The Ball Gets Dropped, Again!

I suppose I ought to be emotionally fired up over this.  I suppose I should be outraged, angry and ready to go to war with the powers-that-be.

Instead, about all I can muster is a great big meh.  I am not at all surprised.

As I've mentioned before, Danielle is attending a special program for emotionally and behaviorally-challenged kids.  This program is supposed to be providing in-school counseling for these kids, but so far, it hasn't happened, at least for Danielle. Back in January, I spoke to a very nice lady from an outside agency that was supposed to be providing counseling to Danielle.  A couple weeks later, I had a brief phone call with the person who would be providing the counseling just as soon as they got their paperwork sorted out.  I was assured things would start right away.

Then, I heard nothing.

I had assumed that everything was going all right, because that's the way counseling seems to work in our area.  In our experience, therapists who work with Danielle are a tight-lipped bunch and they barely will acknowledge that they are working our kid, let alone share anything with us.  Danielle doesn't volunteer anything, either, so when she goes to counseling, it's very much like a great big black hole.  Plenty goes in, but nothing gets out.  We assumed, that since we hadn't heard anything from anyone that Danielle hadn't made any homicidal or suicidal threats, and therefore no news was good news.

Wrong.

On Friday, we got a phone call from the person who was supposed to be working with Danielle.  She claimed she never received the appropriate referral from the school; therefore, Danielle's case was being closed and she would not receive any in-school counseling services.

Of course this happens on a Friday afternoon, during Spring Break, so everybody is gone and there's nobody to call.

Last night we sent out an e-mail to all the people who were supposed to be involved in Danielle's case.  We got an e-mail back saying that staffing within the counseling agency had been changed, and our message had been forwarded to the new person.  A little while later, the school's special program psychologist called.  He told me he had personally sent out the referrals to the county mental health program, and had received an e-mail back from them acknowledging receipt of the paperwork.  It was their fault that the paperwork hadn't reached the outside counseling agency.

I just didn't have the energy to get angry about this.  I explained that we have a kid who, in 18 months, will be come a legal adult, and who won't be able to continue living here due to her abusive behavior.  I told him that I was very concerned about the fact that the ball keeps getting dropped in her case, because she will soon be an adult, without a high school diploma or some kind of transition plan, and that this was not okay.

In the past, I might have yelled at the psychologist and started making phone calls to complain to his boss, his boss' boss, and maybe even his boss' boss' boss.  This time, I just explained the problem, and left it at that.

I explained to the psychologist that I feel like I am trying to herd cats when it comes to getting services for my child.  "All these people are supposed to be helping a very sick kid," I explained, "but there's a whole lot of finger-pointing going on.  When I talk to one person or agency, they tell me to talk to someone else.  When I talk to them, they tell me to go back to the first person."

I think it is easier to get blood out of a rock than it is to get appropriate mental health services for a sick child.

Walking in Circles

In just a bit more than 18 months, Danielle will become a legal adult.

In a year and a half, she is going to need to have a job, money saved up, and be ready to move into her own place.

She isn't going to be ready.  We know that.  I think, perhaps, on some level she even knows that, though she doesn't want to face that reality.  In her mind, she's going to turn 18, and suddenly, magically, have a great job, all the money and skills that she needs, and she'll be able to move out and live a successful, middle-class lifestyle.

It ain't gonna happen.

Danielle isn't going to be ready to live life on her own, but it has become abundantly clear to all of us that she isn't going to be able to stay here, either. 

We don't want to simply drive her to the local homeless shelter on her 18th birthday and drop her off.  Sure, it is an option, but it's certainly not a desirable one.  It's not the outcome we would choose for our kid if some other workable solution exists.  There has to be some kind of social service safety net for mentally ill youth to fall back on.

I have been told by several people, both online and in real life, that there are supposed to be transitional services for mentally ill youth.  Over the past few weeks, I've been making phone calls, but I feel like I am a hamster running on a wheel.  I call Agency A, who tells me to call Agency B.  I speak to a nice someone at Agency B, who tells me to go talk to the people at Agency A.  When I explain that I've already done that, then I'm told to go back and talk to the nice people at the county, because Adoptions Assistance surely ought to pay for something.

We've already talked to them, too.  When we spoke to them, we were given the basic message,  you adopted her, now she's your problem.

I feel like I am walking in circles, and going absolutely nowhere.

Today I spoke to a helpful person at an agency who said, "you just need to know what your rights are."  He suggested that if I just spoke to the right person, the gates would be unlocked and our kid would receive a ton of help.

It's all very well and good to say this, but he couldn't give me the name of the person I should talk to.

"Just go talk to someone in Adoptions Assistance," he advised.

He didn't seem to understand that there isn't "someone in Adoptions Assistance" to call.  This person doesn't exist, and in the past when we've called our former adoptions worker, she's been no help.

"I'm sorry, I can't help you," we were told.  She had no suggestions of where to go next with our troubles, either.

I found several agencies who, at least according to their Web sites, are supposed to help provide services to mentally ill youth.  Yet I have found, when I call them, that they don't return calls promptly, and even when they do they have no help for me, other than instructions to call the next agency.

