Three years ago, on this very weekend, our world tilted on its axis. It was Sunday afternoon, 2:20 pm when we rushed our son, Shiv to the nearest pediatric ER St. Barnabas Hospital after he attempted to take his life, We were drowning in ignorance, with little or no exposure to youth mental health and a lot of preconceived (wrong) notions.
The ER visit/stay was a nightmare. Confusion, fear, and frustration swirled around us like a blizzard. Once Shiv was declared physically safe, we expected immediate mental health intervention, a child psychiatrist to stabilize him, a path forward. Instead, we found ourselves lost in a convoluted system. No treatment available at St. Barnabas, no beds at any psychiatric hospitals, just Shiv stuck in a cramped ER room with watchful eyes hovering 24/7. His privacy stripped bare, the room which could house barely one person, had three souls trapped within: Shiv, me or my husband, and the constant observer designated by the hospital.
Our inexperience, lack of exposure was staggering. We had no idea our child could be held against his and our will in the ER, denied treatment at the ER, yet denied our care too. We were forced to wait for a bed in one of the completely unknown hospitals (specialized psychiatric hospitals) that we had no knowledge about. This wasn’t healthcare; it felt like punishment for a disease, a twisted irony echoing Shiv’s inner turmoil.
But Shiv, our trooper, held firm. From that cramped ER room, he clung to the online school (thanks to Covid times), a beacon of normalcy in the storm. Days passed with an agonizing wait for a bed in any of the unknown hospitals. Each hospital name – Newark Beth Israel, Summit Oaks, CarePoint – a hollow echo in our desperate search for information. How are the hospital resources? What kind of treatment happens there? Are they specialized in specific issues? Would they treat him right? Who would be the other kids? What will he eat? Can he have a private room? Most importantly, how do we know who are the doctors and therapists who are treating him? Can we talk to them first? The silence from the system amplified our fear. A couple of our friends knew what was happening but they didn’t know how to help either and we didn’t know anyone who could help us.
Torn between desperation and fear, we finally accepted the first open bed offered, Newark Beth Israel, a leap of faith into the unknown. The ambulance ride, meant for broken bones, felt like a retribution for an offense with him strapped in. Leaving Shiv at the in-patient entrance, surrounded by strangers, was heart wrenching.
Those seven days were an eternity. Timed and fleeting phone calls were our only glimpses into Shiv’s world. We devoured information, googling terms like MDD, DBT, CBT, PHP, IOP – a new glossary for a battle we barely understood. The doctor and the therapist, thankfully, offered some light in the darkness, piecing together Shiv’s diagnosis – Major Depressive Disorder and started him on medication.
Finally, after seven agonizing days, Shiv came home. He didn’t really speak much about his time in the psychiatric in-patient with us. He probably hated it but with the diagnosis and medication, we (Shiv as well as us) naively believed he would be “fixed”/treated soon. He’d be back to his goofy, sharp self, laughing in the sunshine in a few weeks. How wrong we were. How little did we understand mental illness? In Spite of multiple providers, therapies, interventions, medication changes, we lost our dear Shiv to suicide six months later. The cruel irony of his words, shared later by his providers, echoed in the empty space he left behind: “I will never attempt again because I never want to go to the hospital again.” Had that stay traumatized him more than it helped? We’ll never know.
This weekend, the memories flood back, a searing reminder of the lessons learned the hard way. We cannot be alone in this struggle. For other parents facing this unimaginable storm, our experience may not be a mirror, but a map. You are not alone.
“Experience is the best teacher,” they say. So let us learn from the experiences – they don’t have to be your own!
Stigma, ignorance, and healthcare gaps fuel the mental healthcare issue. To combat this disease, mental illness needs to claim its rightful space in both medical and public spheres. This translates to increased funding across sectors (private, corporate, government), more research focus, a more attractive mental health field (for newer generation to join in, initiate progress and innovation), and greater willingness for trial participation. It’s a tall order. But the very first step? Dismantling stigma on all levels, starting with open, honest individual experiences so Shiv and many others do not feel hopeless and isolated.
Reach out. Share your story. Let your voice be heard. For in the silence, the enemy thrives. Let us break the stigma, build bridges of understanding, and ensure no parent walks this path alone. In memory of Shiv, and for every child fighting their silent battle, let’s not stay silent. Let’s shout, let’s scream, let’s make sure they are heard.