Dad would drink until there was no longer speaking, Mom would dream of all the different ways to die.

the big update blog - you are warned. go get a cup of coffee and make yourself comfortable, this could take a little while.

So, things have been shitty with the teenager lately and I haven't been blogging about it for a number of reasons:

First in an effort to help my wife not go insane.
I usually make an effort to handle any of the teenager-ness that's directed straight at me (as opposed to things that actually affect everyone) since she worries about the boy a bit more actively that I do from minute to minute during the day. To help blunt what can be a mind-boggling number of things to worry about on any given day I've been letting her keep her distance from the minute-to-minute teenagerness these days - which would be easily ruined as soon as she read my blog.

I know, we read each other's blogs. Welcome to the modern household.
I'm sure she'll chime in with a comment, or not.

Secondly I've been trying to keep the blog semi-readable without turning it into an insane version of an Augesten Burroughs novel or a gut-wrenching study in futile parental stress.
You're welcome, dear reader.

In any case things have not been good. In fact they've been bad.
The boy continues shooting himself in the foot and then reloading the gun just to stubbornly prove that we can't MAKE him learn anything from his mistakes, even when he's the only one suffering for them (unless you count enough stress to drive a super-mom insane). Since last writing he's taken up residence with his grandmother and it looked like he was going to go back to his normal pattern of getting what he wants, namely the freedom from expectations and to just get high everyday, somewhere else and that was about it.

Nope.

Got a call last week before leaving for my food poisoning in the swamp adventure from the police officer at Edina High School saying, "First of all I want to tell you that your son is FINE"

I think they begin that way both to reassure you before you freak out and to make it very clear that when they saw your kid last he was FINE so if you take him home and break his arm for being a dumbshit they'll know about it. It's a sound theory.

Anyway, there was an "incident involving the theft of an acetone petrochemical compound" and I had to go take the boy off of school property right away since his change in address wasn't a change in legal guardianship. I was told that the school would be in touch when they came up with consequences.

So he was expelled.
Once again evidence of how stupid his decisions are since going to that school was one of the biggest things on his mind as his grades have been plummeting and everyone around him has been busting ass to bring him to it every day. He got himself expelled.
Super duper.

Oh, by the way, "Acetone Petrochemical compound" is apparently chemistry teacher slang for "Ether", which is the very definition of "strictly controlled substance" and maybe therefore the last thing you would choose to steal if you thought about it for at least one second. Not this one, who also freely admitted to the school authorities he was planning on huffing some.

For those of you unfamiliar with ether please see the Circus Circus scene from the Fear And Loathing movie. It is hilarious and I can only assume, completely accurate.

Fast forward to this morning at the "needs assessment" appointment the boy was told he needed to attend because he clearly has a driving case of chemical issues and really shitty impulse control, which would be normal teenager in some families if it weren't coupled with a total inability to get away with shit or make any choices in his own interests. He arrived being his normally insufferable self (actually after developing a super-endearing habit of sending me emails everyday of his suspension gleefully telling me how thinking we can make him change is insane and stupid....y'know, because someday after he's fucked up EVERYTHING in his life we'll learn our lesson) and we did an extensive interview on family history, drug use, some details of his unfortunately horrific childhood and more recent problems.

I was called into the head psychiatrist's office and informed that their unanimous and rather shocked and shaken opinion was that he needed to be admitted into an inpatient program to get clean (which he cannot do for himself, even on his clear moments when he knows that he needs to) and also work on the massive, massive issues he has thanks to his mother's twisted genes mixed with spending time in her evil presence as a small child. They were ready to call the police to take him (they don't ask or expect teens to walk themselves into lockup) on my approval.

Since we'd actually been hoping for inpatient treatment when he kicked our front door down I said go. And things started going. Very very quickly at first and then ground down to a really painful crawl for the rest of the day.

** for the sake of brevity I am leaving out the huge rant I have on health insurance, even though I have one that could take the paint off the walls. Lets just say that before they would pre-authorize this treatment they wanted to put me on the phone with a CIGNA Clinician to start the whole interview process from the beginning....
"So.....tell me about Anthony....what's been going on?"

I told them if they wanted me to see their clinicians in order to get service they need to open a clinic. And they suck. Moving on **

I made the drive across the cities to get him registered, signed in and all that good stuff. Oh no, not that easy. I signed in as instructed, I sat and waited as instructed for someone to come out and get me. After an hour I went to the desk to ask if I could be filling out any paperwork in the meantime. I was met with
"WE'VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU TO GET HERE!!"
"I've been here the entire time"
"oh"
"I was told to sit and wait to be called and I've been sitting for an hour"
"Oh. have a seat, we'll be right with you"

I filled out papers and was told to have a seat and I would be called.
After 45 minutes someone walked by, gave me a puzzled look and informed me I should be on the other side of the hospital. Funny, I would've noticed words like "go out that door and walk 6 miles of hallway". Nope, I was told to "Have a seat"
Fucking people.

