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.

The mother from the last post is doing well. I will post an update as soon as possible. I’m just too tired at the moment.

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. 

Well, it’s official- there is no scholarship. Time for Plan B: not sure what that will be yet. Any suggestions would be most welcome.

Meanwhile, I’ve joined a new team at work, which means another new manager. This is my 5th manager in 7 months! Must be some kind of record. I already knew this person, let’s call her "Flossy", as she works in the same office. Flossy has an annoying habit of calling everyone "Lovey". As in "Lovey, could you come here for a minute?" Or "Lovey, do you have that document I need?". She also has an annoying habit of using twenty times as many words as necessary, and periodically repeating herself. Repeatedly. It’s quite possible to enter Flossy’s office for a quick chat, and emerge an hour later. She also likes to lean in and semi-whisper in a confidential manner, as if she is telling you something she really shouldn’t be saying. It’s quite unnerving.

Flossy flaps, she fusses and she fluffs around. She can’t make a decision to save her life: she always needs to ‘consult’ at least half a dozen people before she makes her mind up. Sometimes she’ll make a decision on something, after much agonizing, then come back later or even the next day and say she’s changed her mind. Frustrating? You’d better believe it. Apparently, she is quite good at her job. I’ve yet to see any evidence of this.

Earlier today, I was in Flossy’s office with another colleague we’ll call Kelly. Flossy said that she would need me to take a car to a suburb 30-odd kilometres away and meet Kelly at Mrs X’s house, in order to have a discussion about a particular matter. Flossy advised that we would need two cars, as I would be required to come back to the office, with Kelly travelling elsewhere. I asked Flossy whether it wouldn’t be simpler to just phone Mrs X and discuss the matter. Kelly and Flossy exchanged looks and exclaimed "What a great idea!"

Fuck me.

A couple of hours later, Flossy approached me and said "Lovey, about that visit tomorrow…". Kelly stepped up and said "Oh, it’s ok, I rang Mrs X and she’s not interested". Flossy’s face lit up with joy "Oh, great! We don’t have to worry about it. What a relief!" 

Still haven’t heard anything. Either way.

A little while ago, Mollie sat a scholarship exam for her dream high school. Today is the day the successful candidates get the phone call that will change their lives.

I must have woken up every half hour last night, waiting for morning. As luck would have it, I’m having the day off, so I’m sitting here, waiting, daring to hope one minute, certain the phone will ring with the good news. The next minute, I’m certain it won’t, that I’ll have to tell her she’s missed out.

At 10.30, it became too much, and I rang the school, to ask whether the ‘winners’ had been notified. "Not yet," was the reply. "They may not get to it today, they are still going over the results. Maybe tomorrow."

I went to the library, browsing the aisles, looking for a distraction. I borrowed a few novels, but I can’t seem to get into any of them.

I decided to begin preparing dinner, so the kid can eat as soon as she gets home. She’ll be late tonight, because she is attending Starstruck rehearsals. I chopped and sliced and boiled and mixed. That done, I decided to prepare tomorrow night’s dinner as well! Stress brings out the latent Nigella in me!

Now I have a lasagne and a casserole on the go, and it is still only 1pm, and still no phone call.

What else can I do to distract myself? Mollie wants this so badly. She has a position awaiting her acceptance. I originally told her that if she didn’t win a scholarship, she couldn’t go, because we can’t afford it. Now, I’m willing to make any sacrifice to enable her to accept. This should be an exciting and happy time for her, but she’s stressing out about the cost. I keep reassuring her that we will find a way. We will find a way. But the scholarship would be a big, big relief!

I know, if it’s meant to be, it will happen. There’s nothing more I can do. Mollie has tried her hardest, and no matter the outcome, I’m proud of her for having a go. I just want the waiting to be over… 

Me, cooking!! Tricked ya! Hahahahahahaha

A few weeks ago, I was sitting in the staffroom at lunchtime, sniffing at other people’s food (as you do!), when I discovered something that I have often marvelled at: zucchini slice. It looked delicious. It smelled tantalising (like that word? You know you do). I was impressed.

Last week, I was in Sydney. I don’t think I ate a vegetable all week. Unless baked beans for breakfast counts. Or French Fries. When we were doing the groceries on Saturday, I felt a sudden, desperate urge to buy vegetables. When I came home, I felt a sudden, desperate urge to actually cook and eat them! Normally they sit in the crisper until they rot, then they go in the bin and I tut, tut, over the waste.

What can I make? I mused. I jumped online, and went to my favourite drool-site: Taste. I dredged up a recipe for zucchini slice, and what do you know? Quick, easy, less than 100 ingredients, happy days! Could anything be easier, tastier, or healthier? NB: I ‘tweaked’ the recipe a tad…

Ingredients

2 zucchini, grated

1 carrot, grated

1 potato, grated

1 onion, finely chopped or grated

6 eggs, beaten

1 cup self raising flour

1 cup shredded cheese

salt and pepper to taste

Method 

Preheat the oven to 180C. Line a 2 litre casserole dish with baking paper. Place the eggs in a large bowl and beat. Feels good, doesn’t it? Sorry. Place the veges in and mix, place the flour in and mix some more. Add salt and pepper to taste. Pour into the prepared dish and sprinkle the cheese over the top. Don’t eat the cheese!!!! Bake for around 35-40 minutes. I do recommend testing with a skewer, because if it’s runny in the middle it is not ready and will taste like shit. Seriously.

The best thing about this? You can eat it hot or cold. Mollie has been taking it to school in lieu of sandwiches! Gotta love that! No photos, it’s ALL GONE!
 

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.