Discovery Part 4
story resumes from here...
Upon realizing my mistake with the doctor appointment and consequent rescheduling delay, I burst into tears. I called my sister in law who encouraged me by telling me that there must be a reason this happened, God knew and He was in control. Our son may not have even gotten into the car with us in the first place or something tragic could have happened.
We wait. We try in our frazzled frames to hold on to God, to trust Him in the chaos. But we know He is the One holding us.
Our son, not taking his medication still, spins out of control. He is agitated, irrational, manic. We continue to use every resource available and we find those resources limited. We have called the police so many times we lose count. We don't even consider at the time how bizarre it is that law enforcement is the first responder for serious mental illness, but we're glad we have them.
On one particular evening, we call the police for assault during an agitated episode. Because he is a juvenile, the police are apprehensive to take him in. I am hysterical at this point, literally. We were pretty much beside ourselves with helplessness. So my husband takes the bold step of calling the police department. He makes a request while the officer is still at our home to pull up all of his juvenile records of all of our calls, attendance in deterrence classes, runaways, time at the adolescent psychiatric unit etc. My husband then asks the department to speak with the officer, we insist that he be arrested. And so he is detained for the very first time as a juvenile.
While incarcerated, they check our son for illegal drug use. His blood work all comes back negative.
The next time I see our son he is in a court room. He is brought in wearing a black and white uniform and handcuffs. He is sentenced. I really cannot describe the emotion of that day but it was equal to the consequent visitations in juvenile detention weekly. Yet, true to God's character, He had a plan.
Our son's next doctor appointment happened to be scheduled while he was in jail. And because of this, they agreed to transport him to his psychiatric appointment.
It was a surreal day. My husband and I arrive early to the adolescent psychiatrist's office and we fill out pages of paperwork and history. A driver from the juvenile jail brings our son in, again with handcuffs and jumper suit. My son presents with symptoms during the visit and the psychiatrist begins to talk with us about bipolar disorder. He has no doubt and he prescribes medications. This time we can ask questions and get more distinctive answers. This time...there is relief. He begins medications while incarcerated, by the providence and kindness of God.
While our son is taken back to his jail cell that day, my husband and I drive to a nearby Polish deli. I deflate on the way to the deli...the burden and weight from the past 3 years...there are few words...we are relieved and for the first time we have clarity. An answer. Confirming all of my motherly intuitions. And with the diagnosis comes a little definition for beginning a treatment plan. At least we think so...
Upon realizing my mistake with the doctor appointment and consequent rescheduling delay, I burst into tears. I called my sister in law who encouraged me by telling me that there must be a reason this happened, God knew and He was in control. Our son may not have even gotten into the car with us in the first place or something tragic could have happened.
We wait. We try in our frazzled frames to hold on to God, to trust Him in the chaos. But we know He is the One holding us.
Our son, not taking his medication still, spins out of control. He is agitated, irrational, manic. We continue to use every resource available and we find those resources limited. We have called the police so many times we lose count. We don't even consider at the time how bizarre it is that law enforcement is the first responder for serious mental illness, but we're glad we have them.
On one particular evening, we call the police for assault during an agitated episode. Because he is a juvenile, the police are apprehensive to take him in. I am hysterical at this point, literally. We were pretty much beside ourselves with helplessness. So my husband takes the bold step of calling the police department. He makes a request while the officer is still at our home to pull up all of his juvenile records of all of our calls, attendance in deterrence classes, runaways, time at the adolescent psychiatric unit etc. My husband then asks the department to speak with the officer, we insist that he be arrested. And so he is detained for the very first time as a juvenile.
While incarcerated, they check our son for illegal drug use. His blood work all comes back negative.
The next time I see our son he is in a court room. He is brought in wearing a black and white uniform and handcuffs. He is sentenced. I really cannot describe the emotion of that day but it was equal to the consequent visitations in juvenile detention weekly. Yet, true to God's character, He had a plan.
Our son's next doctor appointment happened to be scheduled while he was in jail. And because of this, they agreed to transport him to his psychiatric appointment.
It was a surreal day. My husband and I arrive early to the adolescent psychiatrist's office and we fill out pages of paperwork and history. A driver from the juvenile jail brings our son in, again with handcuffs and jumper suit. My son presents with symptoms during the visit and the psychiatrist begins to talk with us about bipolar disorder. He has no doubt and he prescribes medications. This time we can ask questions and get more distinctive answers. This time...there is relief. He begins medications while incarcerated, by the providence and kindness of God.
While our son is taken back to his jail cell that day, my husband and I drive to a nearby Polish deli. I deflate on the way to the deli...the burden and weight from the past 3 years...there are few words...we are relieved and for the first time we have clarity. An answer. Confirming all of my motherly intuitions. And with the diagnosis comes a little definition for beginning a treatment plan. At least we think so...
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