Hostage Situation? You decide. Part 4

In the first part of this blog series, I was not overstating any of the hypotheticals. You've learned about her experience of the first three days in the second and third parts of this. I left off when she went into the psych ward. Which, though the shortest part, for me, was the most frightening part. 

Thank goodness for the patient advocate that came to visit her Wednesday evening/afternoon! Besides making sure my daughter got better care, she also gave her advise on how to handle the psych ward. She visits patients there too, and she had seen how dark of a place it can be. One small piece of advise, that we didn't realize was so important at the time, was to ask for pen and paper when she got there. Besides prayer that was the most important piece that kept my daughter from having a panic attack while she was there.

So to continue where I left off in Part 3...

At 6 in the evening, on Wednesday, a security guard, Meg, and I went with my daughter to the psych ward.

The first thing that happened was that we were told (Meg and I) that we would have to have our things, including our cell phones, locked up while we were there. From then on-- when we came to visit we could only bring our keys. So our things were locked away to be given back when we left.

The second thing was that the visiting hours were 6 p.m. To 8 p.m. & 10:30 a.m. To noon. That was it.

Next up... My daughter had to sign a good 30 pages of intake paperwork to be admitted. That was where we found out that the longest they could hold her was five days- even if she had been forcibly put there.

My daughter was then given stiff gray scrubs to wear, and told she could not wear her own clothes until she was there 24 hours, and most likely she would be there at least 24 hours. She still was not allowed to have her things. She was given a folder with papers on what to expect. She and Meg read it over multiple times figuring out all the ins and outs-- They are both like that. A nurse with a constant smile ordered a food tray for her and made sure it didn't have gluten or apples.

This is very similar to the room, next to this would have been
another bed just like it. 

The nurse was nice, so don't get me wrong, but the constant smile was a little hard for me to deal with right then, but he did genuinely seem to care which was nice. We spent a little bit of time in her room-- which by the way was a double occupancy room. There was not another person in there, at that point, but there were no 'private rooms' and they could not promise one-- Yet the psychiatrist had. They had blocked it off for that night so that she would have the room to herself that night, but there were no promises of what would happen the next day.

It was a 'suicide prevention' unit, so nothing pointy or dangerous was allowed. Including cell phones. Yet she was allowed to have a pen... Some of the rules kinda contradicted each other, which didn't make sense.

After a few moments we were told that we weren't allowed in her room. So we went to the common room where all the patients were. Here is where I need to take a deep breath. --In fact I am going to go into morning mass and come back to this in a moment because this was the place that first shocked me the most and it still makes me have a little shiver...

This was close to how it felt, but worse in that common room

In the common room, on one side, was a large television set up like a living room. Some game was on-- I think it was football. There were many people there. Some looked extremely tense, some nervous, some I would have run away from if I had met them on the street. No one there was someone I would feel comfortable with. On the other side of the room were long tables and hard chairs, almost like cafeteria style seating. That is where we sat down.

Right near us was a young man with tufted hair with eye glasses, but on top his head instead of on the bridge of his nose. His eyes were wide and almost bulging out of his head, and he very much seemed like a human peacock. He was loud, not in a good way, and a little frightening, and I noticed he kept watching us... -- looking, but not coming near us. That frightened me more. If he had come over and tried to talk to us that would have eased my fears. He didn't and literally he was peacocking around as if looking for attention.

My daughter held my hand and Meg's, and we sat quietly talking, trying to not make any commotion. Someone noticing you just didn't seem like a good idea in this place. So we stuck close together and talked lowly. I could feel my daughter's tension. The worst part-- this is where we were suppose to leave her and she would stay over night at least.

Her food came and she began to eat it as best she could. No apple or juice this time around. That was good. It was the same thing she had had for lunch, and for dinner the night before-- I mean that literally. But it was food. The problem was it was a breast of chicken, uncut and she was given a plastic fork and plastic spoon, but no plastic knife because it was the suicide unit. Seriously! You could have a pen but not a plastic knife! If this was the way they wanted it fine! They could have given her fajita chicken then. 

She tried to cut the chicken with the plastic fork, but no doing. So finally she picked it up, took a couple of bits, then gave up the attempt.  It was really tough and had quite a bit of gristle. She ate the green beans and, even though she doesn't like rice, the rice. The milk she left.

