I feel like we're starting a new chapter in this journey of sobriety. I use the design of my blog to reflect how I feel, what we are going through, and the black with red text no longer feels right.
Rather than change the design though, which changes the design for all the postings, I would prefer to start fresh.
Please continue this journey with us at http://search4mysmile2.blogspot.com/.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Saturday, October 8, 2011
turning the corner and seeing the light
How time flies... Yesterday my daughter was discharged from IOP (Intensive Outpatient Program). What normally should have taken six to eight weeks barely lasted four, and she went only a few times those last couple of weeks. A couple of major things took place that brought IOP to an abrupt end.
First, school started at the end of September. My daughter is doing an online high school program that was supposed to be totally flexible and allowed her to move at her own pace. It is not and it does not. There are online sessions that she needs to attend each day and if she misses, she has to watch a recording of the session, which is considerably less fun than actually participating. So once classes started, my daughter was totally stressed about having to spend four to five hours each day in IOP and falling further and further behind.
Then she came down with bronchitis - most decidedly caused by stress - and so she stayed home for almost an entire week.
But the clincher was IOP itself. In a Partial Hospitalization Program (PHP), clients (aka patients) go to the program for eight hours a day where they eat two meals and two snacks and participate in group therapy. For IOP, clients are there from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. where they have lunch and eat the two snacks and participate in one group therapy session with the PHP kids. So in IOP, you are with kids who are in the early stages of their recovery.
My daughter has come so far in these short few months that it was extremely frustrating for her to have to sit there for four hours a day, doing therapeutic exercises that she had already done, listening to people talk about problems she feels she has overcome. Especially since it meant that she was falling further behind in school. On Monday, as we were driving home that first day (after she had been off a week for illness and school had already started), she burst into tears and begged me not to make her go back.
As a parent, I agreed that she had progressed way beyond what she was getting in IOP and understood her frustration. But as a former nurse, I also know that mental health patients often stop treatment as soon as they start feeling better, which in most cases is detrimental to their healing. And so, in that moment, I told her she had to go back until the therapist told her she would be discharged. This released what I can only call a rant, a non-stop stream of irrational talking where she could not hear anything I said to her. It was the kind of thing that preceded her hurting herself in the past.
So I asked her, told her, "I need to know, when we get home, are you going to do something to hurt yourself?" And to her credit, my daughter answered honestly: "I don't know. I want to" and then she resumed her rant. I tried to talk to her, but she would not hear me so I turned the car around to head back to the hospital. When she realized what I was doing, she stopped talking, promised she would not do anything to hurt herself. It took several minutes but we finally got to the point where we could talk about her frustration and constructive ways to deal with it.
In the end, she decided to call M, her Narcotics Anonymous sponsor (I'll write more about her another time). Unfortunately M was at work and could not talk right then but she gave my daughter the phone number of another one of her sponsees and encouraged her to call. My daughter called and 20 minutes later, she was calm and back to her usual self.
I called her therapist the next day and we decided that this would be her last week of IOP and she would only have to come in one more day (Friday, which was yesterday) so that she could be officially discharged from the program.
I feel like we have been in a maze, finding our way in the dark, but we turned a corner and suddenly, I can see the light shining through the exit.
First, school started at the end of September. My daughter is doing an online high school program that was supposed to be totally flexible and allowed her to move at her own pace. It is not and it does not. There are online sessions that she needs to attend each day and if she misses, she has to watch a recording of the session, which is considerably less fun than actually participating. So once classes started, my daughter was totally stressed about having to spend four to five hours each day in IOP and falling further and further behind.
Then she came down with bronchitis - most decidedly caused by stress - and so she stayed home for almost an entire week.
But the clincher was IOP itself. In a Partial Hospitalization Program (PHP), clients (aka patients) go to the program for eight hours a day where they eat two meals and two snacks and participate in group therapy. For IOP, clients are there from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. where they have lunch and eat the two snacks and participate in one group therapy session with the PHP kids. So in IOP, you are with kids who are in the early stages of their recovery.
My daughter has come so far in these short few months that it was extremely frustrating for her to have to sit there for four hours a day, doing therapeutic exercises that she had already done, listening to people talk about problems she feels she has overcome. Especially since it meant that she was falling further behind in school. On Monday, as we were driving home that first day (after she had been off a week for illness and school had already started), she burst into tears and begged me not to make her go back.
