Breakdowns, Breakthroughs

The funny thing about working with kids with actual psychiatric disorders is that it's often unclear just how much control they really have over their actions and feelings. I clicked with a girl last week, a girl who was an absolute terror to pretty much every other person on the unit. She had visual and auditory hallucinations before she came in; struck a teacher, destroyed a classroom as a result. She was really awful. Wouldn't listen, called the nurses all sorts of terrible/creative/somewhat true (haha) things, was restrained in full leathers numerous times. She'd been admitted before. Most of the really bad kids are not new to us.

We had a breakthrough, of sorts. I spent an entire morning basically just trying to keep her in the classroom--that was my assignment. And then at some point she actually started listening to me, and then at some other point I realized that at the age of 14 she still doesn't know most of her times tables, and so we somehow got through the fours and the sixes. This apparently made me the Kid Whisperer, since the nurses couldn't even get her to eat breakfast without her wreaking havoc upon the unit. So after that when she got out of control it turned into, "have Caitlin work with her," which, honestly, was just the sort of pathetic excuse they would have for "treatment" at County. And, predictably, it only worked for two days. The last day she was in they had her really heavily medicated and it was kind of like any trust we'd built had been wiped clean overnight. She looked at me like she didn't know me, she vilified me just like she did the other teachers and the nurses, and I knew not to take it personally but it was still kind of sad. She was discharged that day because the doctors didn't know what else they could do with her.

I like to think that we can make a difference but with some of these kids you have to wonder if it's possible, at all. Makes me curious about child psychiatrists. Not sure I would ever want that job.

On a lighter note, if it's possible to make that transition, we've been cold. It's been in the 40s, and even the 30s, and tonight there's a chance of "light snow." Actually, I love it. I bundle up in the morning and the teachers make merciless fun of me because in early November I'm already channeling the Eskimo. But I don't complain, yet. I like the smell of fireplaces and I like seeing my breath, thick and unhappy as soon as it exits its little sauna. Vinny, however, isn't terribly pleased. Today when I got home, I let him out. At first he was gung-ho about it, ready to go take on the backyard, and then two seconds later he's curled up at my feet on the grass, shivering violently and looking up at me like he feels bitter and deceived. Oh Vinny. If anyone's gonna have to adapt to no longer being a Californian, it's him.

In other news, I might be exercising a polo pony (a super GORGEOUS 5-year-old bay thoroughbred mare owned by a teacher at my school--Pat, you would die) but I won't go into the details until it actually happens. I also joined 1.5 indoor soccer teams and am really, really happy to be wheezing again (um, I'm outta shape). As far as home stuff is concerned, Matt has been cooking up a storm and I can't believe my luck--he's talented, and ambitious! It works out well. He cooks, I clean, we both benefit. We are happy.