Hospital

Shortly after I wrote the last blog post, I got a call from the social worker at the hospital. I could barely speak. I was trying not to cry. His voice was calm and soothing, so that helped, but I'm so overwhelmed. He wanted to meet us at 6pm, and then we could visit with Hugh after that. Monday is my band night, and we were to have our executive meeting too, but family first.

We told the girls before dinner a brief synopsis of what had been going on. They had asked on the weekend, but I sort of brushed it off and walked away. They were beyond upset. I suggested they write some letters we could take with us. I felt horrible. I didn't have a lot of answers for them, and that probably didn't help.

We found our way through the hospital. Despite being a few days shy of 19, he was in the Youth and Adolescent program.

The social worker was a large, burly, funky beard and hair kind of older guy. Calm, patient and kind. He had a few details of early Friday  and what had gone on since. He said Hugh has realized he's dug himself into a hole, by not allowing us to talk to him over the weekend. He lives here. He needs us. He said Hugh seemed relieved to know we were coming. He was spending a lot of time working on therapy work books, as well as meeting with a psychiatrist and the social worker.

One thing the social worker mentioned was that Hugh seemed to have some conflicts about being transgender. Sadly, this was the little nugget Rob needed to hear so he could focus on. Once Hugh came in and we talked, this was brought up. Hugh says he's very certain he's a woman and that he doesn't believe in gender fluidity, only binary genders. He also said he feels shame, embarrassment and anger about it. He knows it's going to be hard but he doesn't want to be "The dude in a dress".

The social worker said most teens are in the inpatient program for about a week. I asked about what's next, but I didn't get a good answer. I thought he would tell us about support groups, ongoing therapy, something. Maybe it's in the handouts he gave us.

We went downstairs with Hugh and he got a 12" sub and drink. Ate the whole thing. Yet he said the food's been pretty good, except for the milk. It was hard to talk. We were pretty exhausted. It was heartbreaking, seeing him in sock feet, patient gowns and pants. We could bring him a sweater--without drawstrings. He's not allowed his phone, except with the staff while checking in with his other counselor. We got a few more details about Friday. It's so overwhelming, thinking of him going through all that alone, in the park, at 2am. Thank god for crisis lines, police, and ambulance.

It Got Worse

This isn't the post I had planned to write on Friday. Things took a drastic turn though and I have to write about something else.

On Friday morning, one of the girls noticed Hugh's door was open. He sleeps with it closed, lives in there with it closed, really. He wasn't in there. His shoes weren't on the mat either. The last anyone noticed him was Lucy seeing his light on around midnight. They had been chatting in the hall earlier and then she went to paint her nails. Rob said he noticed the open door before he left, between 6:30am and 7am.

Although Hugh sometimes went out in the late evening, and/or came home in the early hours, this was totally not normal. My heart was sinking. I texted him once the girls were gone to school.

It took him nearly an hour to respond. A terribly long 52 minutes. And like his usual style, no real answer.

It took him 36 minutes to respond. The reason I asked was we have a large general hospital in the next city over, but in this town we have a large psychiatric hospital. 

Rob called the hospital around 7:45pm. He had just been admitted and the nurse asked him if he would talk to us. He said he was tired, wanted to sleep and would call us later. My texts have all gone unanswered.

We haven't heard anything since; it's Monday 1:50pm. Last night at 10:40pm Rob called again. He said the nurses said they encouraged him to reach out to us but he won't. Rob is furious. Said he doesn't want him to come home then. He doesn't approve of transgender, so he won't accept it. Here I am breaking into a million pieces and I have to rationalize with him, get him to realize that he's focusing on the negative articles, reports, studies so all he will see is negativity. I'm not happy about the changes, but it's not up to me. My hang ups about it are purely my own and selfish, and I own that. 

Rob thinks I should go to the hospital. I can't. Hugh and I are both non-confrontational. And I am breaking so bad that I don't think I could leave there. 

Bad Thoughts

There's not been a lot happening. One day, Hugh said we needed to have a talk. After about two weeks he said it again. I said it's really busy right now and if he wanted to talk, dinner would be the best time. I don't think he wanted that. He tried to have a talk while I was sewing.

I have so much to say, but I just couldn't get it out. He felt that we were angry. Well, yes, I thought. We are.

"It's not that we're angry..."

Yes, I'm angry. I'm angry that he never came to us before. I hate that he feels we're such terrible parents he couldn't talk to us. I hate that we sent him off to university, encouraged him to get engaged and have a life, and this is what happened. I'm angry he's going to have a hard time with life. I'm angry that he's had a hard time and we didn't know. I'm angry I'm losing a son.

If he had just killed himself, we wouldn't be going through this.

Yes, that thought came into my head. I was immediately horrified. I knew I wasn't saying I wished he would/did kill himself! I was horrified that I thought suicide would make this easier on everyone. I know it doesn't! I want my child. I want my son.

Why am I having such a hard time with this? I read comments and posts by other parents in some sewing groups I'm in, and it seems everything is easier for them. I read articles by parents of young transgender kids. They seem fine with it. I have two online friends with transgender kids. They never talk about the heartache. One of those is in a parenting group we've been in for 13 years. I posted about this in that group. She just left a sad face reaction and I don't think she commented. My cousin has been in transition for the past 4-5 years. My aunt and uncle seem fine with it.

How do I get there?

One Month

Hugh's been home two weeks. He mainly sleeps, watches some hockey games, and goes out with a few friends. He wanted to "have a talk" but this is a really busy time right now.

It's still very rough.

I go through every emotion possible, within minutes.

It's just the outside package. The girls went through puberty. So why am I so uneasy? Am I supposed to take him bra shopping?

His voice. So deep. There's no way it can pass as female. Will it change?

I say, "it's his life, it shouldn't be an issue for me" but then immediately get mad at all the awkwardness this will put us through.

"Why should I care what others are thinking"? I know. Really, I don't usually care. So why now?

I really thought his adulthood, becoming a cool and unique adult human, was going to be our reward for the early challenges. Didn't we go through enough already?! Why are we being put through this?

I hear him hanging out with the girls. I had told him he had to tell them himself. They've never said anything to me. Surely they notice the breasts? They're having a great time. Will it change?

When will he be a woman?

What will his name be? A few times over the years, we've had the common conversation with the kids, "What else did you want to name me/if I had been a boy...". If Hugh had been a girl, he was going to be called Lucy. So. He can't take that! We had also considered Lily or Lillian for Megan but felt the alliteration would be too much. I haven't mentioned this yet, but I have a cousin that is transgender and their chosen name is Lily. So I guess that one's out. His grandmothers' names are also in use in Lucy's middle name. Eileen and Arlene were combined with Ray (Rob's dad's name) to make Raylene. His great grandmother's names are not awesome. Nora (I already have a cousin), Mildred, Rita, and I can't remember Rob's other grandmother's name. Though his mom had a sister named Mildred. So cool how there were names in common on both sides of our families. My great grandmother was Mary. That would be okay. Hugh's middle name is Patrick, after my dad. The only grandchild named after him. Pat could be androgynous, and my favourite aunt was Patricia. She would probably think this was all really cool and brave. We chose Hugh's names for a reason. I don't want him to have a dime-a-dozen random name.

I don't cry as much as I did a month ago. I still do cry though. I'm just trying to move on and go with the flow. I don't really know what the flow is though.