whybother?

The kid commented tonight that I haven’t written a post in a while. She asked me why not. I had to think about that.

I’m bored with my blogging.

I have nothing much to say.

I’m over it.

I set up a new blog, thinking that would give me a new lease of life.

It hasn’t.

So, I guess that’s it.

Over and out.

After all, Why Bother? 

Now that some research has been undertaken, a clearer picture of my client’s life is emerging. We have interviewed her and her hubby, as well as her parents and her GP.

We are getting mixed messages.

Her parents appear very supportive. They have the children regularly, including overnight. That weekend, the children had been at Nan and Pop’s, only returning home on Monday afternoon. Tuesday morning, mum had her ‘meltdown’. She has a history of mental health concerns, but no formal diagnosis. There may be some (understandable) depression. She may have had, or still have, anorexia. Her parents believe she has an alcohol dependency. There does not appear to be any evidence of that.

Her GP states she has a very, very long history of refusing to accept services. She has been referred to you-name-it on many occasions, yet fails to engage, preferring to do it alone. The GP and her parents describe her as being a martyr. The GP states she has these ‘meltdowns’ on quite a regular basis. She then picks up the pieces, carries on ok for a while, then ‘goes off’ again. The reason we haven’t had contact before, is that there have not been any previous concerns for the children. There is a general feeling that perhaps she went too far this time, or else she confided in the ‘wrong’ person on this occasion.

She has poor attachments, forming inappropriate relationships with people, then sucking the life out of them, before moving on when the relationship crumbles under the pressure.

She tells us she was ‘venting’. She does not accept that her behaviour prompted the response it did. She denies saying that she was suicidal, but we have two separate, very detailed reports, quoting words she is alleged to have said. She states that she believes she copes very well most of the time, but her parents tell us otherwise. Her husband does not seem to know what to believe. He is a shiftworker, and is not at home a lot.

Her excuse for not engaging with services is that so many people come and go that you don’t know who does what. I can accept that to some degree. I know that people with disabled children can feel overwhelmed by the various therapists and assorted do-gooders in their lives. She tells us she has not had a good night’s sleep for 6 years, but her parents tell us they regularly have the children overnight and longer. She doesn’t deny it. She rejects respite care, then says she is exhausted, and can’t cope.  Late last year, my own organisation offered a voluntary program to the family, which she initially accepted, then declined.

I know other people who have rejected services (waves hello), but they do soldier on. They don’t run around threatening to commit suicide. If they vent, they do so carefully, to selected individuals such as partners or parents who do not have mandatory reporting obligations. You could say that this was a cry for help, but speaking to her the other day, she still denies she needs help. She says she wants everyone to go away and leave her alone. Her parents believe she is a manipulative attention-seeker. If that’s the case, it sure got her some attention this time!

Who amongst us has not felt overwhelmed? Exhausted? Emotionally spent? Who, as a parent, has not threatened to ‘kill’ their child, knowing full well it would never, ever come to that? Who has never felt the urge to go to sleep and never wake up? It would be very rare to find anyone who has never, however briefly or fleetingly felt that way, but we don’t all go around harming our kids or ourselves. Some people are born drama queens who bask in the limelight. They don’t feel complete unless there is a crisis going on. The question is, what category does this woman fall into?

I’m reasonably confident that Tuesday’s performance was an aberration. She is exhausted. She is overwhelmed. Is she suicidal? I’m not a mental health worker, but I don’t think so. Is she capable of harming her children? Possibly. Is she likely to do so? Probably not. I would be really happy to see her engage with some services. I’d love for someone from disabilities to come in, make some modifications, maybe provide some in-home respite. I’d love her to have a full mental health assessment, just to see what is really going on there. I’d love for her to have a full physical check-up. I don’t have much faith in counselling (apologies to anyone who does!), but if she could get some benefits from that, she should give it a try.

The kids are at school all day. There is time for her to access some of these things. What I really want to see, is for her to acknowledge that she needs some kind of help, and is willing to accept it. I don’t want 500 people she doesn’t know walking into her home. I don’t want to tell her how to live, or how to raise her kids. I just want her to receive some support, to see these crisis situations avoided. To give her some strategies for what to do when it all becomes too much. Then I can get the hell out of her life, and get onto some families that actually need a big stick.

