Wine and Meditation

So on Sunday my good friend insisted that I go to church with her. CHURCH? How long has that been? I was a bit reluctant but she insisted on picking me up (which is a very good thing because I probably wouldn't have gone otherwise). I am glad we went. The Agape Spiritual Center is not like the hypocritical churches of my childhood. No, this was full of cool LA people (they all looked liked actors), singing and well, just being spiritual. I even meditated which was rather miraculous for me. (OK don't tell anyone but I fell asleep. That still counts though right?)

After the service, still feeling the love, I went to the church bookstore where I stocked up on books that will surely help both Max and I. Secret for Teens! I know that this is the one book that will do the trick. All he needs to do is become a master of his thoughts! Think positive and you can have whatever you want. He will probably only think about weed. When he called later that night, still excited from my efforts at finding peace all I wanted to do is tell him about my day at church. I even lied and told him the girls from the Pretty Wild E show were there (he has crushes on these girls)....I think he saw right through my lies. Surprisingly, he really wasn't interested in my new books or my day at Agape. I really don't know why..... He only had one angry question: when do I get out of here?

The new calm, spiritual me was gone in a second. I guess it will take more than one Sunday to transform me into a zen master. I really want a quick fix which is probably why we are in this position now.

So what is the logical thing to do? I went to the wine store and selected some very lovely Italian wine which I am now drinking. (Thank you Groupon, my new most favorite website.) Is it hypocritical of me to drink wine? Do I need to drink all the booze in my house before Max comes home? Can I ever have a cocktail in front of him again? This is all new to me.

Maybe God will have the answer for me next Sunday. Meanwhile, chin chin.

This is for your own good.

So in the chaos of what has become my life, I forgot my password for this blogger thing and gave up many times, which is pretty indicative of my life in general. I know it doesn't sound like it but I am feeling much more optimistic this grey morning.

Max was in the hospital for 11 days and even had 3 really good days last weekend. I was feeling great then on that last Monday night visit, the angry, sullen, hostile man-boy was back. He hates me, how can I do this to him, I am ruining his life, I am no longer his mother. He told me didn't take his Adderall that morning and maybe that's why he was so anxious and agitated. I don't know if I should believe him or not, but I told the nurses and then he denied it right to my face in front of the therapist, social worker and doctor. This kid has some mad lying skills. I still think he should become a lawyer or politician. Or a Hollywood Agent.

I have been useless at work so they sent me home. Thank God I work at a place that understands these types of issues, very intimately. I am sick to my stomach every day, can't eat, can't breath and feel frozen with fear indecisiveness. What do I do with him? My insurance has run out and I have major anxiety about this "vacation in the hospital" -- how will I pay for it? Even my co-pays for the 7 days they did cover it will be huge. And then what? Where should he go after the hospital? Some people think I am over-reacting and he should be at home. Some people (most of the doctors and therapists that have gotten to know Max over this past week and half, say he should he sent to UTAH to one of of locked facilities for the year), some people think he just needs a 30 day rehab. UTAH is $10,000 a month and is not covered by insurance. How do average people get help for their loved ones?

Late Wednesday night I got a call. He has been accepted, even though he's a flight risk, at a rehab in California close enough to home so I can visit. Everyone kicks into high gear. Doctor calls in prescriptions, I pick them up, pack his bag, hire an interventionist and his partner an off-duty cop, to get him from the hospital to the rehab because I know he won't go willingly. $1,000 for a 45 minute drive. Again, how do people afford this stuff?

Three large men drag him out of the hospital, no shoes. As suspected he is not going willingly. For someone who is under 100 pounds, he certainly has a team of medical professionals, and a cop, scrambling for control. They won't let me ride in the elevator with them so I take the next one and follow behind trying to keep an eye on the situation but also hoping that no one will think I am with them. This is one of the worst sights ever. I run to the bathroom and throw up. My hands are shaking. How can he make me feel this way?

I only want to help him because I love him so much. I hope that one day he will realize this. For now, he still hates me.

Macaroni and Cheese

Yesterday was another day of up and down. UP: he was going to a local 30 day rehab center where they could help him....DOWN: NOPE! They found out he tried to escape from the hospital (well he did actually)...so he's considered an AWOL risk so they won't take him. She said in 25 years she's never once heard of anyone escaping from this particular hospital. If only I could get Max to use his "evil genius" for good....

