It was the day that changed my life and etched into my memory photographs, sounds, and feelings that will never fade. We were headed to a Bryan Adams concert when the call came. It was her boyfriend who said she had been having problems with her medication and threatened to take her life. My husband took the call as I was getting ready to enter the parking garage. Upon hearing the conversation I bypassed the garage. I had always dreamed of seeing Bryan Adams, but she was much more important. We called her, but no answer.
We called her boyfriend back and told him we were headed to the apartment. The trip of only a few blocks seemed to take forever and all the parking places were filled. We finally found a spot and headed up the steps. Just as we dialed her boyfriend’s number, he pulled up in a cab. He had been at work. He unlocked the door and we headed down the steps to their basement unit. He unlocked the door and Sarah MacLachlan’s voice met us with “In the Arms of an Angel.”
He called out her name and followed it with “Sweetheart.”
At that moment we all froze as we viewed her on the dinning room floor with a multitude of slashes in her arm. The knife lay only a little ways from her.
My husband stepped into his role as a nurse and first aid instructor and took over. He instructed her boyfriend to call 911 and put her in the recovery position and checked her vitals. He stayed next to her talking to her and reassuring her we were there and we loved her.
I rubbed her back and told her we were there. Next I went into the bathroom. Sliding down to the floor I melted into nothingness as my throat tightened and my face flooded. “My baby… my baby…”
Strength came out of nowhere as I wiped my face and headed back into the dinning room. Someone needed to let the medics in upstairs, so I volunteered. Standing at the top of the entry the tightness returned and I could not wipe my eyes quick enough. Her boyfriend came up the stairs to where I was standing and was on the phone with some one official. When he hung up he gave me a hug and we both held on to each other and cried.
A medic car showed up and we stood watching them unload their tools. Her boyfriend showed them down to the apartment and told them that her step-dad was with her and he was a nurse. I stayed up at the top to let in the second set of medics that arrived and the police. All together there were 2 medic cars and 3 police units.
Downstairs the medics took over and evaluated her. Not life threatening they declared. A little relief, but also a bit of disbelief as the worry about her status held on tight to our hearts. An ambulance to transport her to the hospital was called. She continued to lay on the floor unresponsive to all that was going on around her. One policeman was taking a statement from my husband and one from her boyfriend. Another chatted with me, assuring me she would be alright. He tried to distract me by asking questions and talking about his daughters. Eventually the ambulance arrived and they had to load her into a chair type bed to get her up the narrow stairs.
As they moved to the door she began sobbing and screaming. “Why can’t I be happy… Don’t laugh at me… stop… I don’t want to live… “
My husband grabbed the chair to help carry her upstairs and to make sure she was treated well. We closed up the apartment and headed up to the car. I drove with my husband in the front seat and her boyfriend in the back. The hospital was a few blocks away and in the darkness the drive seemed to take forever. We found a spot on the street to park and walked a block to the emergency room. We rushed up to the desk and told them our daughter was brought in by ambulance. They directed us to the back through the locked doors that keep the emergency sane.
As we stepped through the doors, we saw her being unloaded from the ambulance. Once inside, she saw us and started screaming uncontrollably. I reached out and held her in a hug, stroking her hair and back. The words she screamed echoed over and over in my head. “Tell them to stop laughing at me…. I don’t want the little ones to be hurt like me… ” With words of reassurance from us, and hugs from her boyfriend, she started calming down. After a half an hour in the hallway, they finally had a room for her.
In the room, they examined the cuts and took down notes. They asked all of us to stay with her because she needed someone with her at all times and it was either us or their security. We of course agreed to stay. We were actually relieved that we all could stay.
The flow of medical help started with the usual routines for all who enter the doors of the emergency. Temperatures, blood pressure, pulse, medical history and medication. They took blood and wanted a urine sample as well. She needed to change and we stepped out into the hall to facilitate this process. While in the hall we heard her scream at a blond male attendant to get out. She would not change with him in the room. With each scream, we heard her agitation rise. The attnedant left the room and a calmness took back over.
A social worker entered and asked us to leave so she could talk in private. We stood in the hallway trying to talk and put some sense to all that took place. When the social worker finally emerged from the room, she let us know that she recommended that our daughter be admitted, but our daughter was adamant about not going. We talked over the options and the hospitals and gave the social worker our word that we would talk it over and try to get our daughter to change her mind. Inside the room they were cleaning her wounds and putting stitches in two of the cuts on her upper arm. They covered the arms with bandages, but we continued to see them through the bandages as they were now burned into our memory as a constant reminder of her cry out. It was at this point that she hinted about her dad molesting her. We asked questions cautiously and gave her our ears and listened to her answers without pushing her for more.
When the social worker returned and asked again about being admitted, our daughter still said no. We asked for time to talk to our daughter alone and the social worker stepped out. She remained strong in her determination to go home to her animals. The animals had been her refuge all these years and she wanted that security and comfort back. Her boyfriend asked to speak to her alone, and we stepped out into the hallway. When he called us back in, she said she would be admitted. What a relief. At least we knew she would get some help with her medication and with her revelation to us–she had been sexually abused.
The process of getting her an ambulance to transfer her to a program across the lake took quite a while. We all sat and visited being careful about the subjects and trying to make sense of it all. At last it arrived and we all headed out. Her boyfriend rode in the ambulance and my husband and I drove our car. In the middle of the night, the whole world seems lonely and desolated. and on this night, it matched our emotions.
Finding the hospital was easy, but the parking took several more minutes. Inside the emergency room nurse directed us to the psych ward. We buzzed in and found her room. The intake process had started and paperwork filled out. The intake specialist took down information and talked with all of us about the program. We learned that she was admitted voluntarily, but if she tried to harm herself again in anyway, she would become admitted by the state and held no matter what. After settling in, we had to tell her goodbye and head home until visiting hours. We all hugged her and gave her our love.
At 3 am, we stepped out of her room and headed home. It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do…