Went to the other side of the building(s) and waited some more
After another 45 minutes I was brought in, introduced to a nurse, shown into a 6X6 room and told, very cheerily, that I would talk to the doctor, the nurse and a counselor and the whole thing shouldn't take "more than 3 hours" and then the teenager (yes, the one that I last saw being marched, red faced with rage in handcuffs past me because he thinks I ambushed him with this appointment) is brought in and sat across from me. And then the cheery nurse leaves.

I sat across from the teenager in absolutely top "I'm going to try and be as shitty and hurtful as I can and make snide arguments that are laughably stupid as if I've just delivered the Warren Report because not only am I blind to things like 'logic'...I'm an asshole and a direct descendant of my mother" form.
In a small room. For close to three hours.
It was not great.

When the boy was let back out into the intake floor, which is in a locked-down ward full of mental health and chemical dependency patients, he got a little less cocky being surrounded by real crazy that he was facing being locked in with.
The sad one was the boy that was about 10 years old, had been there since the day before in the room with nothing but 2 TVs and clearly had been doing nothing but staring at them. It was heart-breaking.
The really funny stuff was the bona fide crazy Jesus-girl. Holy crap that shit was hilarious and sad and shut the teenager up in a big hurry.

She would alternate between sleeping, sobbing, yelling for Lord Jesus Christ to help her, asking people if they knew Jesus (and I mean "knew" as if they hung out together), asking the nurses if she was in heaven, asking Anthony if his name was Peter, Michael, Gabriel and a few others - then she'd usually go back to sobbing and yelling. Repeat.

At one point she attracted lots of attention from the guards for yelling at everyone in the holding area (who are all wearing wireless headphones to hear the TV) that the headphones and TVs "are poison!!!" and "only Jesus can help you!!"

At this point it was about 6pm and I had been doing this since 7:45am
Over the course of the day I met with no less than 4 different doctors, all of which performed the same interview and asked all the same questions, dutifully took notes and then told me they were going to check to see if there was a bed for him "upstairs"

We were told there was a bed for him and it was being held for him before I agreed to any of this almost 12 hours prior. Turns out CIGNA authorized him for ONE DAY of the 5-7 day program and then wanted him discharged or for the doctors to make a convincing enough case over the phone to appeal this decision. Make a case to another, more educated doctor?? No. To an insurance case manager.

You might ask yourself if insurance companies care AT ALL about people since they are actively blocking treatment that no less than a half dozen doctors have independently recommended. You might until I mention that the one day they approved was TODAY, during which he didn't actually get any treatment because the doctors were all kept running around just trying to get him in the door and he wasn't actually allowed past the waiting room.

Fuck you, CIGNA. Fuck you.
I understand why people go crazy and shoot up a shopping mall.

After 12 hours I was told it was done! They were taking him upstairs!
We went upstairs, he was let into the ward and I was shown to another room and introduced to 3 new people that interviewed me AGAIN and each went and asked Anthony questions in turn. and then asked to fill out paperwork with all the same information on it I had been saying all day to people that were writing everything down.

At one point I literally had to sign a piece of paper authorizing the doctors to talk to ME about what was going on. I am not kidding.

The first thing they told me after announcing that Anthony would be staying the night was that they need me back for a "Family Interview" to gather the background information and family history. You know, that stuff I've been repeating for hours and JUST put in writing....

tomorrow. at 11:30am. oh, and by the way, does that work for you??
I asked if ANY of the multiple interviews I did today would suffice
No, of course not.

If you weren't insane before you got there you would be in less time than it takes to get admitted, which means it's just in time to get discharged because some insurance adjuster doesn't think a fleet of doctors really "sold it" and PRESTO!!! you're talking to the Number 6 bus about Jesus and eating tin foil.

I think that's everything.
Oh yeah, our house is being painted so everything at home is in total disarray.
And Five Man Job is performing this Sunday at the final IAGG of 2008. It's going to be cool. Anyone that ever asks if the stories are true is welcome to take my place tomorrow.

**edited to add**
as usual, I blog about these things because they're part of my life. If you have parental advice, sympathy or feel the need to type "**HUGS**" and don't want to get stabbed in the neck - find somewhere else to post them. Thank you.