Velvet Verbosity

Two weeks ago, about two hours later than now, I received the phone call no parent wants to receive.  Some would say I co-created that reality through my incessant worry that I would receive that phone call one day and it would be about my son.   He has been on an addictive self-destructive path that has been increasing in intensity.   The story is so long, so full of sorrow, desperation, anxiety, worry, love and anger.  Last year, after several years of an ever tightening battle, I found a treatment for EK (I sometimes refer to him as Evil Knievel, but I don’t want to keep typing that because then I get traffic to my blog that should never find its way here) that worked.  Neurofeedback.  It worked to quiet his brain in places where things were on fire and causing him to feel and act crazy and self-destructive.  After a month, I felt myself exhale.  It was really working, and things weren’t perfect, but they were so much better.  We all felt life was more manageable again.

Then my insurance denied me.  I was making too much money, but not enough to buy my own.  I had to reapply, and in that window of insurancelessness, our neurofeedback provider and awesome therapist filled up her schedule book and wouldn’t be able to get EK in for months.  She was good, and word got around (partly thanks to me).  I searched around for a new provider, but most wouldn’t work with teenagers, and the rest either didn’t take insurance or were full.

Things started ramping up with EK, and we all felt it.  A month and a half ago, I was just getting ready to put my head to my pillow when EK walked in to my room and said, “Mom, I need to get back into treatment or be on meds or something.  I’m starting to not feel well again.  I feel like I’m slipping back to where I was before.”    The room was dark, lit only by the hall light, but I could see the tension in his face.   It was a look I knew all too well.  The look of my son struggling with an inner chaos that he didn’t know how to right, how to control, how to stop.  I was scared for him, and I knew if I didn’t find someone soon that things were going to get really out of control again and there wouldn’t be anything I could do to stop it or help it.  I told him I would make another round of calls the next day, first thing.

I spent the next several days calling every provider.  Every one told me the same thing I had heard before.  They were full, didn’t work with teenagers, didn’t take my insurance.  But each time I was given another number, and eventually that chain of numbers led to The Meek One.   The Meek One was a long time therapist but new to neurofeedback.  She was connected to Mother Hen (our previous provider), and was training under the area’s foremost expert in the field.  She could get the protocols from Mother Hen and would not only take EK, but she would provide intensive treatment (three times a week) for free.

It was a miracle.  But with all the set up, the conversations, the equipment not working right and her being too green to know how to correct it, time ran out.   EK self-destructed.  A series of unfortunate events, rising tensions in the house, a fight with a stranger, and feeling like a simple legal case was going to come down hard on him, he got himself good and worked up.  For legal reasons I can’t disclose details.  What I can tell you is that he is lucky to be alive and through his pain, and his fear, he asked to go into inpatient treatment.  His assessment was yesterday and we are keeping our fingers crossed that he will get in and that it will help.  I’m worried.  Worried that after seven years of trying everything that this might be yet another patch that doesn’t hold him together and might make him worse.  Worried that really the neurofeedback is the only thing that really works, and he won’t be able to get it while he’s “in”.  Unfortunately, things have reached such a crescendo that those decisions are now out of my hands.  Out of my wringing worried hands.

Internet, VV will be down for an indefinite amount of time.

This one is a quickie.  I’m about to watch the VeeP debates and I’m all set with my nachos, chai, and an ice cold beer.  This is a spectator sport.  Isn’t it?  So let’s roll out the submissions.

Lessa slid in past the deadline, but I forgive her because she ended up being my pick of the week.  I like the spunk and rebellion of this piece, and it was just what I needed as the frost begins to settle over the night.

“It ain’t RIGHT. It jus’ ain’t an you know it Joseph Daniel Scranton!” I stomped my foot and glared at him, but he ain’t seem to care. He never did. He’d just grin that lil grin of his an’ expect me to jus’ do whatever it was he wanted. An’ right now? He wanted me t’realize somethin’, somethin’ I weren’t ready to realize jus’ yet.

He finally jus’ pulled me close, an’ held on tight. “Ain’t no place in this for what’s moral or right. Jus’ for hangin’ tough. So hang with me, like always.”

Like I had a choice.

• Lose yourself over at Losing Yourself, a newcomer.
  
• VIU will make you question the art of surveillance
• I, Rodius is taking the hands off approach
• JM and a delicious slice of life a’la Frank
• Sassy Mama weaves us a bedtime haiku (brilliant)
• Ninja delivers a strike in the dark at our illusions of morality
• Don’t think those kids aren’t listening to you Grandma (so says Patsy)
• Night Blogger sticks it to morality good.

I don’t have a book handy with me.  I’m writing this from a cafe that is staying open late to air the debates.  I watched the presidential debates here last week, and I love it.  All these local people gathering together to discuss politics.  Throws me right back to a time when we cared.  If they had a fireplace, some wingback chairs, and smoking pipes I would die of romantic nostalgia.  So, from a sign on their door:

Blend 

With love,