WhitneyTo Be or Not To Be a Mother -Part Three
February 5th 2007 03:56
It was incredibly hard to get Josh to take his medications. The respiratory therapist, the nurses and the orderlies that helped were exasperated and looked at me as if I should be doing something to make him cooperate. Like I could somehow make this unreasonable toddler listen and do what he was supposed to. But I was responsible. They told me so and I knew it. It was all up to me. Fix it they said. Make this problem go away so they could do their job.
So I tried bribing Josh with food and toys. That didn’t work. I tried reading to him. That didn’t work. I tried raising my voice. That didn’t work. I tried hugging him. No go. I tried yelling, which also didn’t work but the staff made it clear that they did not approve of abusive parenting. Finally I tried reasoning with this stubborn 2 year old. What a useless joke. The staff reminded me that Josh was about to go home in a day and that if he didn’t get all his medications (all 4) three times a day, that he would die. That’s right they told me that if “I” couldn’t get him to take all these medicines (by myself since my husband would never take off work to help me) then he would die (they actually said this). And it would be my fault. They didn’t have to say the latter for me to know what they meant.
I was a mess so I called his pediatrician and I begged. I begged her to keep him in the hospital because it took two staff members and me to get the medicine in him and I didn’t want him to die if I couldn’t do it by myself. Then she angrily told me that I better get a grip and that she was releasing him because he was prone to hospital (staff) infections if he stayed longer.
By the time I got to the administrative offices to check Josh out and to settle his bill I was in a panic. My heart was racing, I could barely think, all I knew was that I was all alone, I had no one to count on and I was about to let my son die. What could I do?
I started filling out the forms to take Josh home and all of a sudden I burst into tears. “I should drive off a cliff,” I cried to the shocked lady (not a health professional) on the other side of the desk. “But I have to take my son and daughter with me because no one else will take care of them and I don’t want to leave them all alone and scared. That’s what I have to do.”
The woman was very soothing. And then she called in someone else. Soon I found myself in an examining room about to talk to a Psychiatrist. But before they came in my husband had arrived to take me and Josh home. They told him what I’d said and that they thought I should speak to “Someone” but he asked to speak to me first. He came in to the room and he was not happy. He didn’t yell at me but he didn’t hug me or tell me he’d be there to help me either. All he said was that when the Psychiatrist comes in I was to tell him whatever I had to so we could all leave. He didn’t say it, but I knew he wanted to get back to work as soon as possible.
So when the shrink came in, instead of bleeding my heart and confiding about how sad, empty and hopeless I felt I put on that smile that I knew everyone expected me to wear and I told him that I had just been a bit sleep deprived, but I was fine now. Then I thanked him and apologized for wasting his time. I was very good at pretending. I’d had a lifetime to hone that skill. After I cracked a few jokes to break the ice, he believed me and he left. And so did we.
So I tried bribing Josh with food and toys. That didn’t work. I tried reading to him. That didn’t work. I tried raising my voice. That didn’t work. I tried hugging him. No go. I tried yelling, which also didn’t work but the staff made it clear that they did not approve of abusive parenting. Finally I tried reasoning with this stubborn 2 year old. What a useless joke. The staff reminded me that Josh was about to go home in a day and that if he didn’t get all his medications (all 4) three times a day, that he would die. That’s right they told me that if “I” couldn’t get him to take all these medicines (by myself since my husband would never take off work to help me) then he would die (they actually said this). And it would be my fault. They didn’t have to say the latter for me to know what they meant.
I was a mess so I called his pediatrician and I begged. I begged her to keep him in the hospital because it took two staff members and me to get the medicine in him and I didn’t want him to die if I couldn’t do it by myself. Then she angrily told me that I better get a grip and that she was releasing him because he was prone to hospital (staff) infections if he stayed longer.
By the time I got to the administrative offices to check Josh out and to settle his bill I was in a panic. My heart was racing, I could barely think, all I knew was that I was all alone, I had no one to count on and I was about to let my son die. What could I do?
I started filling out the forms to take Josh home and all of a sudden I burst into tears. “I should drive off a cliff,” I cried to the shocked lady (not a health professional) on the other side of the desk. “But I have to take my son and daughter with me because no one else will take care of them and I don’t want to leave them all alone and scared. That’s what I have to do.”
The woman was very soothing. And then she called in someone else. Soon I found myself in an examining room about to talk to a Psychiatrist. But before they came in my husband had arrived to take me and Josh home. They told him what I’d said and that they thought I should speak to “Someone” but he asked to speak to me first. He came in to the room and he was not happy. He didn’t yell at me but he didn’t hug me or tell me he’d be there to help me either. All he said was that when the Psychiatrist comes in I was to tell him whatever I had to so we could all leave. He didn’t say it, but I knew he wanted to get back to work as soon as possible.
So when the shrink came in, instead of bleeding my heart and confiding about how sad, empty and hopeless I felt I put on that smile that I knew everyone expected me to wear and I told him that I had just been a bit sleep deprived, but I was fine now. Then I thanked him and apologized for wasting his time. I was very good at pretending. I’d had a lifetime to hone that skill. After I cracked a few jokes to break the ice, he believed me and he left. And so did we.
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