Sigh.

Another Helpful Person told me something discouraging.  "Even if you get all these services set up for your daughter," she explained, "being that she will be a legal adult she'll have the choice of opting out."

So does that mean I should stop trying to find my kid help?  I know that if she gets into a transitional program, she'll no doubt have a hard time following the rules.  Will she even be willing to try?

I don't know.

I just keep making phone calls, knowing that my child will turn 18 long before she'll be ready to receive her high school diploma.  I keep calling people, hoping that we'll find the right gatekeeper to get our kid into some sort of vocational and independent living skills program so she might have a chance at a job and a self-sufficient lifestyle.

I keep calling, but I keep getting nowhere.

Disappearing Shrink

For the last two weeks in a row, our therapist has cancelled.

Last week, it was because the therapist was sick.  This week, it's because she realized we've run out of authorized sessions, so she has to contact the powers-that-be to get authorization for more time.

Argh.

Danielle has been disappointed that our sessions have been cancelled.  I've been a little concerned about the lack of sessions, but it's happened to work out that other things have popped up that would have conflicted, so it's probably just as well.

Fortunately for a all of us, Danielle has been going through a period of decent behavior.  It's nice to be able to catch my breath.  It's nice not to be moving from crisis to crisis to crisis.  Things have been so peaceful around these parts that I've actually had time to spend with my parrots, and to sit down and read.

Reading?  I never get to do that.  In fact, I'd be hard-pressed to tell you the last time I've been able to sit down and read a book that wasn't work-related before now.

I am thinking it might have been Girl's Guide to Homelessness, ages and ages ago.

So it's incredibly nice to have a break from the tantrums, rages, and defiance.  Of course as nice as it feels for us, it has to feel good to the kid, as well.  I can't imagine that toting all that rage and violence around feels very enjoyable.

Still, I find that I can't fully relax.  As good as things are, there's a part of me that feels like I have to keep my guard up.  I feel like I am walking on eggshells, because at some point I'm going to inadvertently say or do the wrong thing, and Danielle will explode all over us.  It would be nice to be able to think, "Hey, we are finally past all of this," and move on.

But it's not that easy or simple.

In the past, when we'd fall into these quiescent periods, we'd optimistically think, "Hooray! Things have finally started to turn the corner."  Unfortunately, it seemed as if the mere thought was enough to trigger the next explosion.  Every time we started to feel or act like we were a "normal" family, we would be paid back with explosions, temper tantrums and threats.

So we don't try to pretend we are normal, anymore.

Over the past few weeks, the realization that I can't fix my kid is becoming clearer and clearer. I can't change her, nor can I make her do what I want.  Instead, I've been focusing my attention on other things.  I've been pursuing hobbies, which I haven't done in years, and putting my energy into the things in my life that I can change.

All of these have nothing to do with my kid.

Psychiatrist Appointment

After what has seemed like an endless effort, we finally have a psychiatric appointment for Danielle coming up soon.

This is after countless phone calls, firing our pediatrician and hiring a new one, getting a prescription requesting psychiatric care, and writing several letters.

It's done.  We have an appointment.

Finally! (For any ASL students out there, this is the perfect moment for the sign PAH!)

Now I don't believe, for one second, that this will be any sort of miracle for us.  I don't think that a psychiatrist is going to be able to spend two hours visiting with Danielle, and find a cure for what ails her.

I wish it were true, but I know it doesn't work that way.

We are hoping we will find a doctor who will listen to our concerns and take them seriously.  We are hoping that the doctor will take a good hard look at Danielle's medication (currently a very low dosage of Fluoxetine) and investigate whether there is something else that might take the edge off her depression and her hair-trigger temper.

It's clear that the medication she's on now isn't really solving any of her problems. Although the frequency of her explosions has been somewhat reduced in the five months she's been medicated, the severity of them has been much, much worse.

This past week or so we've seen some pretty darn decent behavior for a change.  Unfortunately, things are back on the downhill trend again.  Danielle has been disrespectful and mildly verbally abusive for the past few days, and we got an e-mail this morning from her teacher, describing a whole new bunch of trouble she's gotten herself into at school.

Discouraging, but not entirely surprising.  It often seems that when something really dreadful happens around here, we see a few days of good behavior.  We got the double-whammy of some bad news coming from Danielle's birth family and had to deal with Sir Spudly's passing all within a few days of each other. Now that the shock has worn off, and things are starting to settle into their "new normal," Danielle is edging back into her usual modus operandi.

Of course the news isn't all bad.  We finally had a chance to "meet" (at least by telephone) the new school-provided therapist who will be working with Danielle.  We had a long talk about some of Danielle's issues, and this new person has had experience working with extremely troubled teens in a group home, so she understands the issues that we are facing.

Although I won't say that this new therapist will be immune to Danielle's skillful attempts at manipulation and triangulation, it seems she will at least be resistant to them.

At least one can hope.

