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.