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.