UP Again: He just called me and sounds really happy! DOWN! Car stopped quickly in front of me and Koo Koo Roo dinner I had purchased for us hit the floor. Macaroni and Cheese everywhere. I swear it's going to be one little minor thing like that that will send me over the edge.

UP again! He was happy and smiling and didn't verbally attack me tonight during our visit. Could have something to do with his double dose of anti-depressants or the fact that I arranged a visit for him from some young tatted up guy I work with (thank you TT!) and Max really likes him.

DOWN Again: My sister is out of it again and slurring her words and repeating herself. Again, feeling all alone again.

Stayed up until 4 am again. Can't sleep. Feel like I keep seeing things fly around my house in the dark. Damn, maybe I am the one who needs to be hospitalized? Or at least a new pair of contact lenses.


DOWN!

My Son Is In The Psychiatric Hospital

My son is in the psychiatric ward and I put him there. He hates me, even though I was his room parent every year since kindergarten, never missed a field trip (even though I worked full time), threw him elaborate birthday parties since Age 1, took him on trips to foreign countries as well as local foreign places (Legoland anyone?), took him to every single doctor appointment except one time when I myself was in the emergency room having a spinal tap (damn, I should have done better), rocked him to sleep when he wouldn’t stop crying, gained 45 pounds (which I have yet to lose 15 years later) with my pregnancy, cleaned him up after a bout of the stomach flu, comforted him after 2am nightmares and made countless batches of chicken nuggets (the only food he really likes). But you get the point. I still could have done better in his eyes. What does that mean right now? To him, I would be the best parent if I just let him “live his life” – which means staying out all night, getting mostly Ds in school, and doing lots of drugs. I guess I am too protective of him and should just…let him be. I suppose that I should not be bothered that his drug test showed pot, cocaine, ecstasy, vicodin and xanax. I guess I should be happy there wasn’t any heroin. Of course, that would be just a matter of time. He hates me because I love him and am trying to help him.

I went to visit Max in the hospital tonight against the advice of the well-meaning “been-there-seen-it-all” nurse Cheryl and teenage psychologist intern, Amanda. I brought Max an In-and-Out Burger which I thought was a good idea. I didn’t realize that they use American cheese and not real cheddar, which was a major faux pas on my part. Although I think he forgave me since he ate the entire thing. He was sitting on the floor in the dark in the corner when I arrived in his at first seemingly nice room. Upon spending more time in that room I am starting to hate it as well. I’ve really only spent about 3 hours in it total, rather than Max’s 6 nights. I understand why he hates it. Even though the hospital is a $1.6 billion dollar facility, there is still that austere sadness and underlying air of despair and depression innate to all hospitals. Maybe it’s really not a good idea to lock up people to “help” them. Maybe we should just set them free in a field of flowers and let them roam around in nature? But I digress.

Once Max started eating his energy came back in a big and volatile way. His hatred this evening seemed to focus on someone else rather than me for a change! Hallelujah! Seems that Dr. Amanda and Nurse Cheryl were the “fucking bitches” of the day. Finally, I get a break! After a 15 minute tirade against his prison wardens, the anger, predictably, turned back to me. His mother and only visitor so far. Since I am to blame for all of this, I need to take the brunt of his anger. Nurse Cheryl told me not to engage him in discussions about what would happen when he was released from the hospital and to stay on “neutral topics.” I tried to talk about the weather, I really did, but he was having none of that. He was convinced that I was sending him out of state to get rid of him because I didn’t care about him. He said he knew that I had asked every family member for money, which was PROOF that I was getting ready to send him away. I tried to remain neutral. “Think it’s going to rain?” He just kept pulling me back into THAT conversation. Truth is, I don’t even know what’s going to happen next. I wish I did.

