By Neha Chaudhary, The Washington Post, February 3, 2020
A woman walked into an emergency room with her 13-year-old son, her lips pursed. He was there for a psychiatric evaluation for suicidal thoughts that he had voiced to his school counselor. After my evaluation of her son, I sat down with her to talk. She didn’t look pleased. “I hope you’re here to tell me you’re discharging him,” she said. “We have to get to soccer practice in an hour.”
What I was about to tell her was the opposite. “Actually, I’m here to tell you about your son’s depression,” I said to her gently. I told her that her 13-year-old had been struggling for the past few months and that the past week had been especially tough. I told her about his difficulty falling asleep, and how much of a struggle it was for him to get out of bed in the morning. I told her that what she saw as teenage snippiness was stemming from something much deeper, based on my assessment as a child psychiatrist. What was hardest to tell her, however, was how far the depression had gotten. “For the past few days, he has been feeling like he doesn’t deserve to be alive,” I said. “I’d like to refer him for hospitalization to get more help in a safe setting, because what’s going on here is perfectly treatable, and he doesn’t need to struggle this way anymore.”
“Safe setting?” she shouted. “Home is a safe setting! And that’s where I’m taking my kid right now!” She pulled out a notebook from her handbag to show me the appointments she had made for him to see a new therapist. She reviewed the activities she had scheduled so that he could feel connected to peers, get exercise and stay healthy. “I’m doing all the right things, and my kid is fine,” she said. “How dare you tell me he’s not safe?”
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