As I stood in the hallway of the Emergency Room just outside my son's room the tears came. I was relieved he was OK physically, he didn't have any broken bones! Emotionally was an entirely different story. I was sad that he felt so badly and I had no idea, I felt like the worst parent in the world. I couldn't understand why he didn't say something to us. How were we supposed to help him if he didn't let us know? Why didn't I know? Looking back, I see all the symptoms clear as day, but I was clueless before this day, honestly, truly clueless. All he said was he didn't know what to tell us, he knew he was miserable, but he couldn't put his feelings into words. So he decided attempting suicide was the only answer.
The staff ushered us into a small waiting room so I wouldn't be standing there blubbering for all to see. I know I was in shock, but I also remember not getting one encouraging word from my husband, not a hug, he never even reached out to hold my hand. I know we all deal with things differently, but that really bothered me. If ever I needed a hug, that was the moment.
The next few hours were spent answering questions, so many questions, to many different people. There was one lady, whose name escapes me at the moment, that was an Angel. I'm pretty sure she was head of Psychiatry at the hospital, or maybe just the Emergency Department. She was extremely helpful in getting insurance stuff sorted out and finding a hospital that would take an adolescent, one that wasn't hours away from us. I am grateful for all of her help and understanding and her repeatedly checking in with us to let us know what was happening. I was so completely lost that I just went with whatever these doctors were telling me. I was in no way being an advocate for my son, I just did as I was told.
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