Next to us was the only phone, by the way, and we got the number to call in to check on her and also to give to her boyfriend. She was also told she could call

her boyfriend or me from the nurse's desk and they would transfer the call out to this phone. A little good. Except the coiled metal cord was about two feet-- maybe three feet-- long, so you were stuck standing there or pulling a chair over and kinda squatting on it to be the right height.

While we were there the psychiatrist called her into his office. When she was talking to him Meg and I got her water jug that they had assign her, and went to find a nurse to fill it again for her, and ended talking to another nurse who was understanding. He promised to keep an eye on her. He had a brother-in-law that has Asperger's like both my daughters do, and when we explained what was going on he was a little appalled they would force her to be there. He truly got it, and he was the first to show understanding beside the patient advocate. Meg and I seeing we had an allie told him everything that happened. He was the first to say strongly, she didn't belong there. That was the reason he promised to watch out for her. The next day several other nurses were saying the same thing.

A little while later, we had some more time with my daughter before we had to leave. I really saw how even here in this place that seemed so horribly dark and scary, God had put a little light. Though I was frightened to leave her-- especially with Mr. Peacock strutting around, I prayed and hugged her, shed a few tears, then left her there. That was not what I wanted at all, not what she wanted, not what Meg wanted, but what we were forced to do. 

That night was dark. I prayed the rosary on the way home, and got lost (I never lose my way where driving is concerned). The darkness wasn't just the sky, but it was night around us.

I finished my rosary and saw a highway I knew, hopped on it, and was home a little later. Meg was already there playing with her son when I walked in. I got the biggest hug from my cantankerous 14 year old son, took a shower, then helped my 4 year old little sweetie get ready for bed. All night I tossed and turned while waking and praying. I didn't know then, but my daughter was having the same kind of night, and had spent a teary half hour on the phone with her boyfriend.

I gathered myself together in the morning, then left the house and got to the hospital early, just in time for a call from my daughter's boyfriend. He was worried because she was in tears last night and this morning it wasn't any better. I told him I was there and I would be up there as soon as they would let me in the door. I brought a brush, band, and a clean pair of underwear with me, stuck in my pocket. I left my cell in the car after talking to him, and grabbed my keys and ran inside. If they would open that door early, I would be there. They didn't. In fact, they were late.

I found my daughter in the common room in tears, shaking, and telling me she could not spend another night there. I held her and helped her calm down. We sat down finally, and she began telling what the night before and that morning had been like. The peacock had been irrationally yelling in the hallway in front of her room the night before after getting on the phone screaming that he was being tortured and hadn't been fed since he had been there. 

Yeah-- He was kinda like this
But his hair was tufted and
had glasses on top his head

At that moment he was yelling out a verse from an open bible every time the room quieted down at all. That is the only time in my whole life that I would say that scripture really seemed like an unholy thing when it was read!

In the morning she had went to her room and he stood at the doorway staring at her and making little noises as she pretended to be asleep. She said she didn't know what to do. She hoped if she didn't act as if she was affected by him that he would leave her alone. The standing at the doorway staring at her really frightened her because no one seemed to notice or care. At least the night before someone had finally stopped him.

To top it off, later, before I got there she got a roommate. She was told, they didn't have the room to keep the room private. --Even though she had been promised a private room by the man that ran this unholy unit! My daughter has a form of autism called Asperger's Syndrome. Most times she deals with life like anyone else, but she is not comfortable with people she doesn't know or new situations. Privacy is a very important thing.

It is the way both she and Meg have been all their life. In stressful situations she is able to remain calm as long as she has a place she feels safe. That is the purpose of her having a private room. You would think that the head of mental health at this hospital would understand about Asperger's since it is fairly prevalent, but he didn't seem to understand at all. The things he saw as depression and anxiety are common to Asperger's. He thought she needed to be more independent and was trying to force that, but didn't take any notice that promises being kept are even more important than being 'independent'. He didn't understand that people with any form of autism can go into sensory overload from loud noises and new places. And believe me the psych ward is full of the wrong kind of sensory input! He didn't take into account that she was independent enough to work 25-30 hours a week and go to college classes twenty hours a week-- including clinicals! He was convinced she would be better being there. Instead that morning she was close to a panic attack or seizure because of being thrown in there without consideration to how she would deal with this!

