Our Nightmare Continues

Sometimes I wonder if I am ever going to get back any assimilation of a life. I spend my days sad and worrying about my daughter. I cry at the drop of a hat. I find myself short with everyone and usually just feel like laying in bed rather than participating in anything that would require any effort or energy.

I got the call on January 19,2011 at 6:30 am. Shelby was in the back of an ambulance, on her way to Florida Hospital Downtown, having seizure after seizure and convulsing to the point of having to be restrained. Her boyfriend found her on the kitchen floor of his mother's house.

I hung up the phone and just felt numb. I didn't even cry. I don't know how to explain the calmness that engulfed me except to say I felt like someone was telling me something I already knew. I called my husband and told him to come home. He asked what was wrong and I couldn't bring myself to say it, so I just said "You just need to get home". He showed up about 10 minutes later and I calmly looked at him and said "you need to take me to the hospital, I think Shelby is dead".

When I arrived at the hospital she was sitting up in the bed and a nurse was attempting to start an IV. That is when it hit me that I had not seen Shelby's arms in months. She always had long sleeves or a jacket on. When I saw her I almost dropped to the floor. If she weighed 90 pounds I would have been surprised. Her eyes were set so far back in her head she looked like she was wearing a mask, and her arms, oh my god, her arms. She had literally hundreds of needle marks up and down both arms on both sides, obvious scars and fresh scabs.

When she saw me looking at her she became agitated and started screaming "get her out of here". The nurses banished me to the waiting room and all I could do was sit there and cry.

She made it obvious to everyone that she did not want me there and they would not let me close to her room, so I left and went home. I called the hospital to try and talk to someone about helping me find options to save her from herself. That's when they told me that when they went back to her room to take her for a CAT scan, she was gone.

I had no idea what to do.

Over the course of the next few days I researched and found out what I needed to do to have her "Marchman Acted". That is a Florida specific law that deals with individuals that are too drug impaired to make rational decisions for themselves and who, without intervention, would surely do harm to themselves or others. It is a lot of leg work and not easy to do, but anyone who knows me knows that when I get my mind set on something I don't give up too easily.

I went to the lock-down drug intake detox facility that the Orange County jail uses to begin the process. I had to fill out 5 pages of affidavit explaining why I thought my daughter was incapable of taking care of herself, writing down every detail of what had become our life over the last year. I was interviewed and discouraged, yes discouraged from filing it because, according to the officials there, the judge usually just orders out-patient treatment because there is a four month wait for beds in state funded facilities. That left me mad and more determined than ever to make my tax dollars work for me. The way I see it, I've paid way more taxes than at least 60% of my neighbors and never asked the government to spend one penny on me and now I needed help and by-god they WERE going to help me save my daughter's life.

After I got the proper signatures there I had to to the courthouse. I filed the papers and had to wait for them to go before a judge. That was a four hour process in it's self. There was no guarantee that the judge would even sign them, but I knew in my heart when he read what a nightmare we were living he would sign them, so I waited. He did finally sign them and I had to take the signed papers to the sheriff's office and pay them $40 to execute the order to pick her up. I know they must see a lot of shit every day in a police department as big as Orange County, Florida, but they really could use a brush up sensitivity course there. I was told that even though I paid them $40, I had to find my daughter, call them and hold her there until they could get there to get her. Ok, whatever. I did find her at her boyfriend's house and just so luckily found an Officer sitting on the side of the road enjoying his day. I gave him the papers and told him where she was and he went and got her. I am so thankful I did not have to witness that. It must have been horrible.

It was 24 hours later that I found out she was still in the intake center and not in detox. I don't know why it would take that long to process someone but I guess that the PD treats Marchman Acts like common criminals. I was furious. I knew how bad her addiction was and how much pain she must have been in from beginning to withdraw. They assured me that she would be in the detox center within the hour.

I finally reached someone at detox that confirmed she was there, had seen a doctor and was medicated and sleeping. I slept for the first time in days.
The next few days were torturing.  I got very little information, as she is considered an adult by the legal system, but being the petitioner to have her committed allowed me just a little more leverage.
Normal detox takes 5 -7 days and then the addict is evaluated as to whether or not they can be trusted to be released and show up for the court hearing for involuntary placement or not.  The communication was not very reassuring from the center.  Her counselor believed she needed extensive treatment but could not find a state funded bed for her.  I pleaded and begged for her help.  She must have taken a little pity on me because she agreed to keep her at the detox center until we could get the court hearing.
Her hearing was 11 days later, and by some small miracle, the day before her hearing a bed opened at a women's facility in Seminole County.  I started to think maybe there is a god.
The hearing was nerve racking, but again I knew in my heart that the judge would see with his own eyes how bad things were and do the right thing.  He did.  He ordered her into involuntary rehab for 60 days, which is the maximum allowed by law.
She was transferred that afternoon and I took her a suitcase with all of her needed items for her stay.  The facility was very nice and close to my work.  She looked frail, sick and mentally tortured.  I hugged her as much as I could and left feeling so empty and scared.  She literally had no will to live.
So that's where we are.  I'm hoping for a miracle.  That's all I can do.  Maybe just maybe she will have an epiphany and realize that she is loved and can have the entire world at her feet.  I swear with god as my witness I will not give up.