November 30, 2011
Gabriela and I discussed the after care facilities on my list of what I thought were the best options. We were both on the same page regarding exactly what her needs were, and she understood that I was having a very difficult time finding a suitable place.
Most of the inpatient facilities offered shorter term programs that ranged from three weeks to three months, and Gabriela and I both knew it was going to take longer than that for her recovery.
Tranquility had risen quickly to the top of my list, but Gabriela was leaning toward some out of state facilities that she had heard about while she was at Huntington. I explained that if she checked into a place far from home, and found that for some reason she wanted to leave, there would be nowhere for her to go. This was a real concern for me because her admittance would be voluntary, so she could leave any time she wanted.
I did tell her that the man who ran Tranquility was helping me find a place for her at another facility because they had no openings for the next few months.
One afternoon, I called Bridges to Recovery. The cost of a bed there was $45,000 for a one-month program. They had only six beds, but each day was full of an assortment of therapies. I thought it might be a good first step for Gabriela, and would buy me more time to find a more permanent place. If I could get my primary insurance company to approve them as a “preferred provider,” then the cost would be fully paid for.
The director of Bridges was a nice enough man, who seemed willing to work with me as I coordinated the conversation between Bridges and my insurance company. Everything seemed to be working out.
Gabriela had looked over the information I’d brought her about Bridges, and liked what she saw. Abbey knew Bridges by reputation and liked them. Dr. Duncan liked them, also, and Claire and I liked them. Another plus was that at the end of the first month, if Gabriela wasn’t ready to leave, it might be possible to extend her stay.
I was really just looking for a place that could help Gabriela while we waited for an opening at Tranquility. Everyone felt that Bridges would work well for the first month or so, then Gabriela would transfer to Tranquility for the long stay.
Each day I worked with the director of Bridges to make sure everything was in place. Bridges was a very well-known and very posh facility; Claire and I both joked that we wanted to go there just for a break. Gabriela was very excited to start on her road to recovery there.
We knew Dr. Duncan was keeping Gabriela at Huntington just long enough for Bridges to be ready to receive her. As we came down to the wire, Abbey pulled some strings to get the authorization for Bridges from the insurance company, which came just the day before Gabriela was to be discharged. Excellent!
The following day I had to pick Gabriela up from Huntington, and drive her to Bridges. I sat in the waiting area of Huntington that next afternoon, knowing all I needed was to get that last confirmation from the director of Bridges that everything was a go.
My cellphone rang. It was him. “Bobbie, good news! We have heard from your insurance company and everything is taken care of.”
A sigh of relief from me. “Thank god,” I thought.
He continued. “We have decided to give you a $25,000 scholarship toward the tuition, so when you bring your daughter over today, just bring a cashier’s check for $20,000 made payable to Bridges to Recovery.”
I felt a jolt! This couldn’t be happening so close to her release. There were no other options! I had crossed every “T” and dotted every “I.”
“I told you I have no more money!” I desperately reminded the hollow businessman on the other end of the phone. “There is no way that I can come up with $20,000 in two and a half hours! Insurance has already authorized this. They will be paying!”
The voice on the other side of the line said, “Yes, they have authorized your daughter’s treatment, so they will reimburse you.”
Completely defeated, I sighed into the phone without an ounce of energy left in me. “I have nowhere to take my daughter, nowhere to get help for her now!”
He quickly chimed in, “We will send you some information on a place called Paramount Health. It accepts your insurance, and we will give them your number so they can call you.”
I sat in the waiting area and tears poured. Here I was just minutes before Gabriela would be let out, and now I had no plan.
As I sat in the waiting area the evening nurses arrived, the one that I wasn’t particularly friendly with. She’d called me from her cell phone very late a few nights earlier and said ominously, “Call your daughter on the hall phone.” Then hung up.
When I’d called as she had instructed, it was nearly 11PM. Gabriela answered, she was having a difficult night. She was panicked, paranoid, and frightened. She wanted me to come to the hospital, and then in the middle of our conversation one of the client assistants walked over and just hung up the phone. I was worried, because Gabriela had been crying and was out of sorts enough that the nurse had called me. I called back, but there was no answer, so I called the nurses’ station. The nurse that had called me from her cell answered. I asked, “What’s going on?”
She acted as if she hadn’t called me earlier, and answered, “Everything is fine. Your daughter is just a little sad.”
I was completely confused. “What the heck is going on over there?” I paused. “I would like to drive over and see Gabriela.”
She responded that visiting hours were over. I asked her, “Call your head nurse and see if you can get permission for me to come in, then call me on my cell. I will be on my way.”
I received no phone call as I drove. When I arrived, the gates were locked and it was about midnight, so I was told to leave. I asked if they would tell Gabriela that I had come.
This is the nurse that now stopped and sat next to me. She asked what had happened. I explained that I had really let Gabriela down: that the place I’d thought had been completely set up, and which Gabriela was to go to in just a few hours, had just pulled the rug out from under me completely. And I had no backup plan.
Now, Gabriela would be going home with me, and I wasn’t ready for that. And neither was she. The nurse put her arm around me and confided that she has a son who suffers from a mental illness. And that we, as parents, do the best that we can, and it’s not always easy and we aren’t always perfect. “Life is tough enough as a parent. But add to that the twist of an adult child with a mental illness, and our job has just become 100 times more difficult; and any support system out there for us or our children has become 100 times more rare. We do the best we can and you have tried harder than any mom I have watched. You have done well. Your daughter will be fine. It’ll be okay.”
She and I sat and talked until I didn’t look like I’d been hit in the face with a frying pan. Until I wasn’t crying, and my voice could hold a steady tone. Then we walked to Ward 400 together. I wasn’t ready to tell Gabriela, but I knew I didn’t have any choice.