The venom spewing tirade was interrupted by a girl named Leah, another patient, who happened to wander into his room against unit policies. She was a larger girl, probably 14, and was very happy to meet me. I was happy for the diversion and was just hoping she wasn’t dangerous when I saw a faint smile come across Max’s face. Ah, his sense of humor was still in there, buried deep, but there nonetheless. There was still hope. Leah remarked how lucky Max was to have a view of the parking lot and a burger and fries and milkshake from In-and-Out. “Lucky!” she said drawing out the word as though channeling a 1985 Valley Girl. Leah’s room didn’t have a view and she didn’t have a burger but she thinks the hospital food is “fantastic”. Max rolled his eyes when she said that. I absent mindedly remarked “gee, I wonder how many cars are parked on the top level.” 44 turns out. Max and I patiently listened to Leah count each and every one of them. Max was still smiling, a very rare sight indeed. Leah told me she lives in the Valley and has no idea why she’s been in the hospital for the past week. Leah and Max bonded over their mutual hate of their “prison” and agreed that there’s something very, very wrong, because clearly neither one of them needed to be there.

After a few minutes Max (very politely I might add) asked Leah if she could leave so he could have some private time with his mom. As she left, she shook my hand and told me how nice it was to meet me. Max asked me to close the door and then told me that Leah constantly tells him how “sexy” he is and how she wants to have sex with him even though she’s bi and has never had sex yet. Oh Lord help me.

Max was still in a good mood and proceeded to tell me about Nate, another patient. He is very tall and very large and aggressive but not on purpose. He’s been restricted from the common rooms. Max seems to like him even though he sounds a bit intimidating. Today he came into Max’s room sans pants or underwear and proceeded to look at the window while mooning Max. He then turned around, for the full frontal view. Next, he went into Max’s bathroom and proceeded to eat his shampoo and deodorant. For his final act, he jumped on Max’s bed with Max still on it, and proceeded to roll around on his clean white sheets, with his nude body. Max laughed when telling me this story and so I left on a high note. Maybe there is hope after all. He hugged me before I left.

So then I get home. I forgot to turn the porch light on and it’s one of those super black nights out. I fumble with my door keys when I realize my security door is locked. I never lock it. I can vaguely see something wedged between the security door and the front door. Is it a bomb from one of the local teen drug lords I am making it my personal mission to bring down? What if they are still inside the house? What if my landlord heard about the police incident and has evicted me? All crazy thoughts but I haven’t been totally coherent for at least a week now. Ok, go around to the back door and go in that way I tell myself. I am terrified that the horrid white possum that comes out every night will run across my flip flop clad feet. Ok, made it through the gate, into the yard, now up to the back door. The key is not working. There is glass everywhere. The window is broken. Oh, wait, that was from Max. He was so mad he slammed the door and the window broke. Struggle with the key, getting paranoid. What if Max’s hoodlum friends are in the house looking for his stash? I did notice that the spare key is missing again….

In! Finally. I try the front door, no can do. It is not turning. Turn on the porch light. Grab the flashlight and get back to the front door. No possum thankfully. The box. What is in that box? Looks like something from UPS. Probably not a bomb. Back in the house. The house looks fine. Nothing is missing. No one here.

The locksmith Rob comes although I know that’s not his real name. My guess would be something more like Ranjit or Rodolfo. I don’t know but he’s polite and tells me he has never seen a situation like this. After a few minutes he gets the door knob off and the box falls out. It’s from my Aunt Shirley in Texas. Strange, she’s never sent me anything before. Maybe she’s heard about Max and has sent me a care package. A bottle of wine and a massage gift certificate sound really good about now. I pay Rob the $275 (!) and he promises he will write a letter explaining that the work was necessary due to the UPS person leaving the package in between the two doors. I almost feel bad because the UPS person tried to do the right thing to keep my package safe. But I can’t afford the $275 so I will have to battle UPS. I probably won’t do it because I am getting really tired of fighting.

I open the box. It’s a collection of random items. The note tells me that these were items from my Grandmother who recently passed away. Her costume jewelry which she loved. Some note paper. A porcelain poodle. And photos. Tons of photos. Her, me as a child, my parents, me and my sister when we 6 and 8. And Max. Tons of photos of Max. When he was 10 and modeling. 8 and smiling a smile with missing teeth. A baby picture. His birth announcement all baby blue and white stripes. I was so proud of those announcements. They were printed and very fancy for 1994. I felt like a very chic mommy when I mailed those out.

When I picked out those baby announcements 15 years earlier, I remember wondering, what was Max going to be like when he was a teenager. And then, the lightness from my one good visit just an hour ago vanished. The tears came back again.