Bringing the Light

25. Paging Dr. Freud

I'd worked at Nationwide Children's for almost eight years already. I had a good group of patients that I ran some group therapies with, and still worked some ER shifts.

I was pretty sure I'd seen that little girl from my residency years in and out of the ER. Not usually under my department, but I'd see this young girl with the bluest eyes now and again. It still haunted me, that night she was found wandering in her neighborhood, wearing thin pyjamas and no shoes. She had just disappeared when I'd gone to get her something to eat. It had weighed on me. I never did forget her. 

I didn't consider her a failure on my part. I can't control the actions of others. I can only control
How I react. And I was determined after that, that I would do my best to make sure children like that little girl were heard. And hope that I could get them out of situations like mine. Or worse.

Lots of boys at the Boys' Home had been in worse situations than me. Some had been in decent situations that went bad or they had no other family and there was no foster home able to take them, like my first time at the Boys' Home. Some got out, went home and we never saw them again. Some came back, like I did. Some never left.

I knew I was one of the lucky ones. I knew I could have had a way different outcome from my upbringing. I could have stayed with that abusive foster family that wound up getting shut down. The Fosters could have been horrible people. Or they could have just let me age out and be done. But they didn't. They made me their son, legally. They taught me I was worth caring about. Worth being loved. And I thrived with them.

Occasionally I'd see a kid in the emergency department who wound remind me of one of the kids I'd met while I was in foster care.  I'd listen as best as I could. Not only to what they said, but what they didn't say.

I kept my office inviting. I wanted kids to feel in control of their space. I had a soft sofa, a bean bag chair, carpets on the floor, toys and paper and colouring stuff. I even had a chess board in case a kid wanted to play. I found kids became more open when their minds were busy with other things.

Some kids curled up in the bean bags, some on the sofa, some just sat and coloured.

I had a few patients that wouldn't talk. We sat and stared at each other for an hour. I always told them they were in a safe space and nothing they said would leave the room unless I felt theirs or someone's life was in danger. My biggest breakthrough was with a 12 year old boy named Jesse whose father had abandoned the family but kept stalking the mother. The mother was a meek and terrified woman who was not in a good situation at the best of times. Jesse fought thought of suicide because he felt he wasn't worth his mother's love because his father had left them and yet still held such sway over them.

Jesse wouldn't talk at all at first. He was angry he was referred for therapy. He felt he didn't need it and refused to talk to me. So, I would sit in a chair near him while he sat, sullenly, on my sofa, arms crossed and head down. He wouldn't acknowledge me.

But every week, I'd welcome him in, offer him his choice of places to sit and just wait.

"I want to remind you, Jesse, that this is a safe place. You can tell me anything that's on your mind, and unless it's something that puts your life or anyone else's at risk, nothing you say here will leave this room. I'm here to listen to you. Maybe help find some solutions or ways to make you feel better."

"I'm not sick and I'm not crazy," Jesse said. The first words he'd spoken to me in three months.

"No. You aren't. That's not what you're here for. You're here to help you come up with some ways to deal with everything going on in your life," I said.

"How come you let me come here and just not talk for an hour?  Is it cause you get paid whether I talk or not?"

"I let you sit and not talk because it's important to me that you know that in this room, you're in charge. You want to talk? Great. I'm here to listen, offer advice if you ask. You don't want to talk, that's okay, too. I won't force you because I think that's counterproductive. I'm not here to judge you or anything you feel or say. I'm here to listen. Or not. It's always up to you."