much fighting and drama in my family. I wasn't physically violent to others, but I was self-destructive and verbally abusive to my parents for years. At one point, a psychiatrist told me I'd probably be in and out of institutions for the rest of my life. (what a jerk!)
And through it all, my mom fought for me the way you are fighting for your daughters now. She spent countless hours on the phone with the insurance company, driving me to therapy, visiting me at the hospital - whatever it took. She wouldn't listen to anyone who tried to tell her I was just bad, spoiled, dramatic - she knew there was something more going on with me.
Most importantly, she always remembered who I was when I was healthy. She kept that memory for me when I couldn't remember for myself. She never stopped believing that I would find my way, and she made sure that I knew that she believed in me.
I am 36 years old now, married for 9 years and I have a little daughter of my own. I have had a long fight to find myself and to learn how to manage my illness and there have been many ups and downs, but I'm still here and my life is good. I just finished my associates degree and am working toward a BA in psychology. I have wonderful family and friends, and while I'm not totally free from depression or anxiety - I am a world different from who I was at 12, 14, 19 or 23.
I called my mom yesterday to thank her again for everything she did for me, and to apologize for what I put her through. Once again, she just said: You were sick, it wasn't really you. I am convinced that more than the doctors, the therapy or the medications, it was her love that pulled me back from the edge time after time.
Keep fighting for your girls, but take care of yourself too. And thank you again for your story.
Posted by: beansa | July 11, 2009 at 12:36 AM