You Can Be Lucky and Desperate All at Once

Our kiddo tried to kill themself this week.

Just so you know, this post talks about suicide. And that can be hard for a lot of us to talk about especially when it comes to our kids.

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So, last week, we blogged about how the kiddo was going to a special school on Tuesday (this last Tuesday) to help them with behavioral issues?

That didn’t happen.

Instead, they got up in the middle of the night, took the four or five anti-anxiety pills and a few ADHD pills left in the bottles in the cupboard above the coffeemaker and swallowed them with apple juice.  

When Shaun got up (super early to get Xane ready for the new school experience which is about 70-90 minutes away), he immediately noticed because he’s detail oriented and it’s pretty obvious when two prescription bottles are empty. I mean, even I would have noticed and I don’t notice people waving in front of me when I’m walking down the street.

He called the poison control center, and we asked Xane questions.

“Do you feel less anxious?” No.

“Do you feel more anxious?” No.

“Hyper? Mellow? Sleepy?” No. No. No.

And then we went to the emergency room.

Because of COVID only one parent can be in the little emergency room cubbies with them at a time. Masked. Watching all the machines say that their body is absolutely fine. Wondering what we could have done differently.

Xane was pretty clear about why they took those pills.

“I didn’t want to go to that stupid school,” they said. “I can’t have my iPad.”

You can’t have your iPad when you’re dead, but logic doesn’t work when you’re that scared and desperate. They didn’t know how they’d cope without their coping mechanism, the one that Internet parents say is evil, dastardly. It’s how Xane talks to their friends, creates videos and animations, and listens to music.

Strapped on monitors, blood drawn, Xane threw up a tiny bit, and their heart rate was elevated. That was about it. Xane had to stay until crisis response had time. That took about twelve hours. There wasn’t any high drama, just calmness as Xane cruised the internet and parents traded places from lobby to Xane’s little room.

Though they are super smart and creative, Xane doesn’t really understand that a few low-does meds aren’t enough to kill them and doesn’t even make hospital workers pump their stomach while their dad waits in the hospital another day lost from work, wondering how he’ll make ends meet while dealing with this. It’s something we wonder every day. But is it worth it to take care of Xane, to be there for them? You better believe it is.

When the crisis response worker Zoomed, they asked Xane questions and then called in their supervisor for a second video meeting.

The supervisor said something pretty shocking. They said under no circumstances should Xane go to the school recommended by the school district that they finally got into. And they shouldn’t go to the other one the school recommended either.

It would be absolutely horrific for Xane to go there, they said.

Why?

Because Xane has autism. And those programs? They are built on group therapy and tons of input and sensory things. Xane, they said, could be damaged forever.

If Xane hadn’t tried to kill themself, they could most likely be going through an experience that would have made their life hell, an experience (according to the crisis worker psychologist) that they would have a hard time recovering from. If they recovered at all.

The place everyone recommended as essential for Xane so that they could get better would have made them worse.

Now Xane is on another waitlist for a program hours away, a program that starts on Zoom and goes onto inpatient, a program that people with autism can go to.

It might take forever for them to start. Yes.

Is it worth the wait? Hopefully.

The counselor talked about how Xane needs more counseling sessions, but also about how Xane felt and why they snuck downstairs and up on the counter to get those pills.

“Worse than ever before,” Xane said. “Desperate not to go there because I couldn’t ever have my iPad. That’s how I cope.”

“Desperate,” the counselor said.

“Yes.”

“How about the next time you feel that badly, that hopeless, you use that word and tell your parents it’s how you’re feeling? So this doesn’t happen again. Sound okay?”

“Sounds okay.”

“What’s the word again?”

“Desperate.”

Desperate.

We are, of course, desperate too. Desperate to find a solution—the right solution—for Xane, desperate to not despair over the fact that Xane didn’t just wake us up. They didn’t, they said, because they knew that we couldn’t make them not go to school.

We are desperate to have a system with enough programs for kids like Xane, enough training for already overworked teachers and staff to make safe spaces for themselves and kids like Xane, enough love and understanding so that kids who are hurting, kids who process and emote differently than expectations of school kids are, don’t get hurt more, or ostracized, or left behind.

We are desperate, but lucky. Lucky because Xane’s desperate mistake has hopefully put them and us on a better path.

We are lucky.

Xane was laughing at home all week in case you were wondering and was only cranky the next day when they had their 45-minute Zoom with the ed tech from their original school in town. Other than that they were happy and alive. Laughing. Guffawing. Sharing videos they made.

We were lucky. So lucky. And that is how, even after this horrible night and day, we still live happy, still find laughter and light. We are happy because we do get one more day, get that luck, get to continue trying.

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STIGMA

One of our friends asked us if we were going to talk about this.

“People will judge,” they said.

And that’s exactly why we’re talking about it.

Xane isn’t defined by that one act. We aren’t defined by Xane’s one act.

We also aren’t the only people who deal with this. We aren’t alone.

In an article for the Washington Post, Jody Allard writes:

No matter how alone parents may feel, teen suicidal ideation and attempts aren’t rare. The Jason Foundation’s parent resource program indicates that suicide is the second leading cause of death in children age 10-24 years old and the CDC’s 2013 national Youth Behavior Risk Survey (YRBS) reported that 17 percent of teenagers have seriously considered attempting suicide.

Despite these statistics, every mother of a suicidal teen I spoke to emphasized how isolating the experience was. Many of these parents have been forced to remain quiet because their children begged them not to tell anyone, including their closest friends and family members.

Shaun and I are lucky because we are confident enough to not care (mostly) what people think of us. We’ve been through enough already to know who we are. But not everybody else is lucky enough to feel that way.

And stigma? It ignores all the factors that happen when people try to commit suicide. It ignores biology. Genes. And it ignores empathy and compassion.

That’s not what we’re about and we hope it’s not what you’re about either.

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HELPFUL LINKS

Here are some resources for parents dealing with the aftermath of a suicide event.

https://www.healthyplace.com/parenting/depression/help-to-deal-with-aftermath-of-suicide-attempts

https://www.healthyplace.com/parenting/depression/is-your-child-contemplating-suicide

https://socialworklicensemap.com/blog/suicide-attempt-resources/

https://www.compassionatefriends.org/surviving-childs-suicide/

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