Thank goodness we had worked with biofeedback years before to help her handle herself no matter what was thrown at her. (Boy was this proof that we had done the right thing all those years ago!)  She had learned to calm her brain down. In fact she is amazing even when she has a panic attack. If you give her some quiet and some space she can bring herself back under control and then go on with her day. A seizure is a little more difficult, but she still is able to calm things... This is not enough of a space to explain fully, but I will leave it at-- she is amazing.

In this case, that pad of paper came in handy!  She spent time writing poetry and doodling to keep her calm. Then they added the roommate.  Thank goodness I got there right after, because, if not, she may have lost it. She laughed after she was out and said “I knew if I had a panic attack they would want to keep me, so I kept coaching myself, telling myself, 'I can't loose it. I have to keep it together.' ” You know in the whole messed up situation, when she told me that it made me so proud of her. She is such a trouper! I really wish that psychiatrist could have seen that!

While I was there a different man, a therapist, called us back to a room. And he listened. He was another light in this dark place, and part of the reason things began to get better. He understood when we told him we had had a counseling appointment already set up. He actually understood Asperger's and why this place was so bad for her. By the end of talking to him, though he didn't have the power to release her, he promised to talk to the psychiatrist. He said out loud he didn't see why she had been forced to be there. He also brought her lunch into a private room where she could eat and we could talk without dealing with all the commotion in the common room. That gave my daughter over a half hour to begin to repair so she could face whatever would come.

I left after hugging her again. This time she was more calm. We had hope that she would be released. After I left the student doctors came to talk to her, but that was when the patient advocate came too, so she missed visiting with her. Good thing though-- they, along with the nurses, and the therapist, all pleaded her case to the psychiatrist. Who finally relented. At around 2 in the afternoon, my daughter called me and told me she was going to be released in about an hour.

Her last meeting was with the psychiatrist. Who said... “Even though it seems like this was a control issue, it really wasn't.” I say—Whatever helps you sleep at night buddy!

My daughter's experience also has happened to others. From the posts I've read this seems to be happening at different hospitals across the country in all different people groups. The hospital my daughter was at has been sued several times for the same thing she went through. Meg did some research, and found several different scenarios that sounded eerily like what happened to my daughter. Others have done what I have here. I almost cried as I read their stories. It was hard to hear that it isn't just my child, and it isn't just here in the QC. So now you know our story. Please listen. If you have the power to change these situations-- do so. If you are an ordinary person, then please be aware. Because honestly, parents of a three year old have gone through the same thing. A woman giving birth has gone through the same thing. Many others have gone through the same thing.

Don't tell me the doctors know best because I don't believe it anymore. They broke my daughter's trust and my own. Thank goodness there were a few shining lights that did care or it could have been worse. If you are in the medical field, please play the part of the shining light. She could have used so much more light!

It has been three weeks now since my daughter was released from the hospital, and I am starting to calm down. Life has gone back close to normal. I don't see any way I am getting anywhere close to a hospital any time soon. Doctors now freak out our whole family a little. My daughter has said, she really has to think about her choice of career. She was in classes planning on going into the medical field. For now that is on hold.

Now we are trying to regain peace.

Any kind of plan was never talked about in the psych ward. That definitely did not constitute a break either! Her anxiety tripled while there. She still isn't depressed, though she is now wondering if she has Post Traumatic Stress because of what happened in the hospital. She is working on ideas for a plan. School is on hold, but that had more to do with seeing the way things were done while in the hospital. She loves her counselor (the one I wanted to take her to on Wednesday), and feels safe talking to her. She has the option of having me there or not. That is up to her. 

She has begun doing yoga for stress relief-- that idea came from the patient advocate and Meg. She is working and smiles a lot. Her boyfriend is thinking about learning some kind of alternative healing. He is also considering switching schools to be closer, but I am letting the two of them decide how they want to go about things. We are all healing from that Monday through Thursday hospital stay. Though, honestly it is something that none of us will ever forget, it has redefined us in ways we can't even tell you yet. I truly hope that me posting this will give voice for others that have gone through this, and hopefully leave everyone else a little wiser so they don't ever have to go to the place we have been.

Hostage Situation? You Decide. Part 3

Here is the third part, and it is just about Wednesday.  If you haven't read part 2 this might be a bit confusing. Here is the link to part 2-- http://writingcattales.blogspot.com/2015/10/hostage-situation-you-decide-part-2.html  I would highly suggest reading part 2 before reading part 3 if you haven't.

