Love Makes A Family – Part VII

(The names of some of the players have been altered for obvious reasons.)

After delivering the girls to their destination, the Santa Barbara County social worker called Katrin, the girls’ UCLA family therapist. She told Katrin that both girls cried for about the first 10 minutes of the hour long ride to their new home. She tried gamely to engage them in conversation. She informed them that they were already enrolled at San Marcos High School and would be starting there next week, and she just knew they would be very happy there. Cari finally said, “I know you think you’re trying to help, but we really don’t feel like talking if that’s okay with you”. This wasn’t the social workers first patient transport and she knew the drill. She gave them the space and the silence they wanted. Every few minutes one or the other would burst into tears for a few sobs and then exert the needed effort to pull it back together. Half a box of tissues later they finally arrived at the group home in the foothills of Santa Barbara. It was owned and operated by a man we will call Henry.

Henry was a middle aged man, divorced, with a teenage daughter of his own who lived with him in his 5 bedroom, 3 bath Craftsman style ranch house. There was a long driveway up to the house, which featured a large fenced back yard and an adjacent lot with horses. It was warm in the foothills, but like clockwork in the evenings, the Pacific on-shore flow would sweep in, cooling and cleaning the air.

When Cari and Anna moved in, there was only one other girl there and two vacant bedrooms. The four bedrooms other than the master all had twin beds. Henry’s daughter told the girls that when the place was full, she had to share her room. Apparently, a bad divorce settlement had left Henry struggling financially and he was going to get as many girls as tenants as was legally allowed.

Cari and Anna could have each had their own room, at least temporarily, but decided to share a room rather than rolling the dice on the next court appointed houseguests as new room-mates. The house was bright and cheery and soon the girls settled in, but were still not happy about it. They preferred to pull the drapes closed and block out the cheeriness. After the latest blow life had dealt them, they did not feel it was fair that the sun was so bright, the air was so clean, and that other people had happy, contented lives. They would count the hours till their next contact with the staff at NPI.

Cari was calling me, and Anna was calling Elvia, every other day, all that the group home would allow. Katrin made her official visit, the only one she would make to the group home, a week after they got there. She interviewed Henry and spent a half hour with the girls. She came back giving the group home a positive report card, but said Cari was still looking like a deer in the headlights. All the staff at NPI were relieved to hear that the group home was a nice place and that Cari had not run away yet.

After their discharge from UCLA-NPI there were no more interdisciplinary treatment team meetings to discuss next steps and their transition to out patient life was coordinated by Katrin. Dr. Kay, Cari’s individual therapist made a couple of follow up phone calls to her, but then had to move on to the rest of her in-patient case load. Elvia had opted out of the group home visits. She was going to be leaving UCLA shortly for a new position and didn’t want to prolong the agony of separating from Anna.

Katrin had regular phone conferences with the Santa Barbara county department of child protective services and was doing her best to stay in touch. She still felt somewhat responsible, since it was in family therapy where the schisms in the family began, with disastrous results for the girls. We spent several lunches helping each other deal with the situation. I tried to reassure her that she could not take responsibility for the pathology in that family and it would have been criminal to overlook it and try to gloss it over. The result of that would have been even worse in the long run. She was glad that I was going to be visiting the girls and felt it was their only chance to make the transition successfully.

Finally, the second week-end after the girls leaving came and I was allowed to go visit them. I had been thinking so much about this reunion that I was feeling a little anxious. I would be so glad to see them, but we would only have two hours and I wanted to get some things straight right away, especially with Cari. I wanted to make sure I let her know that I expected her to stay there and follow the rules and not get the idea that I approved of any plans to become a run away.

As I drove up the long driveway I saw Cari was sitting on the porch. She didn’t jump up and run out to the car and get hysterical, which I was sort of expecting. She stood up and walked out to the car, waited for me to get out, and we just stared at each other for an awkward moment. It was as if we didn’t quite know how to act because this was the first time we had been in each other’s company outside the hospital milieu. There was no one monitoring our behavior. There were no four walls. There were no nurses or psychiatrists or other kids. It was just us. Tentatively, I slightly opened my arms and she slowly leaned against me for a brief hug. Just about that time Anna ran, screaming, out the front door and almost knocked me to the ground she hugged me so ferociously. We all three almost collapsed laughing. Anna’s dramatic entrance (one of her hallmarks) was the perfect icebreaker. We all relaxed and had a really nice first visit. I felt we were on the road to recovery.

I went to visit them every other Saturday for 2 hours. Now that they were ex-patients and their confidentiality was no longer an issue, I was allowed to tell Mike what was going on. He had become so intrigued that he wanted to come on the visits with me, but he understood this was not going to happen. First of all, the girls didn’t know I was gay. Second of all, I knew, or thought I knew, that the hospital would never approve of it. I never even brought it up to Katrin.

Even though the group home was not horrible and Henry seemed like a nice man, both of the girls missed the protected environment at UCLA. In spite of the difficulty of the situation Anna was making the transition really well. Cari was not. She was depressed and feeling the sting of betrayal. She was feeling the other side of the double-edged sword of the relationship we had forged. It was great in the hospital when we saw each other 8 hours every day. Now, she was dealing with abandonment issues every week. In spite of her intellectual understanding of our situation and my commitment to her, she still wondered each time I drove away if it would be the last time she would see me.

Luckily, she was starting to hook into the idea that together we could work on things over the phone and she could still conquer some of her demons. But the times between the calls and the visits felt empty and she was distracted, waiting for the next contact. She wasn’t making friends at school and her school work was suffering. At least Henry was providing a stable home environment. At least we thought that was the case.

