The Hospital Stay - Val's story, chapter 8

The next morning, I took Val to see her provider at the clinic where I worked. She curled up on one of the tables in an unused exam room and slept while I tried to work and her provider made phone calls. Finally, Bellin Hospital in Green Bay agreed to accept her for depression and said they had a room. Then we waited to get approval from our insurance company.

          Hours later, I loaded her into the car and drove home to pick up a few changes of clothes, her toiletries, and other essentials. It was dark by the time Jim met us halfway there to drive with us the rest of the way to the hospital.

After the long admitting process, we said our goodbyes. It was a Thursday night, and we assured her we’d be back on Saturday for a visit.

          “I don’t want to stay here,” she said, holding back the tears, a stricken look on her face.

          “Baby Girl, it’s only for a couple of days,” I reassured her, hugging her tight. “We all just want you to feel better.”

          ~~~

Over the next few days, I had phone calls from the psychiatrist who was seeing her, asking about family history, antidepressants she had been on, and other questions of that nature. Our visit with her on Saturday was quiet and awkward, but she said she was doing okay, anxious to get home.

          On Tuesday, we met with Val and her psychiatrist before they discharged her. He had two concerns.

          First, she had a hard time concentrating on getting herself better. Instead, she was more committed to helping the other patients, delving into their issues, supporting their treatment. Naturally, the staff reinforced to Val that she was there to help herself and that the other girls in her group were not her problem.

          I totally could see that happening. That was my Gal Val. Always helping others. I remembered her on that trip to Kenya, taking the thin hands of the girls at the orphanage, writing letters with them, encouraging them to smile for pictures. She had a heart of gold and would do anything for someone else, whether a friend or stranger.

          And about those friends.

          The second thing the shrink wasn't happy about was that Val claimed I was her best friend. I was taken aback, touched actually, that she would say that, but angry that he felt that was a problem.

          “A teenage girl needs best friends who are her own age. It’s great that she can count on you, but you’re her mother and not her friend.”

          I didn’t care how many years of education he had at whatever fancy university he attended; I just wanted to punch him.

          Yes, Val had friends, good friends who she could count on, who would bail her out of any bad situation, who would make her laugh and engage in ice cream eating contests. But what more honor could a mother have than for her teenage daughter to declare that the woman who gave birth to her was her best friend. And to be honest, she was my best friend too.

          We didn’t argue with this supposed expert; we just wanted to go home.

          After signing some papers and packing up her few things, Jim and I loaded her into the backseat and asked if she wanted to stop for lunch.

          She agreed without much enthusiasm, and we found a pizza place.

          Once seated at a booth by the window, she looked around and found a cute boy waiting on a table across the room. She kicked me under the table and pointed his way. “Isn’t he hot?” she whispered.

          That was my girl. Couldn't keep her down for long.