We Fired the Pediatrician

A lot has happened since Danielle's most recent explosions at home and at school,  A lot of it, I'm not going to share publicly, because it's complicated and messy, and for the entire story to make sense, we'd have to share a lot of personally identifying information, which I am not prepared to do at this point.  What I will say is that it has involved talking to a lot of people, including school staff, therapists, law enforcement, the crisis hotline, Danielle's pediatrician and even an attorney.

They all say the same thing.  They all give us a list of what we (and they) can't do.  The list is very long and complicated, but if we break it down into its most basic components, it boils down to two things:

1. We can't get Danielle the help that she needs.
2. We can't give custody to someone else -- not to the county, not to another foster home, not even to another adoptive home.  We are stuck.

Everybody agrees that this situation is intolerable and unsafe.  They agree that nobody should have to live this way.  They agree that this isn't good for any of us.  Danielle's explosions are violent and dangerous; her behavior is completely unacceptable.

Yet, they all come back with pretty much the same answer:  There isn't much we can do.

Sure, some of the people we've talked to have agreed to help, but the help they can provide is very, very limited.  Danielle recently qualified for one-on-one therapy that will be provided, at school, by a licensed therapist.  That's great, but it's only for a single hour per week.

I feel like we are trying to sop up the ocean with a single sheet of paper towel.

Several of the mental health professionals we've talked with have been surprised by Danielle's relative lack of medication.  All have recommended that her doctor re-examine her pharmacological interventions.  We sent the pediatrician a formal request for a referral to a psychiatrist, and she responded by screaming at us.

Yes.  She called us up and screamed at us.

Even though we were warned by our current family therapist that firing our pediatrician would result in her counseling services being terminated, this was the last straw.  This was not the first time, or even the second time, that this doctor had unleashed a heap of verbal abuse upon us.  Once, she even screamed at us for taking Danielle to the ER when we thought she might have broken her foot.  Why was she so angry?  Apparently, we were supposed to obtain pre-authorization for an ER visit, which we hadn't done.  We weren't aware of this requirement, but the doctor felt it necessary to yell so loudly that hospital staff looked on with sympathy and rolled their eyes.

I hope the next pediatrician will be more helpful.  If not, perhaps I can at least hope that she won't scream at us for trying to get our kid the medical treatment she needs.

As for our current therapist, I hope that our change in pediatricians won't create an unfortunate cascade of events.  At this point, though, it's clear we need to try a different approach.  Our fired pediatrician had a reputation for being difficult, obstinate and disagreeable, but we were told she was a competent professional.  Our experience proved otherwise.  Her tendency to scream at us, combined with the fact that she would forget important details between visits and deny we'd ever discussed them, finally made us pull the plug.

Here's to hoping that the next doctor will be more willing to listen, and to help.

The Frustrations with the System

We are still reeling from our recent conversation with a former county employee.  This conversation was not the first one we've had with people.  During our protracted legal fight, an insider flat-out told us the central issue was discrimination.  We've had three other professionals, who were also involved in the case, tell us the exact same thing.

No, I'm not making things up, or drumming up conspiracy theories because I'm a dissatisfied customer.  This is real.  It happened.  What makes the situation all the more disgusting is that our county has decided to throw a kid under the proverbial bus because they want to prove a narrow-minded, bigoted point.

What made this most recent conversation so shocking was that it didn't just confirm what we already knew.  It included details, names, what was done, and what was said.

Could we use this to take legal action? Probably.

The real question is, "Do we want to?"

It's very easy to say, "Go sue those bastards."

It's another thing to actually do it.

Civil rights lawsuits are rarely easy.  They take a lot of time and a lot of money.  When we were still in the middle of our custody fight, we used the interesting coincidence of the six degrees of separation, to speak with a lawyer who works with a well-known civil rights attorney.  We were told it wasn't a question of whether or not we had a case, as we clearly did.  It was really about whether or not we had the mettle to spend the next ten years tied up in court.

After spending time fighting over what was, in the global scheme of things, a small issue, I don't think that we are the ones to carry the banner for a civil rights lawsuit.  The time we spent fighting was emotionally, physically, and financially draining, and I can't imagine spending the next decade of my life tied up in court.

Does the issue matter?  Yes, it does.  Does our county exhibit a pattern of conduct that discriminates against GLBT families and single parents?  Yes, they do.  Are we the ones to challenge those policies and practices?  No, we aren't.

At some point we may very well name names and go public with what has happened to us.  But now is not that time.  Now is the time to try to get our kid the services and help that she needs.

Frankly, I am not sure that it will  happen, because there are several problems with the system.  After what we were told, it's clear that the people in the position to help are deliberately minimizing the problems our child is having and ignoring our requests for help.  They claim that all of this is because of money, but the reality is, budget or no, this adoption was a contract.  We agreed to take care of a child, and in consideration for that, the county was to provide certain things.  Whether or not you agree with the idea of adoption assistance programs, the fact is that our county agreed to provide it.

They are trying to renege on a contract, and that's not cool.  Their discriminatory reasons behind it, and their desire to see us fail, is unconscionable.