The girls were moved to another group home after a couple of months because there were allegations about the appropriateness of Henry’s verbal interactions with the younger girls. Apparently, there was no sexual abuse involved. But, the approach taken by child care agencies at this time was to be hyper-vigilant and take action for even the suggestion of inappropriateness. The McMartin Pre-school trial and fiasco leading to child abuse convictions was fresh on the minds of Child Protective Services. This group home would later be closed because of it.

Cari and Anna swear that they never had a problem with Henry and Katrin and I were thankful that they were removed from that possibility unscathed. When Katrin and I compared notes, neither of us recalled meeting the social worker affiliated with Henry’s group home. Each group home is required to have a social worker that acts as a liaison/patient advocate. They are there to provide a safe harbor for the kids in any disputes with the group home staff and they also function as counselors to the kids.

The new group home was owned and run by Pat, a single woman, and her son. Suzy, the social worker for this house was much more involved. She had contacted Katrin about the move and she called me before my first visit to arrange a meeting. We sat down and she went over the rules of the house and told me that although I was on the approved list to visit Cari and Anna, she could rescind that privilege if she felt I was interfering with the house managers programs or behaved in any untoward fashion. Although, I was a little surprised by the contrast of this house to Henry’s I got the message, and I was okay with it.

They were not about to let whatever had taken place at the previous house happen here. They intended to take seriously their charter to protect the kids, and that included Cari and Anna. I felt a sense of relief, and despite her rather prickly approach, I liked Suzy and her spunky attitude. It felt like a good move.

Pat’s house was not a horse ranch. It was a non-descript 4 bedroom home on a cul-de-sac in Goleta at the very edge of the subdivision. Pat’s décor was rather minimalist, but with comfy furniture. She kept it very clean and it always smelled of incense or potpourri. She was a good cook and fresh ground and brewed coffee was always ready when I would arrive there on a Saturday morning. After a couple of visits Pat and Suzy told me I could stay as long as I wanted and didn’t limit me to two hours.

There were huge eucalyptus trees in the subdivision and they were only about a quarter mile from the ocean. You could walk out the end of the cul-de-sac about 300 yards into the eucalyptus grove and find a slough that dropped off about 40 feet. The girls couldn’t wait to show me where someone had hung a big, thick rope from one of the tallest trees. At the bottom of the rope a wooden T-seat was attached. It must have been 50 feet to the top of that rope. You could jump off the edge of the slough and swing out into the air over the chasm in a huge arc. It was like flying.

I remember watching the girls run and jump on the seat of that swing, straddling the rope, pointing their toes and leaning back with eyes closed and hair streaming out behind them, breaking free of the earth and all their cares and woes, if only for that brief moment of total abandon and freedom from control and care. It was at that spot that I remember thinking that the girls were going to be okay. They were going to make it through this rough patch.

My visits continued and after a while, Pat gave me permission to take the girls on an “outing”. We were just about to leave when Pat ran out to the car and said Suzy had called and needed to speak with me. Wondering what in the world could this be about, I walked back into the area Pat had set up as an office in the living room and picked up the phone. Suzy told me that since I was not a legal guardian she could not allow me to take the girls anywhere off the premises. But, she said she had a solution.

She and Pat said they would be willing to list me as a staff of the group home. All I would have to do was get California certification as a Licensed Childcare Worker. I explained about my title and training at UCLA, but they said this was slightly different. They explained that this would entail a few night classes. The classes were 4 hours each night for five nights and among other things, included CPR (which I already had) and first aid classes. Once I became a Licensed Childcare Worker, I would be allowed to take the girls on outings and not be tied to the property. It sounded like a big boring waste of time, but I did it to be able to get the girls out of the house for a few hours on the week end.

When Mike heard about this latest task that I was dreading, he decided to take the classes with me. I was digging it on the misery loves company angle alone. For him it wasn’t drudgery. He was toying with the idea of volunteering at one of the halfway houses in our neck of the woods. He had become so enthralled with the stories I told him about the amazing turnarounds I had witnessed working with kids. He really wanted to be a part of something where he could have a direct positive impact on individuals in need. So, we took a week of evenings and completed the course together. It was nice having him there and he was so enthusiastic it made it easier for me.

Pat and Suzy had failed to tell me until after I completed all this training, on my own time, at my own expense, that there was a catch. They told me I could not take just Cari and Anna on the outings. I would have to take all the girls in the house. They had noticed that I was driving a beautiful, blue, metal flake painted, Ford Econoline van with custom interior. They saw it as a resource and they totally worked me. If I wanted to spend any time with Cari and Anna doing anything besides sitting around the group home, I had to function as the group home’s week-end tour director. I had a new found respect for Pat and Suzy. They worked well as a team.

It was about this time that Freda, the nursing supervisor for the child and adolescent services at NPI approached me on the ward one day with questions about my visits to the girls. She asked me who had given me permission to visit with ex-patients. Her tone did not indicate simple curiosity. It almost sounded like a trick question. I was very puzzled, and filled with dread, wondering why she was asking me this now. I had been visiting the girls for almost 3 months. Didn’t she know who gave me permission? This was discussed in treatment team meetings prior to the girls’ discharge, and the family therapy department in conjunction with the girls’ individual therapists had approved of the visits and knew all about it.

“Lloyd, you know that fraternization with ex-patients is strictly forbidden”, she said. “Please come with me”. I followed her to her office in stunned silence. I was reeling and confused with this blindside, out of the blue confrontation. I felt as if someone had punched me in the gut. Freda directed me to a chair and sat opposite me, leaned toward me and said very compassionately, “Would you like to have union representation?”