There is a lot of debate around at the moment, particularly regarding the Queensland tragedy. I have my own, very strong opinions on that particular situation, but I won’t be sharing them here. The problem, as I see it, is that various child protection authorities are very crisis-driven. We tend to react, or over-react to individual incidents, rather than responding in a timely and considered manner. There is so little opportunity for actual casework to take place, that it really is a situation of crisis intervention. Naturally, by the time the family has reached crisis point, it is often a bit late for casework!

I don’t know what the answer is. As individual professionals, I believe the majority of us do the very best we can, often with little or no factual information. It is never my intention to walk into someone’s home and remove their children. In my experience, a removal is an absolute, unavoidable, last resort. It is never done lightly. It is never (I hope) a knee-jerk reaction. We always try to work with the family. We are mandated by our legislation to do so. In this situation, the children were not removed at any stage. It was our recommendation, which was voluntarily accepted, that the children go to Nan and Pop’s for a couple of days. There are usually alternatives to removal, and I would say these are always, without exception, considered.

I’d like to add that what happened to that mum on that day, did not occur as a result of our involvement. The police were called (not by us). It was the police officer who decided to detain her, for her own safety. It was his decision to call the ambulance. He was obliged under his legislation to take those actions. Our role, on that day, really ended upon sighting the children and ensuring someone was able to pick them up and care for them. We only stayed with mum out of some weird, possibly misguided, hope that we could in some way calm her down to a point where we could talk to her. Once we could see that was not going to happen, we remained with her because otherwise she would have been alone with three large men in uniforms. It was kind of an impotent nod at sisterly solidarity. 

I welcome debate in my comments area, if people are so inclined. I understand this is a really emotive issue, for various reasons. Please be mindful of that, and be respectful towards each other. You can’t offend me! It’s impossible. I had those parts of my personality amputated a long time ago.

I also hope nobody feels that I’m speaking out of turn. I don’t believe I’ve said anything here which could identify the players.

No, I am not talking about myself. Thanks for asking, though.

Imagine if you were a mother to an 8 year old and 6 year old twins. Now imagine one of the twins has a severe disability, requiring 24/7 care, her every. single. physical need is your responsibility to meet. She cannot communicate verbally- she can only scream. She cannot sleep through the night. She wakes 4, 5, 6 times. Every. single. night. For 6 years. She cannot eat solids. She must be bottle fed. Now imagine her twin has autism. Imagine your husband works 12 hour shifts. Imagine that you have had no decent sleep for 6 years (Hi Kelley!).

You are at breaking point. You are not sure if you can take any more, or if you want to. You reach out to the only person you trust. You confide in her that you are feeling suicidal. You tell her that you can’t bear to live this way anymore, and you don’t want your children to live without you. You tell her that you know how to mix your 6 year old’s medications so that if taken, they will kill. Imagine the person you confide in is an education professional, who is legally obliged to notify your state’s child protection authorities…

Fast forward, to where the child protection authorities arrive with a police officer. You become aggressive, threatening, screaming, crying and swearing. You are frightened. You don’t know who these people are, or why they have come. You wish you’d never woken up this morning. You scream abuse at the person you confided in, who is also crying uncontrollably. You accuse her of betraying you, because that is how it feels- like a betrayal. Suddenly, ambulance officers arrive. You become violent, attacking the police officer with a pair of scissors. The police officer disarms you as gently as a six foot four man can, and you fly into a rage. You try to leave the room, but there are people blocking the doors. You can’t open the doors, you are trapped. You are screaming to be let out. In your rage, you don’t know your own strength, and you open the door. The person leaning on it slams your hand in it, but you don’t feel the pain. She sees the marks on the back of your hands that indicate a history of self-harm. Old, healed scars, and new, just-stopped-bleeding lacerations.

Frustrated, alone, terrified, you run to the windows, but they are painted shut. You pick up a toaster and throw it at the window, but the glass refuses to shatter. The ambulance officer restrains you, as the police officer comes running. They try to talk you down, to calm you, but you cannot be calmed. You are hyperventilating, crying, shaking. The ambulance officer begins to tell you of his powers under the Mental Health Act, and you see him holding a syringe. You back off, saying ‘no, no, please’. The police officer asks you if you are willing to get into the ambulance of your own accord. He repeats his request. He is pleading with you to comply, because nobody in that room wants to see you sedated against your will, but for your own good, it must come to that, and soon.

