Monday, October 24, 2016


The subject of psychology is interesting. My daughter and I have had long evening talks over coffee regarding people and psychology. And not so long ago we sat one evening on her bed and studied with her flash cards for an upcoming psychology test in a class at her university, at which, taught this old lady a few things about the parts of the brain and what they're functions are. Course, I'll never remember all that she can absorb in her studies, she's quite impressive in that way---however, I will remember my quiet thoughts later on how ironic it all seemed that she was studying psychology when, it is (she) whom waits, sometimes frantic, for mental health help.

I'm not certain if I understand fully the dynamics of our Canadian mental health system and it's ability to make vulnerable people wait such long stretches of time to get help. This alone makes one measure they're own worth. I know because my daughter has mentioned it a few times since July.
 I (do) understand however, there's been an alarming increase of people of which need help, and clearly not enough professionals specializing in this area in growing communities across the province's.
 My major concern is, how long is too long in waiting? What will those signs look like when the need gets desperate? My nineteen-year-old daughter has been waiting in cue for a follow up appointment with a referral to a psychiatrist almost going onto the fourth week without a call. Clearly the psychologist that my daughter finally saw thought it in my daughter's best interest to refer her to a psychiatrist to deal with her antidepressants---but when?

As for our family doctor, he's been exceptional about seeing my daughter every two or three weeks. It appears to me he's watching over her, of which I'm very grateful for, however, its been said by the psychologist that, our family doctor doesn't specialize in antidepressants, therefore it leaves us in the mercy of a waiting list for whom does. Meanwhile, I watch good days and bad days, and take both my blood pressure pills every day, because she needs me.

Tonight she walked out the door into a dreary night of rain. She had class at the second campus down the freeway. She wore that knit toque again, the one she wears when her hair isn't going right. Her make up looked perfect, but she would tell you different. She spent most of her time in her room before she left, mostly likely mastering a look of her own approval. I shoved a ham sandwich at her before she left, fully knowing what prevails of her bad days-no lunch, no dinner-and off she went, soulful face of someone struggling to find the reason for living, pushing herself out the door reluctantly.
When her car lights left the driveway I broke all the other times of helplessness. But this time I was furious! furious at a system with which appears to allow our youth and adults slip through the folds of suffering. Yeah---I was pretty pissed off tonight! And then I got a call from my daughter who was now on campus-

"Hey mom? remember that psychology test we studied for? I got 82%!!!!"


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