What No One Tells You About Admitting Your Teen to a Psychiatric Ward

Chapter from Wake Up, You Could Lose Your Teen to Suicide

The Youth Adolescent Psychiatric Unit, fondly known as 7 North, unexpectedly transformed into a haven for our family. Three years had passed since our departure from Aurora, and in this clinical and sterile space, Nicole and I set aside our differences. Our shared mission was simple: to ensure our daughter left this place healthier and, hopefully, happier.

While the physical surroundings of 7 North were sterile, the warmth and support emanating from the people within were palpable. This temporary community, grappling with various challenges, guarded the privacy of their stories. The reasons for each admission remained a mystery unless someone chose to share. Despite diverse struggles, a common thread emerged—everyone sought support and found solace within these walls, promising safety.

Units like 7 North were designed for acute situations, offering a brief respite for those facing immediate threats. Stays were short, emphasizing the temporary nature of these spaces. Long-term assistance fell upon external entities, often private agencies or not-for-profits. Unfortunately, the demand for such services surpassed the available supply, exposing systemic challenges in mental health support.

Maddie didn't merely adapt to 7 North; she swept through like a force of nature. Her infectious enthusiasm endeared her to staff and fellow patients alike. Maddie possessed a natural inclusivity, committing to positively impact any space she inhabited despite her internal struggles. The sterile walls bore witness to the arrival of a new resident, and Maddie's presence resonated in the most uplifting way imaginable. In no time, she became the darling of the unit.

It was as if Maddie held an invisible clipboard dedicated to catalyzing positive change. Her boundless enthusiasm injected fresh air into the unit, fostering an environment where everyone felt valued. Maddie, the unofficial greeter, would declare, "I'm Maddie," accompanied by a radiant smile. Her presence became a beacon of reassurance for patients and parents who burdened with fear, entered the unit. Maddie's charm had an uncanny ability to dispel the anxieties that often accompanied such challenging circumstances.

Not every moment on 7 North was cheerful. Maddie still grappled with moments of sadness and depression, often concealed from her fellow patients. In the privacy of her room, the vibrant Maddie would sometimes retreat into darkness and introspection. Remembering why she was there is essential—to heal and leave that underlying sadness behind.

Despite the challenges, Maddie encountered dedicated and exceptional practitioners at 7 North. One individual who played a pivotal role as a youth counsellor was Kadeem. When Maddie found herself in the depths of her dark abyss, it was Kadeem who could help her climb out. Their bond was unique, marked by exchanges filled with laughter and genuine connection. Kadeem's qualities, marked by relatability and empathy, had a calming effect that made you instantly feel secure—a feeling Maddie desperately needed.

While Nicole, the boys, and I couldn't be at 7 North every hour, knowing Kadeem was there provided solace. Among the many remarkable individuals on the unit, Kadeem stood out for the hope he instilled in Maddie. Ten days after her arrival, Maddie received the all-clear to go home—a pre-Christmas gift that brought joy and relief to our family. Santa had come a week early this year.

The Whole Family Home for Christmas

Maddie left the hospital to stay at my place with the boys. A palpable nervousness was in the air, a collective awareness that we were re-entering familiar but recently fraught territory. The past two weeks' events had made us realize life's fragility, and I found myself tiptoeing around Maddie, cautious not to trigger any distress. Returning to the space where Maddie must have felt desperately alone was daunting.

To create a safer environment, I "Maddie-proofed" my home. The alcohol and prescription drugs were purged, her bedroom door repaired, and her room meticulously cleaned. Yet, the reality lingered – if someone wanted to find a way to harm themselves, they likely would. Balancing this concern, we aimed not to coddle Maddie excessively. Maintaining the genuine edginess, humour, and banter that defined our family dynamic was crucial. 57

Upon her return, Maddie presented a calmer, softer, and more subdued version of her usual self. Whether influenced by the prescribed drugs or the weight of the recent experiences sinking in, the transformation was evident. The boys, thrilled to have her home, eagerly embraced her presence. Maddie was their ringleader, bringing life and laughter to our home. The familiar sibling banter between Sawyer and Maddie resumed while Zac, her loyal confidante, remained by her side, engaging in quiet conversations. Gradually, life began to regain a sense of normalcy, although my anxiety lingered.

