One night, in March 2018, before Sam was put on medication, the aggression and insomnia were so intense, that Scott and I decided to take Sam to Texas Children’s Hospital. We were clawed and bitten and exhausted beyond capacity, and we had no idea where to turn. We thought that the hospital would have a children’s psychiatrist on staff, and we knew Sam needed help immediately.

The hospital nurse triaged us and brought us to a room. When the doctor came in, he had no idea how to help us, so he quickly left and sent in a social worker, instead. When she arrived, she told us that we had the option of placing Sam in an emergency group home setting. We were stunned. Here we were, in one of the best medical cities in the nation, with some of the top doctors in the world, and there was not one psychiatrist or developmental specialist to be found. Not one. Samuel was a just a four year old baby. And when I say baby, I truly mean baby. He had little receptive language and was still non verbal. He had autism, global developmental delays, cognitive delays, fine and gross motor skill delays, adhd, and restrictive repetitive behaviors. To put him in a psychiatric/group facility would have been traumatizing. He would have absolutely no idea what was happening. He had never even slept away from our arms.

We realized then, at nearly four in the morning, that we were truly alone, with no tools or professional to help us. We discovered first hand, how broken the mental health system is in this country. Mental health IS health, yet where were the health care professionals Sam needed? We were abandoned in a battle, that would take years to fight and push through.

I haven’t blogged since 2017. That year brought such intense heartache, first, with the flood of Harvey, and, just weeks later, the death of my grandmother. Suffering from treatment-resistant depression, the only words I felt like writing were morose and depressing, themselves. I just could not see the sun, through the clouds. There were only clouds, or so I felt. So, why write at all? That was my mentality. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Sam’s temperament, as he turned four years old, began to spiral, until we were faced with needing medication for him to function and sleep. His therapy center dismissed him, saying there was nothing more that could be done at their facility, for Sam. And, being completely transparent, I had a full on mental breakdown in their lobby, after they told me this. I was furious, and every emotion that I had stuffed so deep down into my belly, rose up and came out like fire. I cried; I yelled. I accused them of not caring about Sam. I was broken. I was grieving. I was empty. But, mostly, I was in mourning. Mourning, for the loss of our house and things from the flood. Mourning the loss of my precious Granny. Mourning my life that was pre-depression. And, mourning the child that I thought I’d have in Sam. Please understand, that the amount of love I have for Sam never wavered. But, here he was, four, and not sleeping until two or three in the morning, every night. He was banging his head; he was aggressive, and he hurt us every day, with biting, scratching, and pinching. We cried. All of us. A lot. We all just wanted him to be better. We just wanted a “typical” life, not the chaos that was our home.

So, this is where I begin again.. more to come.