He should go somewhere else.

Someone repeated this statement to me in tears, notifying me a school employee had made this comment.

He needs too many services. Too much help.

He shouldn’t be here.

Where should he go then? He is legally entitled to a free and appropriate education.

Treating my child as a distraction to your teaching is beneath you.

How you treat the least of these speaks more to your character than how you treat the gifted elite.

You’re feeling overworked and overwhelmed and overloaded. So is he.

You’re unhappy he is in your class or school. So is he.

You notice he doesn’t work well in groups with other kids. So does he.

You think he’s unworthy.

So does he.

Your behavior models for the other students how to treat a child with special needs. Your attitude impacts your relationship with my son–and any other student who is wondering if you are a safe person.

To any teacher, administrator or staff member: if you feel a child can not learn without additional supports in place…then advocate for the child. Speak up at IEP meetings. Help determine what supports the child needs and would benefit from. Give encouragement and be willing to dig in to figure out how to reach him.

Join our team.

Please don’t work against us. It’s the child who loses.

My autistic son was Baker Acted the first day of middle school.

I was stuck in the high school car loop picking up my oldest when I got a call from the middle school guidance counselor: please come immediately to help with my son.

I sent my husband, and as I was pulling into my driveway to drop off my daughters, received a cryptic text from my husband: “Call me now. He’s being baker acted.”

What?

My 12 year old son has a sweetness to him, despite his preteen reluctance to shower and anxiety in crowds. He thrives on routine and consistency; clear expectations and quiet.

We knew middle school would be hard. Even elementary school wasn’t easy for him, but we had a great team of people who knew and loved him. We had developed an effective IEP and communicated it at a “roll up meeting” with both his current elementary school team and the middle school guidance counselor.

Most neurotypical adults I know don’t have fond memories of middle school. It’s an awful age, socially and physically.

So we worked to prepare our son.

We walked his schedule on an empty middle school campus. We asked to meet with guidance before school started. We took our son to middle school registration and orientation. We met up with a friend and her son who would also be at the middle school.

He was excited to start fresh at a new school. He would be riding the school bus for the first time!

He made it through the first 3 periods. Lunch was confusing, chaotic, and loud. Long lines made it difficult for him to acquire his lunch. We had packed snacks in case this happened. He was invited to sit at a computer by the guidance counselor but was overwhelmed and declined.

He never ate lunch. Drank water. Or remembered his snacks.

He was confused and lonely. He was hungry.

He visited the guidance counselor, who chose not to call us.

He went to class and at the end of the day he’d had enough.

He began scratching his arm (he does this when he’s upset–it’s common for children with autism to do this). He was removed from the classroom because this is inappropriate behavior.

He said “I just want to kill myself so I don’t have to go to school.”

Not a great phrase.

We’ve begged him not to say that.

He says it like a teenager might say “OMG! I’d just DIE if that happened.”

He doesn’t have pragmatic language skills. Which is noted in his school file.

He doesn’t have access to weapons. He is supervised in our home. And he is not suicidal.

However.

The new school resource officer overheard and decided to Baker Act our child. Without context. Without questioning his stress level or mental abilities.

The guidance counselor chose not to get involved. He chose not to implement the functional behavior plan on file. He chose to delay contacting us. He chose not to prepare the teachers and staff who would be interacting with our child.

He disregarded everything outlined in the IEP.

Because of his laissez faire approach, my son suffered.

I pulled up to this brand new to us school. And watched in horror as my confused son stepped into the back of a police car.

I followed them for 45 minutes until we got to an inpatient psychiatric center.

I learned our doctor couldn’t release him from the Baker Act. I asked what to sign so that I could take my child home. I begged to stay with him.

Instead I was asked for my insurance card because we have to pay for unwanted, unneeded, unauthorized inpatient overnight care and evaluation.

I was told I had no power and they could do whatever they deemed necessary for my son.

My son said “What?! I say that all the time!”

I answered, “And this is why we tell you NOT to say that. ”

He exclaimed, “OK OK! I get it! Can we go now?”

“No, buddy. I am not in charge now. I can’t fix this.”

He looked at me with terror-filled eyes as the reality of his situation materialized.

In what world is a mother unable to make decisions for her child?

I made it as easy as possible for my child. I asked him to think of it like going to summer camp. I gave him a picture of our family. I gave him a snack while we waited.

We didn’t see him again until 19 hours later.

Our beloved doctor had to discharge us from care because he was Baker Acted and it’s now out of scope for her.

We owe thousands of dollars for his care.

We do not know where our child can safely learn.

Our daughters didn’t get to share about their own first days of school.

We lost sleep. We lost trust in the school, in law enforcement and in our society. We are embarrassed and lost.

Now we are spending our weekend redeeming our son from the inpatient facility and combing over his IEP and paperwork to prepare for an emergency meeting with his school. Because accountability is important to us. And we need a plan documented for his future even if he doesn’t return there.

Anyone know a good lawyer?

I rushed around this morning, making oatmeal, fending off our dogs, soothing the kids’ emotional sensitivities. I had Grace dressed and ready for school, myself dressed and wrestled with AJ for about 5 minutes to get his pjs off. Another 5-10 minutes to get his pants and shirt on, and finally he succumbed to the socks and shoes. I went to get Grace. She’s lying in her bed, with a bowl of mac and cheese. (Yes, the dogs ate her oatmeal.  . . .bad dogs!)

 She told me she felt very sick. Too sick to go anywhere. She doesn’t care for Fridays because she’s a “daycare friend” then. She goes to preschool (which is a short day–only 2 hours, instead of almost 3) and then she goes to daycare for 2 hours. She doesn’t like having to be still and rest (they watch a video) when she wants to play. I promised her a trip to the Treehouse Museum if she went nicely to daycare today. I reminded her that if she missed school and daycare, she couldn’t go to Treehouse. She was fine with that. My super clue that she’s really not well.

I suspect she’s very weak and still fighting off this horrible virus thing she and AJ contracted. So much for picking up appliques at the fabric store! Here I am, home with two ill, grumpy, oversensitive children.  I do think they’re on the mend. Grace just came down and told me “I’m so sick. Can you take care of me?”  Sweet girl.

This gives me an opportunity to clean up the living room and knit my new socks. 

What a week.