An Open Letter to the Mother of my Patient
To mother of the girl brought to ER because she said she wants to kill herself,
You do not know me – not really anyway. You know me only as the worker who showed up too late and gave your daughter the same old handout we give everyone. You know me only as the person who is not the doctor, the person who is just getting in the way, and the person who your child is not going to talk.
You do not know me – not really anyway. You know me as the worker who is handling the situation wrong, who decided to make your daughter wait what seemed like hours before being seen, and the person who made her sit alone in a windowless room to wait again.
You do not know me – and you do not know what is happening. You do not know that you waited so long because I am the only one on shift. You do not know that you waited so long because I just saw two other mother’s children, both in darker places and worse condition than yours. You do not know that you waited so long because I had to console the mother of a daughter who attempted suicide, by slitting her wrists, and she found her near death.
You do not know me –and you do not know what is happening. You do not know that you waited so long because I needed a moment to remember why I am here. You do not know that you waited so long because I needed to take a minute to do the deep breathing I am about to teach your daughter. You do not know that you waited so long because I lost one today, just like that mother you can hear wailing in irreversible pain. You do not know why you waited so long but we actually managed to keep your daughter alive an extra night because she was okay in that room with you, with security just outside, and with nurses walking by checking in as they can.
I do not know you – not really anyway. I do know that you are afraid. I do know that you are desperately trying everything to give your child another day, another breath, and maybe just maybe a moment of peace. I do know that your every wish is for your daughter finally to open up and share with someone about what is causing her so much pain.
I do not know you – not really anyway. I do know you feel like you are fighting harder than everyone else. I do know you feel like it is a losing battle, but you cannot ever give up the fight. I do know that your anger, the yelling or rude tone, is your last bit of strength, some attempt at hope that things will get better, and your daughter will go back to being your little girl.
I do not remember you – not really anyway. I do not remember your name. I do not remember all the things you have already tried. I do not remember who else is waiting in the waiting room, or what your history with mental health is. I do not remember who you think is a safe person for your child.
I do not remember you – not really anyway. I do remember every single word your daughter has said to me. I do remember praying to hear all the wrong things, so I could advocate and argue with the doctor to keep your daughter her. I do remember every single cut she showed me. I do remember every detail of the pain your daughter shared. I do remember the tears in her eyes when your daughter stated she was a burden on you because she hears you cry. I do remember that she just cannot forget how it felt to be pinned down by him. I do remember how scared she was to tell me he was supposed to be the safe one. I do remember that her tears were harder when she wished she knew how to tell you sooner. I do remember how her body shook when she told me she just wanted you to be happy. I do remember how her hands reached up and clamped down on her hair when she yelled she felt so dirty. I do remember how weak she whispered when she said it was all her fault.
You do not know me – and you do not know what is happening. You do not know that it took everything in my being to not cry with and hold your daughter in those moments.
You do not know me –and you do not know what is happening. You do not know that every time I look at a mother of a struggling daughter I picture my own mother, fighting, screaming, crying, and praying to any god for my sister to just get better, even for one day of peace. You do not know that I am working tirelessly to find the right tool, the right resource, the right thing to say.
You do not know me – not really anyway. And that is okay. You only need to know what you are fighting for. You only need to know how to be there for your daughter. You only need to know the man to keep away from her. You only need to know that this is her journey, and you are lucky she let you bring her here. You only need to know that I am fighting just as hard for your daughter as you.
You do not know me – not really anyway. And that is okay. You only need to know that we are on the same team. You only need to know that your daughter’s story will never leave my mind. You only need to know that your daughter told me she wants to live.
Sincerely,
The Crisis Worker
Ps. I am here for you too 1-800-352-1141
