In the last post we left off at the point where we were given two choices after our girl had spent several days in an emergency assessment unit. Put her in St Vincents Private (at about $5000 a day) or take her home. As mentioned we were fortunate, in that St Vincents Private had a bed free, and we have full private medical insurance.
The proceeding months have been a nightmare that one can barely find words to describe.
After four or five days in emergency assessment, my daughter was transferred to St Vincents Private where she stayed for around 35 days. While I have developed some reservations as to the effectiveness of the treatment there, the huge bonus was that my daughter was in a safe and secure environment that took away any immediate worry about further suicide attempts.
As the hospital is not so far from my place of work, it fell to me to be the daily contact between my daughter and her immediate family.
The five weeks she was in hospital went as follows;
- Up at 5 a.m. and off to work
- Knock off at 4 p.m. an make my way to the hospital
- Visit for an hour or two then make my way home on public transport
- Dinner at 9 p.m. and help with chores
- In bed between 10:30 and 11:30 p.m.
- Day time visits on Saturday and Sunday with my wife
- Rinse and repeat
In terms of work, I was doing my own job and filling in for my Manager during this period. At some point during this period, I was not only exhausted, but was likely beginning to break down emotionally and mentally. Although to this day I have no idea at all of what I may have done, there were complaints (for the only time during a twenty five year career) to senior management that I did not seem to be focused on my work and that my behavior was being somehow disruptive. Given the situation I found myself in, I am not surprised.
Then we got her home.
My two girls have always shared a room, as living in Sydney is hideously expensive, and more living space is beyond my means. The first thing I witnessed, was that an already traumatised younger sister started to sink into depression herself because of the added pressure of not having any space separate from a sibling displaying symptoms and behaviors that she just could not escape. In the finish, I managed a quick and dirty renovation of the back shed to create an extra room.
My amazing and beautiful wife, also traumatised beyond what any parent should have to endure, has experienced stress, anxiety, nightmares, and an unceasing tiredness. It has fallen to her to get herself, and both daughters to a seemingly never ending round of appointments with counselors psychologists, psychiatrists, and doctors over recent months. This in addition to holding down a twenty five hour per week job and looking after much of the chores at home.
Our adult son, who has not spoken about recent events, and who has not availed himself of any professional support has been an unknown and worrying quantity. I have however witnessed pure gut wrenching horror on his face whenever he saw clearly, the damage that his sister had done to herself with sharp blades.
Despite my great love, and my huge desire to protect and help my daughter, I have felt largely impotent. Beyond doing our best to ensure she gets to appointments that she must attend, she has been pretty much apathetic about everything. She has quit school, not made any real effort to look for work, continue learning, volunteer, exercise, or even do those everyday things to look after herself. Any effort to try and kick start efforts in these areas peters out before it starts or escalates into a flaming row. One plus, is that after some months, we have at least got her drawing and painting again. It is a start.
One of the most difficult things is to manage my efforts as a parent to assist my daughter as she deals with her illness, while not robbing my wife or either of my other two children of my time and efforts at the same time.
So, as a dad, where am I at right now?
I am exhausted.
My heart breaks every morning when I leave for work, knowing that for much of the day my older daughter will be at home without support or supervision.
I worry every day (despite evidence to the contrary) that I am not performing in my job.
My heart breaks every day when I see my youngest daughter looking sad, tired, and depressed.
My heart breaks every day when I see that my wife looks a little older, more tired, more worried, more stressed, and more anxious than she did the day before.
I worry when I realise that I know nothing about how my son has experienced all of this.
I worry when I realise that I can count on my fingers the number of times in the last six months that my wife and I have been together alone for more than five minutes, and both awake.
When one of my kids or my wife comment that they dislike living where we do, dislike the old and cramped car we drive, or that they need something that we just don't have the money for because of the hit our finances have taken during this time, my heart breaks again.
The plus is, that although I am a long term sufferer of depression myself, I have not seen any real signs of the black dog recently. I simply do my best, concentrating on one day and one step at a time.
This been a somewhat rambling look into how I as a father have experienced the last six months. Again, I apologise for the disorganised writing. I started out intending to be brutally honest, and ended up self moderating to avoid writing anything that could embarrass my wife or my kids. This impacted the flow of the post.
From here, I intend to begin some more formal posts dealing with youth mental health in general, and the resources available to families relying on the public system. I might also look at depression from a personal perspective, and delve into the subject of bullying.