But it's not just the powers-that-be who are responsible.  There's a lot of buck-passing that goes on between agencies.  We call law enforcement, and they say it's a mental health issue.  We call mental health, and they say it's a law enforcement issue.  We are told to contact agency x, only to have them tell us to contact agency y, who in turn tell us that they can't help us and we should go back to agency x, as it's really their department.

Frustrating.

At the end of all of this, we have a violent child who the police won't arrest, the mental health people won't help, the probation office won't supervise, and the doctor won't appropriately medicate.  This is a problem.  In the meantime, our property is damaged, and no one is safe.

In fairness, I also think that there is some ego getting in the way of things, too.  On the medical front, Danielle's pediatrician denied us access to a psychiatrist, saying that she would agree to provide medication.  After she made that decision, believing that she knew best for her patient, she refused to prescribe anything.  It wasn't until Danielle exploded while away at respite (and staying with a well-respected family) that the doctor finally whipped out her pad.  Danielle has been on a low dose of a popular (and inexpensive) anti-depressant for about five months now, and it hasn't solved the problem.

We've asked the pediatrician to reconsider Danielle's medication, and each time we've done so, her reply has been, "No change in medication is warranted at this time."

Really?  When a kid explodes and threatens her parents with weapons, a change in medication isn't warranted?

After Danielle's most recent explosion, we have sent a formal, written request to the pediatrician, people in mental health services and the school asking that our child be referred to a psychiatrist.

We'll see where this goes.

The real shame here is that our county, in denying the help this kid desperately needs, isn't really hurting us.  Sure, we are getting beat up and threatened by an out-of-control kid, and it is dangerous, but in a couple of years, she'll turn 18.  If she's still violent, we will put her out of the house.  As terrible as it sounds, we don't owe our daughter a living once she's an adult, especially if she is abusing us.  So it's not us who are really affected.  Sure our lives are miserable and frustrating now, but it's the kid who is really going to suffer.  She's the one who pays, because the county isn't stepping up to their obligations.  She's the one with mental illness who won't be qualified to receive supportive services as an adult, because she hasn't been qualified for county programs as a juvenile.

We adopted this kid with the understanding that we were to receive assistance.  Come on, county, keep your promises!

Although I have felt for a long time that Danielle's repeated physical violence makes this situation untenable, now that she has twice threatened us with weapons, this goes far beyond that.  We have an appointment with an attorney soon to discuss our immediate options, and we'll see where it goes from there.

Some of my Internet critics have said that Danielle's behavior is our fault, and blame her explosions on us.  Let's suppose for the moment that they are right, even though I absolutely disagree.  Let's just say for the sake of argument that we are the worst parents in the world.  Even if that were true, the child still needs help.  She is unwilling to control her anger, and responds to normal daily life frustrations with rages.  We aren't the ones forcing weapons into her hands.  In both cases where's she's made threats, we were in a different room when she chose to arm herself.  Both times she went into another part of the house, found something she felt would be an adequate weapon, and then sought out a confrontation.

(And yes, we've since locked up things like knives and scissors, but I don't believe it puts a definitive end to the threat.)

Yes, we absolutely signed up to parent a tough kid, but we didn't sign up to be physically abused by one.  Now that we've twice crossed the threshold into threats involving weapons, it's time for something to change.  Danielle's pattern of violence started years ago, first with threats of hitting, and then eventually following through.  I have no doubt in my mind, since she's threatening harm with weapons, that she will eventually use a weapon to hurt someone.

I didn't sign up to be murdered at the hands of my child.

Thoughts on the Rationing of Healthcare

This post is about a very complex and emotional issue.  Before you leave a comment, please read my entire post with care.  I am not advocating for a particular outcome, so much as I am trying to recognize all the complex and varying viewpoints.

A number of bloggers I follow and respect have written about how Children's Hospital of Philadelphia denied a child a kidney transplant because she is mentally retarded:

[The doctor] says about three more sentences when something sparks in my brain. First it is hazy, foggy, like I am swimming under water. I actually shake my head a little to clear it. And then my brain focuses on what he just said.

I put my hand up. “Stop talking for a minute. Did you just say that Amelia shouldn’t have the transplant done because she is mentally retarded. I am confused. Did you really just say that?”

The overwhelming consensus seems to be that this decision is terrible, unethical and unfair.

I will wholeheartedly agree that it is terrible.  My heart goes out to this family.  I can't imagine what they have been through.

I just can't.

I can't imagine what it must be like to be told that your unborn child will come into this world profoundly disabled.  I can't know what it is like to sit in the NICU, praying your baby will live, and then rejoicing when she does.  I can't know what it is like to struggle with the many needs of a medically-fragile child, praying for miracles on a daily basis.

I can't imagine being told that a child I loved deeply, with all my heart, might die because she cannot have life-saving medical treatment.  I can't fathom what it would be like to know that the treatment is just out of reach.  If only...

...if only the child were normal.

I can't imagine the shock, grief, anger, and heartbreak.

There are no words to describe this.

At the same time, however, I recognize that our medical system rations healthcare.

Rationed healthcare?  Is that fair?

Fair in this case depends a lot on how you view medical services.  If you see them as a professional service, then they must be bought and paid for.  If you see them as a fundamental right, then everybody should get whatever treatment they need. There are problems with both of these viewpoints.