As a parent, I agreed that she had progressed way beyond what she was getting in IOP and understood her frustration. But as a former nurse, I also know that mental health patients often stop treatment as soon as they start feeling better, which in most cases is detrimental to their healing. And so, in that moment, I told her she had to go back until the therapist told her she would be discharged. This released what I can only call a rant, a non-stop stream of irrational talking where she could not hear anything I said to her. It was the kind of thing that preceded her hurting herself in the past.
So I asked her, told her, "I need to know, when we get home, are you going to do something to hurt yourself?" And to her credit, my daughter answered honestly: "I don't know. I want to" and then she resumed her rant. I tried to talk to her, but she would not hear me so I turned the car around to head back to the hospital. When she realized what I was doing, she stopped talking, promised she would not do anything to hurt herself. It took several minutes but we finally got to the point where we could talk about her frustration and constructive ways to deal with it.
In the end, she decided to call M, her Narcotics Anonymous sponsor (I'll write more about her another time). Unfortunately M was at work and could not talk right then but she gave my daughter the phone number of another one of her sponsees and encouraged her to call. My daughter called and 20 minutes later, she was calm and back to her usual self.
I called her therapist the next day and we decided that this would be her last week of IOP and she would only have to come in one more day (Friday, which was yesterday) so that she could be officially discharged from the program.
I feel like we have been in a maze, finding our way in the dark, but we turned a corner and suddenly, I can see the light shining through the exit.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
a teenager's perception of time
Yesterday we had an appointment with a nurse to do the initial assessment for admission to the treatment center where my daughter will be doing IOP. The nurse was asking questions like, "When was the last time you used drugs? How much did you use? When was the last time you purged? How often did you purge?" To which my daughter replied over and over again, "I don't know. It was so long ago" or "That was forever ago." I couldn't help but smile. It was a little over two months ago.
Then last night at the NA meeting, I overheard my daughter talking to someone about how she has had SO MUCH THERAPY, she is sick of it. (It's been five weeks.) Again, I couldn't help but smile because she was talking to a young woman who is being treated for serious anorexia, which involves months and months of residential treatment and years of intense therapy.
This seems to be very typical of how teenagers think, or maybe it is just the way my drama-queen-daughter thinks. Time does not consist of 86,400 seconds a day, 365 days a year for her the way it does for me. The ED therapist was telling me about how my daughter was talking about wanting to play volleyball (as a way to get some exercise) and then she jumped to how important it was for her to keep up her skills so that she can get a scholarship to college and then get a good job and live a good life. She will talk about finishing high school and going to community college and then to UCLA all in the same breath.
On the one hand, I think it is charming and funny. She is talking about good things and looking forward to life. On the other hand, I can see how it can be overwhelming when it looks like forever is around the corner and it seems like things will never get better. It gives new meaning to the AA/NA/Al-Anon mantra, "One day at a time."
Today is supposed to be an uneventful, quiet day at home (unless insurance authorization comes through and my daughter ends up going to IOP). Our goal is to focus on and enjoy all 86,400 seconds of it.
Then last night at the NA meeting, I overheard my daughter talking to someone about how she has had SO MUCH THERAPY, she is sick of it. (It's been five weeks.) Again, I couldn't help but smile because she was talking to a young woman who is being treated for serious anorexia, which involves months and months of residential treatment and years of intense therapy.
This seems to be very typical of how teenagers think, or maybe it is just the way my drama-queen-daughter thinks. Time does not consist of 86,400 seconds a day, 365 days a year for her the way it does for me. The ED therapist was telling me about how my daughter was talking about wanting to play volleyball (as a way to get some exercise) and then she jumped to how important it was for her to keep up her skills so that she can get a scholarship to college and then get a good job and live a good life. She will talk about finishing high school and going to community college and then to UCLA all in the same breath.
On the one hand, I think it is charming and funny. She is talking about good things and looking forward to life. On the other hand, I can see how it can be overwhelming when it looks like forever is around the corner and it seems like things will never get better. It gives new meaning to the AA/NA/Al-Anon mantra, "One day at a time."
Today is supposed to be an uneventful, quiet day at home (unless insurance authorization comes through and my daughter ends up going to IOP). Our goal is to focus on and enjoy all 86,400 seconds of it.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
the madness has been temporarily postponed
We found out that today's appointment was only an assessment. My daughter will start IOP either tomorrow or Monday. (I'm hoping for Monday!)