Wednesday was a doosey! 

Since 8 the night before my daughter wasn't checked again until morning. The I.V. was still in but barely dripping.  In fact from the night before until that morning the level of the fluids in the bag had not changed.

After what happened the night before, both my daughter and I realized the day was not going to go as we wanted. My daughter's boyfriend was tense. I was tense. My husband was on alert. Meg was warning me... “This has happened to others, Mom. Be careful.” So we waited.

In the meantime both Meg and my daughter's boyfriend did some research and found cases where patients had been forced against their will to go to the psych ward and had sued this hospital. Some of those cases had been substantiated.

The psychiatrist came in around 9. He was insistent that she be admitted to the psych ward. I was not comfortable. We talked back and forth, but it was not going well. Neither my daughter nor I felt comfortable at all. At this point we didn't know this was going to be a forced issue. We didn't know the lies we would be told, and how bad it would get.

After he left --about a half hour later, I called and scheduled an appointment with our counselor for 1:00 pm. Surely that would take care of this.

At 10 he still was not back. I finally went to talk to the nurse asking when my daughter was going to be released around 11, explaining we had made an appointment with our counselor. A few moments later the psychiatrist was back. His opinion had not changed and it was becoming more apparent he was willing to force us to do things his way, even if we didn't agree.

“Why can't she see our counselor? Or why can't we do this outpatient?” I was asking these questions trying to understand what the problem was.

“It will only be for twenty-four hours. She will have a private room. Just to keep a watch on her.” He spoke as if to pacify, but not at first answering me.

“She does not like strange places and situations. She wasn't trying to commit suicide and she doesn't want to hurt herself, so why is this so urgent? I am her mother, why do you need to keep a watch on her? She needs to figure out what she is going to do. She has an appointment at 1 pm with our counselor...” This was me again.

“Well we agreed she needs a break...” The psychiatrist again.

“Yes, but being here for another 24 hours is not a break...” Me speaking up once more.

“I work off a plan, and I need a plan. That is what I need to figure out now...” My daughter spoke up for herself, calmly explaining one of her objections.

“Well you need to slow down...” We all agreed on this but that also included a plan of how to do that.

“What would you do if you were home instead of here?” This question felt like a trap. He was insistent she needed to slow down, and yet kept flipping into that she needed a plan and he didn't seem to understand those went together. So no matter what she would say he would jump. My daughter told me later, she didn't know what to say. Would she say she would go to class? Would she talk about the appointment we set up? Or going home to get a little sleep because of the tension within the hospital?

“I might take a nap, and then when I woke up I would sit down with my mom and begin to talk about what happened and start to...” This is what she decided to say. It didn't go over well. He interrupted her before she could finish.

“Talk... You have no plan. See we could help you figure out a plan.”

“Why is her talking to me and our counselor not as good as being here? That would give her a chance to figure out what she wants to do from here.”

“Well when would you have her at the counselor?”

“Today. We have an appointment already set up. We had an appointment for Monday, but then she was in here and we had to cancel that one. I've been in touch with our counselor every day that she has been here.”

“But she hasn't seen her before...”

“No, but I have and my older daughter has, and our counselor has agreed to see her already. She has never met your people either. At least she knows I know this counselor and if she wants me there I will be there.”

“Well if she could come here...”

“I can call her...”  This was me.  I knew our counselor would come there in a heartbeat.  She had altered her day on Monday to be able to see my daughter on her day off.

“Well do.” I picked up the phone and talked to the office for our counselor and he talked to the receptionist and gave him a number for our counselor to call him. For right then the argument stopped. He also talked to my husband, who thought it would help him if he knew we had the appointment and maybe coming to the room would be good and help him calm down.

An hour later, there still was no resolution. He refused to talk to our counselor about any of the circumstances, even though we had given him permission. Lied to our counselor and told her he hadn't understood that our daughter hadn't seen her before. She offered to come there to the hospital, but he told her his people could take care of things and she couldn't be involved. I know that because our counselor called me trying to figure out what was going on.

In the mean time I was lied to, and told that since the counselor hadn't seen our daughter before she thought it better she be admitted to the psych ward and let the psychiatrist handle it.