If medical care should be treated like a professional service, then rationing is inevitable.  For low- or middle-income families that do not have health insurance, rationing becomes part of daily life.  Adults ask themselves, "Is my child's cold just a cold, or is it something more serious?  Can we avoid going to the medical center this time?  Why not wait a day and see if Junior is better?"

If a family does have insurance, medical care is still rationed, only those decisions are made by the health insurance company.  They determine co-pays, what they will and will not cover, and how much they will spend on an individual or family.  They set limits, and though those limits may not be popular, they help to control what an individual, family or group pays for insurance.

After all, insurance simply spreads the cost of everyone's healthcare across a large group.  The premiums are set using statistical analysis, assuming that for any given pool of people, a certain percentage will need medical care, and a certain percentage will not.

Insurance companies must set limits on what they will pay, or a few really sick people could bankrupt the system for the entire group.

If you look at healthcare as a fundamental right, then everyone should receive treatment.  The problem, of course, is that doctors, laboratories, and hospitals still cost money.  I don't know too many professionals who are willing to give unlimited amounts of their time and services away for free, so someone has to pay them.  In the case of public healthcare, that someone is the government, which is funded by the taxpayers.

The question then becomes how much is everyone willing to pay for healthcare?

It's a tough question, and it's certainly one that's created a lot of political strife in the United States.  Whether you are for President Obama's healthcare system or not, the debate has brought the skyrocketing costs of healthcare to the forefront.

Going back to little Amelia for the moment, hers is a difficult problem.  I can understand why an insurance pool (whether publicly or privately funded) wouldn't want to pay for her transplant.  By paying for that transplant, they will give her a few more years of life, which is a good thing if you believe in the sanctity of life.  From a strictly economic perspective, however, it doesn't make sense.  By extending her life, the insurance pool guarantees they will have to pay for her substantial medical needs for a longer period of time.  I can understand why a bean counter somewhere might have a problem with extending the life of someone who is likely to cost more than the family would ever pay in premiums.

This is terrible to thing to consider.  How can you put a price on life?

Let's suppose the family isn't going to rely on any type of insurance to cover the cost of the transplant.  Suppose they plan to raise all the money (the estimated cost for a kidney transplant is $262,900) and the cost to an insurance pool isn't a factor?

I can still see why a doctor might deny the transplant.

What if there was only one available kidney, but two perfect matches?  One match is little Amelia, and the other is a child who is developing normally.  Who gets the transplant?  Who deserves it? Little Amelia isn't likely to live a normal lifespan.  She will never hold down a real job or live independently.  The other child has a chance at a normal, productive and healthy life.

Who lives?  Who dies?  How does someone even make these types of decisions?

Although we would like to think that our society is perfect, just, and all lives are equally valuable, the reality is that this is not true.  We've seen this throughout history.  There are the haves and the have-nots.  There are the masters and the slaves.  There are the rich and the poor.  There will always be people in our society who have more of something, whether it be money, smarts, skills or good looks. Life isn't fair.

Advocates for social justice want to level the playing field, but I think even the most ardent realize that there is an innate unfairness to the world.  We aren't all the same.  We are all unique, and have different strengths and weaknesses.  Some children are born geniuses.  Others, sadly, are born intellectually disabled.

Our country has finite medical resources.  There are a limited number of doctors, hospitals, surgery beds, money and kidneys.  There aren't enough organs for everyone who wants or needs a transplant, and sometimes hard choices have to be made.

So when I think about all these things, I can understand why a doctor would consider quality of life issues.  If there is only one kidney, and it could go to someone who will lead a full, healthy and productive life, or it could go to someone who likely will die young, have other medical issues, and  never live independently, I can see the logic in the system favoring one child over another.

The truth is, rationing decisions aren't made only on life or death situations like Amelia's.  Our county has been rationing mental health care for years, and the results are painful.  Of the three foster kids that stayed in our home, all would have benefited from skilled mental health care.  To save money, our county hired inexperienced interns to handle individual and family therapy, and I think it has resulted in less than stellar outcomes.  I truly believe that if our daughter had received quality care from the beginning, instead of the system waiting for a crisis, slapping a band-aid on it, and then waiting for the next crisis, she would be doing much better now.  Had her therapists and pediatricians been willing to give her medication sooner, rather than later, I think she would be doing better socially, emotionally and educationally.

But that's not what happened.  Though I strongly feel that our county has been penny wise and pound foolish with respect to the mental, physical and dental care of all the kids in foster care, I also have to respect the fact that the county runs the healthcare system and they get to make their own rules.  Although I disagree with much of what has been done, have often complained about things, and have at times chosen to fight, I realize that the rationing system in our county is based upon the golden rule:

He who has the gold, makes the rules.