Oh yayyy!! I'm enjoying these few, short hours at home, made all the sweeter because it was unexpected.
Oh yayyy!! I'm enjoying these few, short hours at home, made all the sweeter because it was unexpected.
gearing up for the madness
It turns out IOP is four hours a day, Monday through Friday. (sigh...)
Today we have to head east 30 minutes to go to IOP, then four hours later, head west 60 minutes to pick up my son from school and spend the evening with him. Then after dinner, we drive 45 minutes north to go to the Adolescent Narcotics Anonymous meeting held for alumni of the treatment program (my daughter's favorite meeting) and their parents support group (my favorite meeting). And finally another 45 minutes to drive back home, arriving at 10:00 p.m. just in time to go to bed.
One day at a time... (breathe...)
Today we have to head east 30 minutes to go to IOP, then four hours later, head west 60 minutes to pick up my son from school and spend the evening with him. Then after dinner, we drive 45 minutes north to go to the Adolescent Narcotics Anonymous meeting held for alumni of the treatment program (my daughter's favorite meeting) and their parents support group (my favorite meeting). And finally another 45 minutes to drive back home, arriving at 10:00 p.m. just in time to go to bed.
One day at a time... (breathe...)
understanding the second step
"Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves
could restore us to sanity."
AA/Al-Anon Step 2
could restore us to sanity."
AA/Al-Anon Step 2
I've started my daily Al-Anon meditations again and today I am reading about Step Two. Six of the 12 Steps refer to a Higher Power or to God and a seventh step (the last one) talks about having a spiritual awakening. Based on what I am hearing at meetings, it seems like the majority of people in Al-Anon, when they start, are either very angry with God or refuse to believe that there is one. They struggle with turning over control to a Higher Power. I've been a Christian all my life, but in the last six years, have developed an especially close relationship with God so when I read the steps that refer specifically to a Higher Power, I feel like, "I got this." As usual, I got this wrong.
"The basic spiritual principle introduced in Step Two suggests that there is a Power greater than we are that provides hope for sanity, whether we are living with active alcoholism or not. Step Two reaffirms that we may be powerless, but we are not helpless, and we are not alone. "
Paths to Recovery: Al-Anon's Steps, Traditions, and Concepts, p. 18
The concept of a Higher Power is not a point of debate. It is not about whether there is a God, or why He allows bad things to happen. It is about believing that there is something MORE, something bigger out there that can make things better. That we are not alone in this struggle. It is about hope.
This chapter continues on, to invite those who cannot or refuse to bring God into their walk.
"Some of us reject religion of any kind and call ourselves either agnostics or atheists. It is important to hear that, whether we practice a particular religion or not, all of us are welcome in Al-Anon. Yet, when we approach Step Two, we may suspect that a group ideology will be revealed, and we will be forced to conform or leave. Instead the group's members turn us toward defining our own idea of a Higher Power, and we come to believe that such a Power could exist and might help us."
Paths to Recovery: Al-Anon's Steps, Traditions, and Concepts, p. 18
I LOVE THIS. All are welcome, no matter where you're at in your experience or what you believe. We do not have to go through this struggle alone. We have hope.
Monday, September 12, 2011
she's doing really really well
I realized that I have not talked about how my daughter is doing for several weeks now.
She is doing REALLY REALLY WELL!
She is very eager to leave Partial treatment and live at home. She'll be starting an online high school program and hopes to finish high school in two years instead of three. We're talking about enrolling her in drama and music classes (her two loves). She is teaching me about food exchanges, the eating program she learned in the Eating Disorder program, and we will eat according to her plan together.
She is full of hope and excitement for the future and I love her enthusiasm. It's like having my daughter back but only better.
Thank-you God for wonderful people and the treatment programs that have allowed my daughter to become a better version of herself.
She is doing REALLY REALLY WELL!
She is very eager to leave Partial treatment and live at home. She'll be starting an online high school program and hopes to finish high school in two years instead of three. We're talking about enrolling her in drama and music classes (her two loves). She is teaching me about food exchanges, the eating program she learned in the Eating Disorder program, and we will eat according to her plan together.
She is full of hope and excitement for the future and I love her enthusiasm. It's like having my daughter back but only better.
