It’s OK, Dad!

She was in the prison cell looking room the whole night plus most of the day.

It would have been tough on anyone: troubled or healthy. I know, because I was in there most of the day. And it quickly wore me down, despite the fact that I could go outside to run quick errands.

This whole experience was still new and uncomfortable.

Actually calling it an “experience” was too polite. Clusterfuck is the word you are looking for describing it.

The mental health worker as polite as she was, I think she was completely clueless. The afternoon nurse couldn’t give a straight answer to simple questions, nor looked interested in trying to calm our nerves.

They wanted to take my baby to a mental health facility and the only documentation they wanted to send me home with was a post it with a phone number. All that after spending almost 24 hours in that prison cell. Totally unacceptable. So I was telling them these concerns.

I was ready to hold my ground and not letting them take her away. What a madness!

All the while she was sitting on the mattress on the floor, just wanted to see the daylight. Looking for a place with a window. At that point any help as she said: “It’s OK, Dad!” She was defeated. And with that simple sentence I was, too.

I let it go…