I have wondered if our county's mental health treatment decisions aren't always based on need.  Sometimes, it has seemed that decisions are based upon things like a child's ethnicity or whether or not a committee thinks a family deserves a given treatment. I remember comparing our daughter, her background, and her mental health needs with that of a child placed with some friends of ours.  Our child seemed to have greater needs and a worse history of abuse, yet our friend's child was initially given far more help. While their child received a plethora of services, we had to beg and fight to get basic counseling for a child we knew had been sexually abused.  At the time, I wondered if discrimination might have come to play in the decision.  Our friends were white, heterosexual, and Christian, and their child was white.  We, on the other hand, were gay and Jewish, and our child was of color.

Was that the reason?  I will never know.  Still, the question did cross our minds.

Is it fair?

Hell no.

But the truth is, the system isn't fair.  It can't be fair.  There aren't enough resources to go around, and difficult decisions have to be made about who gets those resources.  Should it be those who would benefit the most?  Should it be the sickest?  Should it be the squeakiest wheel?

As for little Amelia, I am uncomfortable with the idea that she should be summarily denied a transplant due to her intellectual disabilities.  At the same time, however, I can't help but be painfully aware of the questions her situation raises.  If there is only one kidney, and it is an equal match with more than one potential recipient, who should benefit?

Who lives?  Who dies?  How do you determine the value of a life?  How do you decide whether a child deserves treatment over another?

I know that Amelia's parents are truly suffering as a result of this decision.  Regardless of her disabilities, she is loved, and they want her to remain alive for as long as possible.  She is their child.  How could they feel otherwise?

To her family, her friends, and the people who care about her, Amelia isn't a dollar sign in an accountant's notebook.  She is a living, breathing, human being, with a value and character that is uniquely her own.

My heart goes out to her family.  I pray they will have peace, and the strength to carry them through  whatever future ultimately faces them.  I will go to bed tonight thinking of them, hoping they know that there are people out here in the blogosphere who care.

As for me, I am immensely glad that I am not the one responsible for making these kind of decisions.

I know it would keep me up at night.

Nobody Will Listen

Last night, in the wake of Danielle's rage, we had an emergency meeting with the therapist.

She is going to try to make a referral to a program for more seriously ill patients, in the hopes that she will be assigned a real psychiatrist instead of having to get medication through her pediatrician.  It is clear that the medication she is on isn't doing enough.  Unfortunately, the therapist warned us that this will be a long process.

In addition, she said that we should contact our local police department.  She suggested that if the police saw the damage to the house, they might arrest her and get her involved with the juvenile justice system.  She hoped that if Danielle were given probation, it might be enough incentive to dissuade further violence.

"This isn't going to change until Danielle wants to make a change," she told us.

So true.

When we arrived home, we dutifully called police to make a report.  Their attitude was unbelievable.  They refused to look at the damages to the house, and they really exhibited an uncaring attitude.  Even though Danielle had hit me, threatened us with a weapon, and had broken her bed and the door, there was "nothing they could do."

They spoke to Danielle, who lied and claimed that we had broken the bed.  They took her side of the story, and as they left they admonished us not to piss her off.

How many stories make the news where foster and adoptive children go berserk?  How many of those tales end with shocked bystanders crying, "Why didn't someone do something before this happened?"

We are trying to do something, only nobody will listen.

Why Make It Easy, When It Can Be Hard Instead?

Danielle has to have all four of her wisdom teeth out.

So here is today's installment in the "why make it easy, when it can be hard, instead" category.

Our state-sponsored medical insurance will pay for her wisdom teeth to come out, which is terrific news.  Unfortunately, they will only pay for two extractions at a time.  Even though the dentist and the oral surgeon agreed that all four wisdom teeth must come out*, the state will only allow two to be extracted at a time.

So instead of sedating the kid once, yanking all the teeth, and getting it done all in one procedure, the state has to waste money and pay for two sedations.

Even stupider, each extraction has to be done six months apart.

Does this make any sense to anyone?

And here's where it gets even stupider:  Not only will the state only authorize for two teeth to be removed during a single surgery, it is illegal for the oral surgeon to pull all four and charge us the difference. As a result, the only way we would be able to have all of Danielle's teeth to be extracted in a single setting would be to pony up all the money and pay a private oral surgeon for the entire operation.

Crazy.

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* The oral surgeon claimed that her mouth was a "textbook case" where a kid needed to have all wisdom teeth out.

The Incredibly Frustrating Aftermath of Disturbing Events

Last weekend, we learned that Danielle did something very disturbing.  She told us that she cut herself, with the help of another student, at school.

The timing is a little unclear.  We aren't sure if this happened before the regular school year ended, or if it happened while she was attending summer school.  It's also possible, that she could be completely lying about where and when it happened.

Regardless of where or when she carved the name of a boy into her stomach, both her new therapist and her school should know about it.

I have been trying to reach these people all week and have been unsuccessful.

I called the therapist, but was not able to leave a message until this morning, because her voice mail system mysteriously wasn't accepting messages.  I called the director of Danielle's special program and left messages, and he has not returned my call.

This is, to put it mildly, incredibly frustrating.

How are we supposed to get the right help in place for this child, if we can't speak to the people who are in the position to help?

The Stupid Things Professionals Say

On Thursday, Jen over at Couldn't Make It Up If I Tried, wrote about her frustrations with the so-called "professionals" that are supposed to be helping her currently-hospitalized daughter.