Thank-you God for wonderful people and the treatment programs that have allowed my daughter to become a better version of herself.
my room is a mess
I realized a long time ago that my bedroom is a physical representation of how things are in my life. And it's a mess right now.
My daughter was stepped down from Residential treatment last Tuesday to Partial. In Partial treatment, you go to the treatment center eight hours a day, six days a week. (For more information about how the mental health system works, see this posting.) The treatment center is about 50 miles from my home and with traffic, can take three hours one way. After the first day of driving out there to pick her up, I knew this was not going to work. So I packed up and stayed in a hotel out near the center for four days. We are hoping to step her down to IOP (Intensive Outpatient Program) tomorrow, which is three hours a day, three days a week and, hopefully, at a facility a bit closer to my home.
During the month or so that my daughter was in residential treatment, life returned to "normal" for me. Actually quieter than normal since my son is no longer here during the week. I finally cleaned up my room and closet, paid the huge stack of bills that had been sitting untouched since all this started, even finished a couple of projects that I had not been able to get to before. I did not feel the need to go to Al Anon meetings and stopped reading my daily meditations. And I stopped blogging.
Both kids were home this weekend, the first time in a month. My bedroom has become our "hub." We watch our Saturday night movie in here while eating pizza, as evidenced by dishes left behind. My daughter has been working on some craft projects at my coffee table and all the supplies are still out. Laundry is mounded on my bed, waiting to be folded. File folders that I ransacked earlier in the week are piled high on my desk.
My room is a mess, and not for negative reasons, but it is still a mess. It still needs to be cleaned up.
Today, while my daughter is gone most of the day for her last Partial treatment day, I will work on cleaning up my room both physically and metaphorically. As I clean up after my kids, I will think about how to teach them the discipline to clean up after themselves. And as I put away the laundry and the files, I will work on a plan to bring discipline back into my own life.
Time to establish a new "normal."
My daughter was stepped down from Residential treatment last Tuesday to Partial. In Partial treatment, you go to the treatment center eight hours a day, six days a week. (For more information about how the mental health system works, see this posting.) The treatment center is about 50 miles from my home and with traffic, can take three hours one way. After the first day of driving out there to pick her up, I knew this was not going to work. So I packed up and stayed in a hotel out near the center for four days. We are hoping to step her down to IOP (Intensive Outpatient Program) tomorrow, which is three hours a day, three days a week and, hopefully, at a facility a bit closer to my home.
During the month or so that my daughter was in residential treatment, life returned to "normal" for me. Actually quieter than normal since my son is no longer here during the week. I finally cleaned up my room and closet, paid the huge stack of bills that had been sitting untouched since all this started, even finished a couple of projects that I had not been able to get to before. I did not feel the need to go to Al Anon meetings and stopped reading my daily meditations. And I stopped blogging.
Both kids were home this weekend, the first time in a month. My bedroom has become our "hub." We watch our Saturday night movie in here while eating pizza, as evidenced by dishes left behind. My daughter has been working on some craft projects at my coffee table and all the supplies are still out. Laundry is mounded on my bed, waiting to be folded. File folders that I ransacked earlier in the week are piled high on my desk.
My room is a mess, and not for negative reasons, but it is still a mess. It still needs to be cleaned up.
Today, while my daughter is gone most of the day for her last Partial treatment day, I will work on cleaning up my room both physically and metaphorically. As I clean up after my kids, I will think about how to teach them the discipline to clean up after themselves. And as I put away the laundry and the files, I will work on a plan to bring discipline back into my own life.
Time to establish a new "normal."
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
all quiet on the home front
Hard to believe it's been more than a week since I posted last. School has started and my son is living with his dad during the week, coming to my house only on the weekends. My daughter is finishing up her second week at the Eating Disorder house. I haven't gone to any Al-anon meetings lately and have not read the daily devotionals for several days now. It's like I am in limbo, waiting for whatever comes next.
Last Sunday I went to visit my daughter and since she was allowed to leave the house for the afternoon, we saw the movie, "The Help." Charming film. Weird though, in a way, because we couldn't go out to eat. She plans out her menu everyday and is not allowed to stray from it. I never realized how integral eating out was to our relationship.
Today I'm headed over there to have lunch with her and the therapist. The therapeutic purpose of this meal is to learn to recognize the symptoms of eating disorders. (She'll eat off her meal plan, I need to bring a lunch. Again, very weird that we will not be sharing the same food.)