I called her back and told her what was said, and she suggested getting an advocate involved and talking to the head of mental health. Little did we know at this point that the psychiatrist was the head of mental health.

After talking to her, I called my husband and told him I needed his help. I felt over my head, but I would be damned if I was going to leave my daughter there now after realizing how many lies we were told and how much this was looking more and more like being a hostage rather than a patient. What would they do? Especially if I left her alone even for a little while?

Somewhere in here we were advised by the head of the ICU and the psychiatrist that my daughter had two choices. Either my daughter voluntarily commit herself and they promised she would be out in 24 hours, or they force the issue and she would stay there until a court hearing. My daughter was told by the doctors this could take weeks-- another lie. We found out later that the longest they could hold her was five days.

On top of that the I.V. was still in even though both the head of ICU and the other doctor that had seen her agreed she was medically sound. Still, they kept her things and refused to take out the I.V. in order to keep her hostage.

There was a third visit that day with the psychiatrist, the head of ICU, a nurse, and two other women I later learned were student doctors. I spoke up for my daughter as she asked me to, and the psychiatrist accused me of not letting her speak. He asked me why was I trying to control my daughter. At that point, in a strong clear voice my daughter spoke up and told the doctors that she had asked me to speak for her and I was saying what she wanted me to say. Nothing got any better, and so Todd came to the hospital asked to speak to the head doctors and administration. He asked for a patient advocate for our daughter and tried to sort out what was going on and why.

My husband was told I had lied to the psychiatrist and that I was over-controlling. They said they already had papers written up to force our daughter into the psych ward, but it would go better if our daughter voluntarily signed papers. Otherwise it wouldn't go so well. My husband said, he thought the psychiatrist would have almost backed down, but the head of ICU was adamant that my daughter was suicidal and needed to be in the psych ward and she was not backing down. The other doctor that saw my daughter Tuesday was there, but didn't say much. He was the one that wanted to release her Wednesday morning.  

My husband requested a patient advocate, and the advocate went to visit with our daughter. The advocate spent about an hour talking with my daughter, and listening to her. My daughter told her what the last few days had been like. She told her about the problems, and about her fears. She told her how she had been treated.

My daughter said that day, and in the days since that the advocate was like a shaft of light in a very dark space. Within five minutes of leaving a nurse was in the room with a fresh gown, a comb, a toothbrush, and a set of cleaning wipes for the first time since Monday-- by this time it was about 5 pm on Wednesday. That is when I came back into her room. She was actually smiling a little. She spent a half hour telling me about the patient advocate and what they talked about. When I had traded places with my husband an hour and half earlier my daughter was in tears. One person can make such a huge difference. Someone simply sitting down, listening, and doing what they can to make sure a person has what they need shows a person dignity. That was something my daughter wasn't shown much of Monday or Tuesday or most of Wednesday.

As soon as my daughter agreed on voluntarily going to the psych ward they took out the I.V. . At 6 p.m. She was released from ICU and taken to the psych ward by a security guard. Meg and I went with her, and this began the most frightening part of the story, but also the shortest. I will talk about this in the next part.  Wednesday was much more to take in and seemed to last forever compared to Monday or Tuesday. The time in the psych ward was frightening and unneeded.  It didn't give her a break or help her make a plan.  It did make her jumpy and give her nightmares though.  More on that in the next part.

Hostage Situation? You decide. Part 2

This is just the beginning of my daughter's story. I thought I would be able to do this in 3 posts, but it looks as if it is going to be 4 posts. So here is number 2.

My daughter has asked me not to use her name, nor to give too many identifying details because she is very sensitive to what happened, and she is still deciding how she plans to handle this situation. Personally I would really consider suing if it was up to me, but as much as this has effected her I will be glad to get her to file a complaint.

I took my daughter to the ER on Monday at 1:30 pm, she was admitted to ICU at around 8:00 pm that evening until 6:00 pm on Wednesday night when she was transferred to the psych ward until a little before 4:00 pm on Thursday.

Was she crazy? No.

Had she attempted suicide? No.

Was she suicidal? No.

Was she a threat to anyone? No.

Did we think she needed to be in the psych ward? No.

Did most of the nurses, student doctors, and one of the therapists in the psych ward think she should be there? No.

Did the counselor that has worked with our family think she should be there? No.

The head psychiatrist was sure convinced of all the above. He was convinced he would show her it was in her best interest to be there.