Jen's post really struck a chord with me.  She was writing about some of the really stupid things her professional team had said to her.  This one really got to me:

"What you really need to do is make sure Little Turtle knows the expectations and hears from you that physical violence is not okay."  (Oh, is that what you're supposed to do?  Never would have thunk it on my own although I do think I did a pretty good job of explicitly and firmly saying, okay yelling, "You may not bite my boob," as she was latched on with her full set of teeth one night.)

When I first read this, I wanted to shout at my computer, "Are you f--cking kidding me?"  But of course Jen is not, because we've had many supposedly-brilliant professionals say similar things to us.

Our kid knows (at least when she's calm and rational) that violence is not okay.  However, that doesn't make any difference when she's angry or upset.  Sometimes she will dial it back in.  Sometimes, she won't.

There's an entire collection of stupid things professionals have said to Jen, so if you are parenting a difficult child, go take a look. I'm sure some of her post will strike a chord with you as well.

I know for a great many parents, it seems that we know what's better for our kids than the professionals who are supposed to be helping them.  It's pretty embarrassing when a supposedly-experienced therapist manages to be thoroughly manipulated and triangulated.  But of course the therapist doesn't recognize that she's been had, and everything comes down to the fact that we parents obviously must not be doing the right thing. (Can you hear the sarcasm in my voice?)

At one point, we raised the issue of our child's behavior with her pediatrician.  Do you know what she said?

She told us to withhold the child's allowance so that she would behave.

We did as the good doctor suggested, just as we've tried zillions of other parenting techniques that haven't worked.

I suppose you can guess how well withholding our kid's allowance worked out...

It didn't.

But the idiocy of the suggestion sure made me want to stab myself 10,000 times with a titanium spork.

Maybe withholding a child's allowance is a way to obtain compliance from a "normal" kid, but it sure didn't work here.  As the doctor suggested, we set up a chart, and kept score, and you can guess how many weeks our kid was able to keep it together long enough to get her money...

For our kid, money simply wasn't a sufficient motivator.  Or perhaps the entire concept was too abstract.  Who knows.

So telling a kid violence is not okay is about as effective as spitting into the wind.  It's probably less effective, because at least spitting into the wind will get your face washed.

When Hope Dies

I haven't been blogging as much recently for several reasons:

• We've been doing a lot of things (mostly involving self-care) that pull me away from the Internet, which leaves less time for blogging.
• It's clear from my site traffic logs that I've attracted the attention and ire of some more people who intend me harm. Nice.
• I just don't know what to say anymore.  Much of the time I feel like I am repeating the same story over and over and over again.  Given my group of "fans" (and I use the term sarcastically) I'm not sure that it's smart to publicly write about what is going on in our home anymore*.

***

Baggage made a really good point this morning about hope.  She was commenting on Last Mom's post about the anger and resentment one might feel towards their adopted child, and said the following:

[H]ow do you not be resentful towards someone who accuses you of child abuse, who destroys things, who causes you trouble left and right in all sorts of ways, when all you have tried to do is love them, to parent them "therapeutically," to do everything you can to make it better.

I understand these feelings more so than ever.  Baggage went on to say that she had high hopes for her child when she was nine years old.  Now that her daughter is a teen, all she hopes for is that the kid escapes death and incarceration.

I understand. I understand. I understand.

This morning, we had a big meeting with the folks at our county's mental health office.  The meeting seemed pretty pointless, and a waste of seven people's time.  They told us they were going to give our kid the same services that we'd discussed over the phone.  So why, since they had already told us what they are going to do, did they make us come down and chat about it for 90 minutes?

Oh, I know why.  It was so the meeting organizer could compliment all the other people involved in our daughter's case on what a great job they are doing. 

Whatever. 

Of course my frustration is that the services they are going to provide are coming far too late.  They are basically going to be a repeat of what we've been doing all along, just with another new person. The only difference is this time we are going to see someone who is licensed.  That's an improvement, but it should have been done years ago. What are we on, now?  Mental health professional number eight?

This is insanity.  Let's do the same things, over and over again, and hope for a different result...

I have no hope left.

Our situation at home isn't about putting on an oxygen mask, being better parents, or anything else like that. It's about a very sick and troubled child, who is damaged (possibly beyond repair) and a system that doesn't have the resources or willingness to really help her.

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* I am considering opening up a private blog.  If you are interested, shoot me a private e-mail.  If there's enough interest, I'll set something up, though invites will only go out to folks that I "know" either through comments, or their own blogs.

The Insanity of Child Abuse Allegations

In our county, if someone calls the child abuse hotline, even if they report something that is legally not abuse, authorities will investigate.

We've now been investigated four times for child abuse. With the exception of one investigation two years ago, that was triggered because our child lied to police and claimed her arm had been dislocated*, everything else we've been investigated for is complete nonsense. Since all of these allegations have been completely bogus, all investigations have cleared us of any wrongdoing.  The charges have been unfounded.