Your partner arrives, and he takes you into his arms.  He is confused, dazed. He has received a phone call at work, asking him to come. He doesn’t understand what is happening, or why. Who are these people? What has happened to you? What have they done to you? You cry as he holds you. The authorities attempt to explain to him what is happening from their perspective. They fear for your safety. They have a duty of care. They cannot release you. They must, by law, transport you to hospital for a mental health assessment. He asks whether you can be released into his care, and they explain it is not possible. He agrees to try and coax you into the ambulance. He fails.

The police officer makes one last attempt. He asks you if there is any way he can get you to agree to get into the ambulance. He doesn’t threaten, he doesn’t raise his voice. He asks you to look at him, and you do. You are dazed, traumatised, but you look at him. He asks you again, is there anything that I can say or do to get you to come with us voluntarily? You tell him that you will go if your confidant will go with you.

He leaves the room. He is gone for a long time, and you pace the room anxiously. You are still crying and hyperventilating. The ambulance officers exchange concerned looks. They ask you to sit down, take some slow breaths. You refuse. Eventually he returns, having extracted a committment from your friend, the education professional. You are escorted to the ambulance by the two ambulance officers, the police officer and the child protection workers. As you get closer, you begin to feel afraid. You wonder if this is a trick. You can’t see your friend. You call her name, but there is no answer. They tell you that she is coming, but is she? You are in no fit state to know. Reluctantly, you climb into the ambulance. The ambulance officer is kind, and gentle, but you can’t stop trembling. He explains to you that he is going to strap you in, and he reaches across you to do so. You gaze out the window, defeated. The ambulance door closes, and you jump in fright, thinking they have tricked you, but it’s ok, they explain they are closing the door to keep the driving rain out.

After a lifetime, your friend arrives. She climbs into the seat beside you, and the ambulance drives away. 

Around Mollie’s birthday, which was in March, I had a big fight with my EMIL (Evil Mother In-Law). Well, it wasn’t a fight, so much as it was me expressing my disappointment and dismay with her behaviour and attitude. Well, ok, it was a fight. It ended with me ringing her, in an effort to try and resolve the issues in an adult manner. She hung up on me. Twice.

On March 27th, Mollie’s 11th birthday, EMIL and her husband rang Mollie to wish her a happy birthday. Darren, EMIL’s only child, and Mollie, EMIL’s only grandchild, have not heard from, or spoken to, her since. They have not contacted her, and she has not contacted them. At all. Except for one text message, when Mollie texted EMIL to wish her a happy Mother’s Day, and EMIL sent a text back. That’s it.

Who, in their right mind, could treat their family this way? And why would you want to? I read enough blogs to know that people are weird. Also, that people have really weird family dynamics. I should know. I don’t have any kind of relationship at all with my father and my mother is a whole other post. However, it has not been through lack of trying.

I have washed my hands of EMIL. The only time Darren and Mollie ever saw her was when I instigated it. She always rang to speak to them once a week (sometimes more), but now that has stopped completely. I have never, ever said that Darren and Mollie can’t contact her, or can’t see her. I have never said that she can’t ring them, or email them, or come and see them. Not once. It hasn’t even been implied. I have only said that I will no longer facilitate their relationships with each other.

Yesterday, I had coffee with my mother. Believe me, that would require its own post. During the conversation, the EMIL came up. My mother asked me whether or not there had been any developments. I replied that there had not. She asked me how I felt about that. I replied that it made me really sad, angry and frustrated. She suggested that maybe I should call her. She stated that perhaps it was not a great idea to socially isolate myself from her. I’m sorry? Did I hang up on EMIL? Or was it the other way around? Why is it my problem to resolve? Why is it my fault? My mother was quick to say that she wasn’t blaming me, but… Wisely, we dropped the subject.

You tell me. Seriously. Go back and read my account of what happened. I believe it’s an accurate representation. Obviously, it’s one sided, but I really believe it’s fair. Play devil’s advocate, if you wish. What could I have done differently? Keep in mind, that she is 66 years old, and I am 33. She is retired. I work full time. They moved 90 minutes away from us. There is physically nothing wrong with her. Mentally may be a different story, but that’s not for me to say! Should I have kept biting my tongue for the next 12 years of marriage? Should I have just gone along with her for the sake of keeping the peace? Is this my fault? 