I have no idea how long insurance will continue to approve her stay at this house. I am toying with the idea of pulling her out of residential and into a day program but not sure why. I guess I am reaching the point where I am ready to move out of limbo.
Last Sunday I went to visit my daughter and since she was allowed to leave the house for the afternoon, we saw the movie, "The Help." Charming film. Weird though, in a way, because we couldn't go out to eat. She plans out her menu everyday and is not allowed to stray from it. I never realized how integral eating out was to our relationship.
Today I'm headed over there to have lunch with her and the therapist. The therapeutic purpose of this meal is to learn to recognize the symptoms of eating disorders. (She'll eat off her meal plan, I need to bring a lunch. Again, very weird that we will not be sharing the same food.)
I have no idea how long insurance will continue to approve her stay at this house. I am toying with the idea of pulling her out of residential and into a day program but not sure why. I guess I am reaching the point where I am ready to move out of limbo.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
leaving it in God's hands
There are only a handful of people in my religious community and my daughter's academic community who know about what is going on. One question that has come up frequently from people who are associated with the school is, "Who did she do drugs with?"
I struggle with what my answer should be. In the letter that my daughter wrote me when she entered rehab, she named names. Some of the kids are still attending that school. I assume the "right" thing to do is to turn over the names to people in authority and yet, something holds me back.
When I first learned about the drug use, I was desperate to protect my daughter; to make sure she never associated with her suppliers ever again. And so I asked her who she used with and promised never to tell anyone who they were. She gave me one name at that time, of a guy who was not returning to the school. I found that highly suspicious. In the letter the list is much longer.
On the one hand, I am reluctant to tell anyone because of the promise I made her, even though it is one I made in desperation. I feel like, if we are to have any hope of building trust, I must keep my word. On the other hand, I am fearful of what people's motivations are for asking me for the names or what they will do with the information.
My pastors and one of my closest friends who happens to work at the school have asked me to share the names so that they can help in their professional capacities. I believe these are the people who should know and I will encourage my daughter to tell them, herself, one day.
I struggle when other people ask, especially other parents. I understand the desire to want to protect your child. If someone knew my daughter was using, I would have wanted them to tell me. And yet, I still hold back.
I hate the thought that this might become gossip, serving no purpose than to make the gossiper feel self-righteous.
I am fearful that another family will be hurt by well-intentioned but clueless others.
And the last thing I want is to launch a crusader who feels they must now save us poor sinners.
I've decided the best thing for me to do right now is to trust that God will reveal to people what they need to know and when they need to know it. And to follow the Al-Anon principle of anonymity. Drug use is no one's business but that of the user and the people who love them. If God gives me the opportunity to share with the parents of one of the kids on the list, I will, and with no one else.
I struggle with what my answer should be. In the letter that my daughter wrote me when she entered rehab, she named names. Some of the kids are still attending that school. I assume the "right" thing to do is to turn over the names to people in authority and yet, something holds me back.
When I first learned about the drug use, I was desperate to protect my daughter; to make sure she never associated with her suppliers ever again. And so I asked her who she used with and promised never to tell anyone who they were. She gave me one name at that time, of a guy who was not returning to the school. I found that highly suspicious. In the letter the list is much longer.
On the one hand, I am reluctant to tell anyone because of the promise I made her, even though it is one I made in desperation. I feel like, if we are to have any hope of building trust, I must keep my word. On the other hand, I am fearful of what people's motivations are for asking me for the names or what they will do with the information.
My pastors and one of my closest friends who happens to work at the school have asked me to share the names so that they can help in their professional capacities. I believe these are the people who should know and I will encourage my daughter to tell them, herself, one day.
I struggle when other people ask, especially other parents. I understand the desire to want to protect your child. If someone knew my daughter was using, I would have wanted them to tell me. And yet, I still hold back.
I hate the thought that this might become gossip, serving no purpose than to make the gossiper feel self-righteous.
I am fearful that another family will be hurt by well-intentioned but clueless others.
And the last thing I want is to launch a crusader who feels they must now save us poor sinners.
I've decided the best thing for me to do right now is to trust that God will reveal to people what they need to know and when they need to know it. And to follow the Al-Anon principle of anonymity. Drug use is no one's business but that of the user and the people who love them. If God gives me the opportunity to share with the parents of one of the kids on the list, I will, and with no one else.
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