We've been investigated for "forcing" our child to change her name and religion at the time of her adoption (untrue), not allowing post-adoption contact with her birth family (also untrue), sending her to a summer boot camp for troubled kids (true, but not abuse), griping about her annoying behavior (true, but not abuse), and most recently, because our child has been hitting us.

So that big violation of trust?  The crisis counselor filed a child abuse report on us because Danielle was hitting us, we were discussing out-of-home placement, and I'd told the counselor I wasn't going to follow some of her advice, because I disagreed with it.

So let's take a quick look at these allegations, shall we?

• A child hitting her parents is not child abuse.  It's elder abuse.
• Considering out-of-home placement is not child abuse, especially when said child has been violent in the home for close to two and a half years.
• Parents disagreeing with a therapist's advice is not child abuse.
  
  In this case, the crisis counselor wanted us to buy our daughter a new cell phone, and give her increased freedoms and perks.  It didn't seem like a good idea, since we were debriefing after another episode of our daughter's violence.  Given our troubles over the July 4th weekend, I think restricting, rather than increasing, her freedom is probably the wise choice.

I'm not even sure what to say about this situation, other than I'm pretty unhappy with the crisis counselor at the moment.  I would have understood her actions if she was reporting something that actually could have been considered abuse if it were true, but this is just a complete pile of baloney.

We were investigated and cleared in one day.  The charges were unfounded.

But that one day resulted in a ton of lost productivity at work and caused our child so much anxiety and distress that I can't even describe it.  I am so unhappy about what happened that I don't want the counselor back in our home.  We are done.  She's fired.   Of course firing her is probably unnecessary, as she would have moved on in a week or two anyway.  This agency only provides short-term counseling services.

We spoke to the counselor's supervisor, and at first she tried to hide behind the mandated reporter laws.  That's all well and good, but what was reported was not abuse.  Then, she tried to backpedal and say that the worker had contacted authorities because our child was abusing us, and this simply turned into a miscommunication between her agency and the child welfare people.

I call bullshit.

Seriously.  If you pick up the phone and call the child abuse hotline, what do you think you are doing?  Ordering a pizza?

Give me a break.

The supervisor offered to facilitate a meeting between their agency and the child abuse investigation people.  No thanks.  Danielle has been traumatized enough.  She's terrified of social workers, and each time she is interviewed by one, her reaction is increasingly negative.  This time, she suffered through two hours of a panic attack, complete with vomiting, headache, heart palpitations, and dizziness.  My kid doesn't need to be subjected to more of this.

Then, the supervisor offered to have one final meeting in our home to debrief.

Again, no thanks.  We are done.

It absolutely boggles my mind.  We were turned in because our child is hitting us, we are considering an out-of-home placement, and I told the therapist I won't buy my kid a brand new cell phone a week after she tried to kick me.

Insanity.

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* Our child's arm was not, and has never been, dislocated.  The police could plainly see that she had not been injured, but they had to file a report anyway, because Danielle had made the allegation.

When Professionals Violate Trust

After a difficult meeting with the crisis counselor last week, and a troubling July 4th weekend, we came home to learn that the crisis counselor had done something that really violated our family's trust.  The result of her mistake created some unbelievable drama and a traumatic event for Danielle that, once it was over, resulted in her having a two-hour-long panic attack.

The attack was so severe that we considered transporting Danielle to the emergency room.  She was vomiting and hyperventilating, and complained of a headache and heart palpitations.  It was bad.  Since her pediatrician bawled us out the last time we took her to the ER without a telephone consultation first, we called her office.  The doctor spoke to us and then to Danielle.  After about 20 minutes, she was able to partially talk Danielle down out of her emotional tree.

The logical choice would have been to call the crisis counselor, but of course it was her actions that had created the problem in the first place.

So what do you do when a professional violates your trust in such a profound way?

Once Danielle had calmed down enough to go to bed, we called the counselor, expecting to get her voice mail system.  Surprisingly, she answered, and my wife and I calmly let her know just how badly she had damaged our professional relationship and undermined Danielle's trust in her.

"What you did was not cool," I told her.

Her response?

"I was only trying to help."

Her "help" ended up creating two days of stress, drama, and unproductive, distracted work for us.  More importantly, she created two days of worry and stress for our kid.  Although the problem that was created has been resolved, the destruction of Danielle's trust is complete.  She no longer wishes to work with this particular counselor, nor does she wish to work with anyone else.

And I don't blame Danielle one little bit.

Although I really don't believe that the crisis counselor meant any malice in her actions, she failed to consider the effect they would have on everyone, especially Danielle.  Part of the problem, I think, is her lack of experience.  She is not a licensed therapist; rather, she's an inexperienced fresh-out-of-school intern, who failed to consider the fact that we are dealing with a child of trauma, and her actions stepped right onto one of Danielle's biggest triggers.

The only thing that frustrates me more is the fact that the crisis counselor had been warned in advance about this particular trigger, and she didn't bother to take it into account.

"I was only trying to help."

That may have been very well her intention, but it was a huge violation of everyone's trust.  We are trying to get help for a troubled child who needs it, and now the so-called helping professionals have once again made Danielle's situation much, much, much worse.

They created an enormous mess, and now we are the ones left trying to clean it up.