As a family, we ventured out to get a Christmas tree, spending an evening decorating it together. This simple act, a cherished tradition, marked a step toward reclaiming our "new normal." Per Maddie's wishes, the incident had been kept under wraps outside our immediate family. To the outside world, Maddie had been hospitalized for some undisclosed stomach issues – a more straightforward narrative than the complex reality we faced. While it felt uncomfortable, we respected Maddie's need for privacy.

Communicating with Maddie's school about her missed exams, we found them supportive, granting her an indefinite reprieve. This compassionate response eased some of the academic pressures. The school suggested an adjusted and reduced schedule, emphasizing a gradual return in the New Year or whenever Maddie felt ready. The collective efforts to preserve Maddie's well-being became a shared commitment as we navigated the path toward healing and recovery together.

Christmas and New Year's unfolded in the familiar pattern of alternating celebrations between Nicole and me. The kids gracefully shuffled between our homes, creating a unique holiday season. Unlike the typical two-week schedule, this year saw a more frequent kids exchange between our households. After the New Year, we anticipated returning to our usual routine, a semblance of normalcy.

The kids gradually settled back into their regular routines as the weeks passed. School resumed its regular cadence, though Maddie needed more time to be ready to dive back into the academic environment. Conversely, the boys eagerly embraced the second half of their school year – Sawyer continued Grade 4 and Zac resumed Grade 7.

During this period, the kids spent a couple of weeks with Nicole. Left alone with my thoughts, I grappled with the illusion that life was returning to normal. An underlying uneasiness persisted, and my struggles with sleeplessness continued. Turning to Gravol for aid, I found it helped me fall asleep but failed to maintain a restful slumber.

The two weeks passed swiftly, and soon, the kids were back under my roof in the early days of January. Nicole resumed her travel routine, heading back to New York. The ebb and flow of our lives resumed, yet the lingering unease hinted at the complexities looming beneath the surface.

We kept trying to involve Maddie, but she seemed unsure. The boys treated her kindly, but I was careful not to upset her. When words failed, I gave her hugs in her room. She said she was okay, but as a parent, I worried and found it hard to relax and sleep. Maddie's usual joy had faded, and our attempts to make her happy felt delicate.

Sometimes, we forget about threats with time. Maddie and I liked watching old movies like "Stand By Me," "Fletch," "Stripes," "Uncle Buck," and "Princess Bride." Maddie loved these movie nights, and I treasure those memories. It was our special time while the boys were busy doing their own thing.

Even with everything going on, Maddie and I continued our movie nights. We liked classics that gave us a break from reality. "Stand By Me" meant more to us, "Fletch" made us laugh, and "Stripes" taught us about sticking together. "Uncle Buck" and "Princess Bride" showed us the power of love. Our movie nights weren't just for fun; they were a safe place where we put aside worries, at least for a couple of hours.

In those tough times, saying "I love you" became important. Maddie held onto that love, and our movie nights became a lifeline, a place where we forgot the world outside and the stresses associated with it.

But deep down, we knew things were different. Life was fragile, and even simple moments felt heavy. Our usual routine seemed out of reach.

As we faced challenges, our family stayed strong with love and courage. Every day, we balance the present and the unknown. Even though the laughter wasn’t as prevalent as it once was, love held us together. In that love, we found the strength to face tough times and be there for each other.

The night before the second attempt is a blur in my memory. We went to bed like any other evening, and I can't recall if we had hockey or if Maddie and I watched a movie together. There were no triggering events, no alcohol, no turbulent incidents, no expressions of anger or overwhelming sadness. It was the carefree evening that preceded it that raised my biggest concern. I went to bed with my guard down, waking up unsuspecting.

In the morning, I woke up the boys and then Maddie. Something felt off as I entered Maddie's room. I didn't realize anything was amiss until I opened the curtains to let in some sunlight. Maddie's bottle of antidepressants and a bottle of gin were in the room, even though I had removed most of the pills and alcohol from the house. I'm unsure of what prompted another attempt on Maddie's part, and that uncertainty adds to the distress in hindsight.

I don't comprehend where the mind goes when deciding to end one's life, especially when it seems so random and unnecessary. Despite lacking the means to achieve her goal, the attempt was genuine. She was conscious and alert, though disappointed when I woke her up—not disappointed that I disturbed her sleep but disappointed that she could be awakened.

This time, there was no need to summon emergency services. We got into my car and drove to the hospital ourselves: no sirens, no neighbours, no garnering of attention. We entered the Emergency Department of North York General Hospital, familiar with the process, knowing that 7 North would soon be our home for the foreseeable future.