He never did convince anyone of that, except maybe himself and perhaps the head of the ICU that only saw her once and was convinced we were taking everything too lightly.

When she was admitted to the hospital, all the things (her purse, the things in it, her clothing, and her shoes) she brought with her were taken and locked away from her including her phone. A security guard was posted at her door.

When she was moved to ICU, even with me staying there, they posted a person in the room for the first 24 hours at all times. She was not even allowed to close the bathroom door while she was in there.

She complied with all this, whatever treatment they suggested she complied. Not once did she argue or raise her voice. She did cry when they took her phone because she and her boyfriend talk a lot on the phone since he lives 4 hours away. I was there to calm her down and hand her my phone to talk to him.

From Monday to Wednesday she was not offered a change of hospital gown, but she was not allowed to wear her own clothing either. She wore the same underwear for three days!

She has long hair, and she was not offered a brush or comb, yet I could not bring her anything either-- even if I would have dared to leave.

She was not even offered a bed bath to cleanse herself.

In two and half days she was not offered a simple toothbrush. They had a sign in the room that they were suppose to make sure that patients brushed their teeth twice a day!

In all the time she was in ICU the sheets on the bed were not changed.

She has a special diet because of allergies and foods that she is sensitive to. They had that she was gluten intolerant in her chart, but they didn't ask about any food needs nor preferences beyond the gluten intolerance, nor did they give her any kind of menu. Here's an example-- She can't eat apples. They make her sick to her stomach and sometimes cause her to throw up. Three times they brought an apple and apple juice. She doesn't eat rice for the most part. Each meal was served with rice. She doesn't drink milk, every meal came with milk. I wasn't suppose to bring her food, but meals were just served and many things they gave her to eat-- she couldn't.

The nurses thank goodness didn't watch that closely. So finally Tuesday night, my husband brought food for her because the choices she had were ridiculous.

Then there were other things... When she was about to use the shared bathroom. I opened the door to see blood on the seat and floor from the other patient... That one I called the nurse on.

The psychiatrist saw her first on Tuesday morning. He was convinced she had some depression. He talked about starting her on medicine. Mind you my daughter has pretty severe chemical allergies and really is not comfortable taking an anti-anxiety or depression medicine. He pretty much minimized that as if it didn't matter though he could look at her allergy record and see if he had taken the time.

This is the girl that has a medical exemption because she turned blue and stopped breathing from vaccinations. This is the girl that a medicine to combat her allergies left her unable to walk and talk at 8. It took us three months to help her recover from that reaction. This is the girl that when she tried asthma medications it made her lungs spasm almost continuously. Do we really want to try a medicine for a problem we don't even agree she has?

Though she has panic attacks sometimes, they have never caused her a problem. Beyond that, anyone that actually knows her would never think she had any kind of depression. She literally has no symptoms of depression. She is almost always easy going with just as easy of smile. She is one of those people you like being around just because they see life as sunny. She is soft spoken, but she knows her path-- Well she did until this hospital stay! She has so many things she is looking forward to-- a job she enjoys, and a boyfriend that is her best friend. To top it off eventually they are planning to get married. Does this sound like depression to you? It doesn't to me, and my daughter said she didn't feel depressed.

This is where he first talked about admitting her to the psych ward. This is where he felt like she and I were taking this to lightly. She nor I agreed with the meds or admitting her. We told him so, and he said he would return in a couple hours and we could talk about it some more. Later another doctor came in and talked about releasing her Wednesday morning. He was pretty much ready to take her off the I.V. and just wanted to monitor overnight because she was still having some dizziness. The I.V. drip was going about every thirty seconds-- if that. It should have been taken out.

It was left in.

The psychiatrist never came back that day. The rest of the day the nurses checked on her about every 4 hours. Her blood work showed everything was back to normal. So we hoped that maybe they would release her Wednesday morning.

At around 8:00 pm the nurse came in and told us they were ready for her to go to the psych ward. My daughter and I told her that the psychiatrist said he would be back, and we hadn't agreed to any action yet. She left the room quickly and gave him a call and a little while later came back and told us he would be back early in the morning.

Then Wednesday came around...

And Wednesday is going to be part 3. 

