We transitioned Miss A into our home relatively quickly. While, slow transitions are typically recommended with older youth, this was a special circumstance. She was pregnant and really needed to be in a home surrounded by family and not in the cold isolation found in the residential facility that she was residing. We were motivated by the conditions themselves. To say that I was unimpressed with this particular place would be an understatement. I know that there are wonderful residential halls, but this was not one. Hell. She was living in Hell.
Every night they locked the girls in their rooms. I understand that this was to protect them from themselves and others. Many of the trauma survivors that stay there face mental illness. This can be in many forms and the symptoms that they suffer include things like self-harming, running away and aggression or violence towards others. Knowing this didn’t make it any less harsh to see a uniformed staff member escort her back to her room and lock the door. Cold. Alone. Imprisoned.
After one visit, while waiting in the office for some paperwork, I had the chance to observe the camera system and listen to the audio receivers. The video did not expose the privacy of the girls but the audio was linked directly to their rooms. I do agree with this as I see it as a safety measure for the girls locked in. What remained particularly disturbing was the moans and crying and terror of one particular girl. She was begging for someone to come and not leave her alone. She was young. After sitting there for what seemed like hours but was a most likely a few minutes, I finally grew a pair and asked the guard/staff/ gorilla lady if she were going to check on this child. I was given a hardy eye roll and sigh as she called another guard/staff/slackey to do it. You could feel the love. I would later find out that this girl was all of 8 years old and had been there a whole week and “should have been able to deal with it already”.
Setting up visits with Miss A during our transition period proved to be a pain in my already throbbing ass. You couldn’t just call a caseworker or her and say “hey, let’s do lunch”. As a foster parent and somewhat veteran, I knew there would be some tape but the hoops I would jump made my head spin. I had to first set it up with the caseworker and then get it set up and approved with the therapist who would have to order a day pass which had to be filled out and accepted by someone Grand Puba somewhere and if all the stars aligned and no one forgot to sign something and the Angles sing, then plans could be executed. However, should someone forget to call someone and a full moon occurred than the pass may not be available and the visit would not take place thus leaving one upset child and one steaming mom. This was more common that you would think.
Then there was the medication thing. Yeah, sometimes kids need medications. Sometimes they need inhalers and epipens because they have allergies and asthma. These things are kind of important but apparently the fear of them being lost or stolen is more important than the child leaving for a visit without them and I don’t know? Dying maybe? Hmmm. It took a lot of BS to get them to finally release these medications during our weekend visits. I had to plop my butt down in their office and demand to wait until a supervisor was on the phone. Needless to say, people don’t want to be bothered on a Friday afternoon and we left with the goods.
So it is fair to say this place was insane. How insane, I soon found out. I was able to get my hands on a copy of their policies and procedures. What I read made me want to throw up a little bit in my mouth. Their reward system to encourage good behavior and deter less than desirable behaviors was so Ass Backwards that I can plainly see how residential living does not transition well nor is conductive to family living. I’m not talking about a damn sticker chart. It’s really very bizarre.
Should a child get in trouble for acting out, they would lose their privileges. I am not talking about video games or TV time. I am talking about relationship privileges. If she was stressed in class and got lippy or stormed off, she would lose her phone call to me that night. Does that make sense? We know that defiance and anxiety which often wears horns is a symptom of trauma. We know that trauma should be worked thru with people, relationships and not isolation. So why would we take a child full of anxiety and isolate her? Okay, let’s take it up another notch. If she acts out again, then she loses her day pass and visiting rights. Again, let’s use punishment in the form of withholding relationship and personal contact. Crazy.
Oh and how do we reward these girls who often share similar crutches involving food? (You may remember my post regarding foster care and behaviors). Yeah, let’s complicate the food issue and reward good behavior with a fast food meal. Kid you not. If you are good, you get McDonalds. No it’s not a treat, it’s an earned reward. Just nuts.
The final breaking point that would beg me to bring Miss A home right away would be from a chilling phone conversation. One night after dinner, she called to chat and check in. She told me how horrible the day had been. I learned that she was caught in the middle of a “Clear”. Apparently, when a girl is out of control and the staff perceives danger, a whistle gets blown and the word “Clear” is bellowed thru the air. Girls are to move quickly to their rooms for a lock down until the situation gets controlled. Sounds good in theory. Well in reality it usually chaos and people are trampled and chairs fly and emotions rage and nothing is good. Well as you suspect, she was trampled and pushed over a table. She was being taken to medical in the morning and while she claimed to be fine, all I could think of is, OH MY GOD, she’s pregnant!
Yep, she was in our house by the end of the next week. I am so grateful that she got out of that place. She did not belong there. She wanted out. She needed out. I was a way out. For that I will always be at peace.