Whilst in Sydney this week (my final week…YAY!), I spent a lot of time in public toilets. Don’t ask why, just concentrate, ok? I began to wonder about a few things. Why do ladies’ toilets always have really, really long queues? How do you manage that situation delicately? Is it ok to chat to the lady standing beside you in the queue? Or not? When it’s your turn, do you, or do you not make eye contact with the person leaving the cubicle? Is it ok to make a really big stink in there when it’s packed, or should you hold on until there’s no one around? And if you need to fart loudly once you take a seat, is that socially acceptable? If you have no choice other than to make a stink, and there is no air freshener (usually the case) should you warn the next occupant?

All this led to me pondering lift etiquette. My hotel has 18 floors, so I’ve also spent a fair bit of time in lifts. The office buildings I was working in also have lifts. What is the maximum number of people that can comfortably fit in a lift? If there are already four or five people in there, is it ok to jam yourself in too? Or should you wait for the next lift? If you are one of the existing four or five, should you shuffle backwards until you are standing in someone else’s personal space? Or are you simply begging to be punched in the face? What happens if someone with death breath is breathing in your face? And you have to ride more than 3 floors? When entering the lift, is eye contact good or bad? Should you acknowledge the other occupants, or studiously ignore them? If you choose to greet them, should it be a cheery ‘good morning’, or a slight nod accompanied by a grimace? Upon exit, should you say goodbye? Oh, the confusion.

RANDOM RAMBLINGS 

I’ve had a big week. Final week of training. End of 8 weeks with the group. Saying goodbye: with sadness and relief! Everyone promising to stay in touch, knowing the reality will probably be very different! Final assessment (which I blitzed: was there ever any doubt?). Coming to the realisation that now my training is complete, I’ll be expected to know what I’m doing!!!!

I went and saw Billy Elliott on Tuesday night. It was awesome. Really, really enjoyable. If you get the chance to see it, you should! I was really impressed. 

Wednesday night, a group of us went to Scruffy Murphy’s. It was an absolute riot (not literally!). They have the cheapest meals in Sydney: a range of menu items for $5.95. I had steak and chips, and it could not be faulted. I couldn’t even finish the steak! Then there was the alcohol: $3 glasses of wine, $7 jugs of beer…ah, it took me back to my uni days! After dinner, it was time for Drag Queen Karaoke. Oh. My. God. I laugh just thinking about it. I ’spoke’ of toilet etiquette- this was toilet humour, at its finest!

Earlier this month, Mollie attended an open day at her dream high school. Yesterday, we got a letter informing us that she has been offered a place! It’s a big step, because it’s a boarding school. It also costs zillions of dollars a year, but it is something she really, really wants. When we had a look around, we fell in love with it too, so we’re going to do everything we can to ensure her dream comes true. She’s our only child, and it’s really important to her, so why not?

It’s been a huge week, filled with emotional ups and downs. I’m exhausted! I’m so looking forward to everything getting back to normal, now that the travelling to and from Sydney is finally over.  

I have survived another week in the Big Smoke. Just. It was a pretty quiet week. Two key members of the group were missing, which affected the group dynamic. Hopefully they’ll be back next time, because they were missed.

Unlike previous weeks, I actually learned a few things this time around. Some of it was very confronting, particularly the Thursday session. I won’t go into details. Suffice to say I had a few beliefs challenged and a few assumptions shot down in flames.

That night, tails between our legs, the majority of us retreated to the safety of the local pub to drown our sorrows.  A few turned into a few more, then a few more, and before I knew it, I was smashed. Bonds between group members which had been tentatively forming were cemented that night. I was quite unwell on Friday morning, but managed to overcome by lunchtime.

We are coming towards the end of our time together, and a kind of melancholy has settled over us. We all agree that our time has been challenging, confronting and tiresome, but we all really value each other and we will miss having regular contact. There are still three weeks to go, but we are already discussing our first ‘reunion’! I’m a bit sceptical. It sounds good now, but in reality, how likely is it that we’ll still feel the same way in six months time? 

When I left school, I had no intentions of keeping up with my former cellmates classmates. True to form, I let all bar one of them go. I’m enjoying the company of these colleagues, and there are a few whose friendship I have come to value, but will it survive separation? Do I want it to? We’ve been plucked from obscurity and forced into a classroom-type situation. We’ve gone through some very intense training together. We don’t really know each other that well. We only think we do. It’s almost like a hostage situation, where the hostages begin to identify with the captors. It’s quite surreal.

In my last job, the group had a very similar experience, except that we lost more than half of our members along the way. Those of us who were left felt like a family. I have stayed in touch with a couple of them, but if I’m honest, it’s because they have been very good about contacting me.