Review of Incurable by E.C. Moore

Evening view of Riverside, California

As a child I was raised in Riverside, California.  With my grandparents I traveled all over the state and saw most of the sights.  My dad was like a tour guide, and so I saw more and learned why my family loved Southern California so much.  Then at 21 I moved to the Midwest.  I only get back to the land of my childhood every few years, for 2-3 weeks.  So when I saw Incurable, and that it was
set in my childhood home state.  I grabbed the chance to read it.  I wasn't disappointed.  Below is my review.  Hope you enjoy it.

Review of Incurable by E.C. Moore

Incurable is set for the most part in Southern California. Which along with the description was what made me feel as if I needed to read it-- I was raised in Sunny Cali and have some fond memories of the places mentioned in the story. This was definitely the most different story that I have read! And not different bad! I would have to call it dramatic historical fiction-- not romance, although there were some romantic elements at times. If you like World War II era settings, you'll like Incurable. It sets up the war, and also lets you view the world after the recovery from the war.

It is the story of two friends Marilyn (Beryl) and June. The story is set during the 30s, 40s, and 50s. Each decade had its own theme and the author definitely makes use of those themes and really made me think about how much the world was changing in each perspective period. As you read, you are reading between two times, both present time (for the story) which is mid-50s, and the past.

Two beautiful teenage girls decide to leave Detroit, and go to Hollywood. You can imagine the reasons, and you better guess it doesn't turn out the way they are planning. For Marilyn it is even worse than you can imagine. For June, you are never quite sure how it really is.

June is outgoing and could do almost anything. She does do all kinds of things too!

Marilyn's more reserved, and though she is at first looking for fame, she finds another path she almost follows before she is pulled in by June on another hair-brained adventure and then another.  Devastation ensues until she finally finds a way out, and as things are looking up, sorrow shows up once more.

Incurable was fun and heart-wrenching at the same time. It was fun because most of the places I knew, and that was really a thrill after living in the Midwest for close to 25 years. But it was heart-wrenching because of the scenes that the two young women go through.

The story is an awesome tale of friendship, destruction, betrayal, recovery, and healing. It never lulls, and always keeps you trying to guess. The writing is very good, and everything holds together nicely. It was not quite a book I could read in a night (my favorite), but I did read it in two days. Finally it left me with all the questions answered and also with a good ending.

If you would like to read it, here is the link to Amazon:  http://www.amazon.com/Incurable-E-C-Moore-ebook/dp/B012EJJ4KG

Hostage Situation? You decide. Part 1

-What if your sensitive, gentle, eighteen year old daughter was forced to endure three and half days of harsh treatment with no dignity, and very few people that cared about what was going on, or even making sure she had clean clothes, a toothbrush, or a way to bathe herself?

-What if they brought her food, but didn't even ask if there was anything she would like to eat, and only took into account one of her allergies so she couldn't eat part of the meal she was given, and the rest made her pretty sick because she was use to a diet quite different?

-What if you were there with her, and tried to explain the circumstances that brought her there, but you were only half listened to and then lied to?

-What if because they only listened to part of what you said they twisted the story and made assumptions then told others the lies they believed and accused you of lying?

-What if these people were judgmental and demanding of their own ways even though they went against the ways your family has worked?

-What if this place was a hospital that was suppose to be doing good?

-What if the people were well respected doctors and nurses?

-What if you tried to reason with them, but were told you should not speak up for your daughter even though she had asked you to?

-What if they accused you of being a controlling parent and your daughter was told she needed to be more independent?

-What if they frightened your daughter worse than she's ever been frightened before?

-What if they would not let your daughter leave?

-What if they moved her into another part of the hospital where you could only see her for a couple hours of the day?

-What if that was a place where she was afraid for her safety and when you came to see her she was crying and shaking because of the experience?

---Hey this would be a great plot beginning for a novel! Maybe a thriller of some kind?

-What if this is a real life experience?

----Does that make it alright? Would you be alright with this if it were you? What about your daughter? What about your loved one?  Does it even matter who it is?  Should anyone be treat this way?

Because you know what?

It was real life.

Two of my daughters-- Hope & Meg

-It happened to my daughter, and I was the mom in this hypothetical. Everything I said above did happen from Monday to Thursday of this week.

-This is part 1 of a series of blogs I plan to post. In part 2 I will go into more details. We are still shaking off the fear this instilled. Even now as I write about it, my stomach is jumping.