Months After

Our son has been in out-patient treatment for two months. At first daily, all day, then stepping down to half a day, daily. He has been living at his mother's house, and is drug therapy compliant. The treatment center would like to continue lessening his service plan, but they do not want to release him until he has a therapeutic relationship set up with a psychiatrist. We send him and his mother a list of doctors near them and when I see them next the progress is not encouraging. They have not been able to find a doctor who will see him before August of this year. Our son asks me if I think the diagnosis is correct and I have to tell him yes. He wants to know when he can stop taking the medication and I have to tell him it could be a long time or never and that the treatment may change over time. He may have side effects that are uncomfortable and he will have to decide if the discomfort is worth risking another set of incidents like what we have experienced. I take the next day off work, take the list of doctors provided by our insurance, and make calls until I find three that will take him before August. I send him and his mother the list.

Weeks After

After our son has been in out-patient treatment for two weeks, the facility asks us in for a meeting. We believe that it will involve our son, his treatment team, and all four parents. When we arrive, our son is not in the room. We are handed sheets of paper with "helpful information" on it and a conversation begins before we can review them, led by the person most closely connected with our son's treatment. It is not at all a direct conversation, it seems to start very far back and move slowly closer, probing us all the way for reaction. It feels like we are being tested for our levels of awareness, ability to understand, and willingness to help. At several times during the conversation, I hear phrases that are new to me, so I write them down. My notes say: internal preoccupation; jumbled thoughts; blunted or constricted affect; spontaneous relating; functionality and peace of mind. When our son is finally brought into the room, well over an hour has passed and he does not meet our eyes, barely greets us and the remaining conversation is strained and unsatisfying. After I get home, I read the papers, see the diagnosis, and feel enraged that they did not simply tell us the words to our faces.