Whilst this is all very deep and meaningful, at the end of the day, these are not people I would normally have connected with. I guess I’m wondering whether or not I will be committed enough to keep the relationships going. Do I care enough? If I stay in this organisation, I may well be working closely with some of these people in the future. Some of them could become my managers! In that sense, it would be prudent to keep the network alive. I would prefer to keep in touch for more altruistic reasons. I have never, ever been a user, and don’t think I ever could. I can’t stomach the idea of keeping these people on the backburner until I one day need them for something. 

I now have two weeks at home. From the 27th of April, it’s week on, week off again until it’s all over. I can’t wait until I no longer have to go through this process. I will be as fully qualified as I am going to be in this position, and my ‘real’ working life can begin. I will have my own clients, my own cases. That will be when I find out whether or not I can cut it. I think I can. After all this, I certainly hope I can. Stay tuned.

The other night Mollie thought she could hear a mozzie buzzing around in her room. She turned the light on and sprayed that fucker. It didn’t die from the poison: it drowned.  Tonight, she located the deceased and brought it out to show me. Check it out.

It’s lucky she killed it. It may have carried her off! 

Around about 12 years ago, I met my beloved. Shortly thereafter, I had the pleasure of meeting his parents. I doubt if his mother and I have ever had an honest conversation. Too painful.

I don’t know how she feels about me. Care factor? Zero. Not interested. She walks the walk, and is quite convincing, but given my depth of feeling towards her, I doubt if there’s any genuine affection for me on her part. That’s fine. We don’t have to like each other. So why pretend?

Folks, this woman has pissed me off more times than I can count. In so many different ways. There was the time she accused me of child abuse. There were all the times I invited her to something on Darren or Mollie’s behalf and she rejected them, but wouldn’t tell them, would tell me, so that I had to break the news to them. The times that she has hurt Mollie, and I’ve been the one to cop it.

Darren and Mollie choose not to confront this woman. There is a good reason for this. She has a vicious tongue. Even her humour is hurtful. She is intolerant. Towards everybody. She hates Asians, Muslims, Aboriginals, Homosexuals, Catholics, Politicians, Americans. That’s her problem. She hates. She is bitter, and twisted. There is no joy inside of her. None. The precious moments she spends with her only child and her only grandchild are often wasted as she picks at them, criticizing and condemning them until they are silent with hurt. She is incapable of positivity. She sees only the negative. She looks for the negative, and if that’s what you look for, that’s what you find.

Next week is Mollie’s birthday. All she wanted was a picnic with both sets of grandparents, mum, dad and one friend. Here is an extract of the email I received this morning, from Darren’s mother:

Mollie said the party is now at Lake Macquarie not Cessnock, if this is right, we will only come and see her and give her the present, as 6 hours travel in a car is too long for JB and the drive back after 4 hours in the car is a lot extra for me too. Sorry about this, but we can still come up early that day to give her the present or go back to another weekend in Cessnock that suits you all. Judy

Lake Mac is half an hour from Cessnock. They have to drive one hour to Cessnock, half an hour to the lake, half an hour back, then another hour home. That makes it 3 hours, not 6. Additionally, if it was that much of a drama, they could stay overnight, as they have been invited to do, but declined. They are in their 60’s, not their 90’s. This is not the first incident of such a slap in the face.

On reading this, I fired off a quick, ‘ok, no worries, we’ll have another talk about it and let you know’. Then took myself quietly off to my room to fume in solitude. Then thought about it some more. Then got angrier. And angrier. 12 years of anger and pain went round and round my little brain. I came out of my room. I mentioned the email to Darren, and was asked ‘what did you expect?’ This hurt too.

Mollie isn’t here at the moment, so she doesn’t know about it. When I tell her, which I will have to, because she won’t, she’ll be angry and hurt too. And she will take it out on me. Which is natural.

So I sat down and composed an honest email. I took my time. I read and re-read it. Then I hit ’send’. Fuck it. Fuck her. 12 years is a long time. 

Hi all. I am so proud of myself. I have created my first ever Bloggy Bling. It’s not exactly an award, but it is something that you can take and share if you wish.

I know, I know, I’m a sick puppy. This just totally appealed to my sense of humor. That’s why those of you who know and love me, love me! 

If anyone asks, I did not allow the child to have ice-cream, chocolate topping and 100s and 1000s for breakfast. Okay? Okay.