New Diagnosis

I don't have a good introduction, so I'll just jump right in. I had a fabulous morning with Maria and Teresa in the park. Arm in arm, Maria and I walked around the basketball court for a good half hour while Teresita dug around and periodically tugged on my arm to get my attention. I managed to keep Maria's attention for about a minute by jumping from one side of a line to the other, but she is not yet coordinated enough to copy. I FINALLY got Teresa to play on the teeter totter with me, and she seemed to be loving it. She tucked her legs up on the bar and threw her hands in the air as if riding a roller coaster while I pushed us up and down. Maria was very quiet--she sat on the swing, daydreaming, I suppose. I wanted to see if Teresa could cross the monkey bars, and we got as far as hanging from a bar and laughing, which turned into screaming to get down. She prefers to climb on top and watch me squirm with fright. Next time I'm going to pretend like I don't care and see what she does. There's really no controlling her when she doesn't want to be controlled.

While we were eating lunch I decided it was time to ask a few questions, and this is what I found out:

Maria is 15. Their best guess at Teresa's age is 17. Pancho is 17. Mariela is 19. I had been told by Omayra (social worker) that Pancho had been diagnosed as autistic, and the women in the house supposed that his recent outbursts were due to hormones. Today, he seemed to be taking some new medication, so I asked what it was supposed to do and why he was taking it. It turns out the new diagnosis is schizophrenia, and he's taking pills that are supposed to sedate him all day. Teresa just kept saying "He's crazy. He's crazy." He had another episode while he was eating today, and was sent to his room with two bites in his stomach and enough aggression to punch a hole in the door. Carmen said he might have to leave the house, but I have no idea what kind of time frame we are dealing with or how much weight to give to the information I get from anyone.

I left at about 1 o'clock, and met up with Lindsey at ACLAS around 3:30 to ask Eugenia about buying various toys and supplies to have something to do while we're in the house. Lindsey showed up, dripping from the sudden thunderstorm, and looked like she was about to break down. She said "I need a hug." After I left the apartment, she had stayed another 2 hours, like normal. Today, Carmen and Teresa decided they would go out to lunch, and left Lindsey alone with all four children. Pancho proceeded to scream and bang around in the room the entire time. Teresita pulled a sewing kit down from one of the shelves and started sewing the laundry. Lindsey tried again and again to get the needle from her, but like always, Teresa screamed and pulled away, which seemed to cause more of a threat than just letting her be. Maria disappeared within her mind, laughing while flailing her arms and legs, eyes darting from place to place. Lindsey said she couldn't see any response from Maria--her eyes wouldn't focus, she wouldn't repeat words like normal, and it lasted for almost an hour. At one point all three girls were laughing and Lindsey said it was enough to make her cry.

We had a long, much-needed debrief about what we've been feeling, thinking, and wanting to say but holding in. This is work. Hard work. I feel like I am battling my attitude as much or more than I am battling the children. Many times I have no idea what I'm doing, and have to fake confidence and make decisions without a natural instinct. I feel no support from the women in the house. I want to crown them as angels, but I can see that we are being taken advantage of, which makes me want to retreat and give less. The need is so glaringly obvious, so overwhelmingly great, but our time is so short, our resources so few, and the expectations of us so small that the weight of my ideas is crippling. The more time I spend there the more I want to do, and at the same time I feel like I am actually capable of doing less and less.

I realize that I am very caught in the negative right now. I am feeling sorry for myself and my motivation to help is out of pity. The truth is, it could be worse! They're alive, they have food, they have a home, and they are teaching me a lot. Their future is not in my hands, nor is it in the hands of their caretakers. I am creative enough to continue to find ways to entertain them, and I know I can find more patience, more love, and more energy. I will not be another person to quit on them, and I will not give up on myself.

Teresa and I played on the teeter totter today! For what more can I ask?