Psych Drugs and Foster Kids- Part Two and Three

Again, last night, (December 1, 2011) Diane Saywer presented part two of her news report on foster children and psychological drugs. (ETA: Part three added after this post was published, and aired December 2,).








Gianna Kali brings up one very good point in her blog. 

And of course this is exactly true and people like Jim Gottstein and the organization PsychRights has worked at passing legislation that might protect children. Given that medicare/medicaid is not supposed to cover medications uses that are off-label, the argument has been made that reimbursement is fraud. We have a ways to go.

So does Bob Fiddaman-

Senators and congressmen take note: The root of this problem is The Diagnostic and Senators and congressmen take note: The root of this problem is The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders [DSM]. Once you see how utterly ridiculous the "illnesses" are, you will be able to understand why tax payers are being ripped off at the expense of the welfare and safety of children. You want to eradicate the problem, then go to the root cause and ask the authors of the DSM for scientific proof. It's a manual that is basically a licence to print money for the pharmaceutical industry.

Children deserve a childhood. They don't deserve this, foster children or not. If children are our future, lets make their future bright. Give them love, tell them they are important, they matter.

For the record, I was adopted from a foster home when I was 8 months old. I have the best mom and dad a child could want. Yes, I did not always get the best toys, but I got lots of love, and my parents paid a lot of attention to both my sister and I. I think we turned out OK. My sister is a beautiful girl, very successful in her career. Both of my parents children are highly educated because this is what they wanted us to have- what they didn't. A college/uni degree.

I have been having nightmares over this issue for the last two days- I will not write about my foster home now- it's not salient. But I know this much. I most likely would have been one of those babies given drugs to keep me quiet and sleep.

Part Three airs tonight.

Memories-Of The Way I Was- Rewrite

A year ago, when my parents sold the house my sister and I grew up in, and moved into one of those new Over 55 retirement communities that are being built up around here, my mother asked me to come over to the house she found somethings she would like me to have, and if I didn't want them, she would toss them


I went over the next day, where she handed me a large Macy's bag with my childhood memories. Everything was neatly collected. I was amazed.

Mom had kept all things bright and beautiful from my childhood, K-12. There were finger paints, coloring, cut outs, reportcards, extra wallet sized photos, You name it, it was there. Writing exemplars when you first learn how to print, and then in 3rd grade when we learned script.

Stories I had written. It was really wonderful and weird at the same time.

I saw somethings that were amazing and strange. In first grade the teacher asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up.

I wanted to be a mommy. And an astronaut. I was fascinated with the whole NASA program from about 67-69 or so.

Then in 3rd grade, the teacher asked us what we wanted to be.

I of course, still wanted to be a mommy. I drew a picture of me with my favorite dolly at the time.

But I wanted to grow up and write books.

it stayed like that for the rest of my life. Motherhood and books.

Strange. Well, motherhood is out of the question unless when and if I ever meet my soulmate and he is patient and wants to go for medical assistance and en vitro and things like that. Or adopt, or has children of his own already.

My mother was the perfect 60's-70's mother. A combination of June Cleaver, and Mrs. Brady. And she was the hottest mother in the PTA. I admire her so damn much.

It is from her I have nothing but respect for anyone who is a mother. Juggling work, a house, children (or child) and hubby is hard work.

I'm crying now. Bare with me.

I realize I, as someone who has not been blessed yet with children should or should not make the next comment.

It's true I don't know what it is like to be a mother. It is true while some part of my brain can only imagine what it must be like to do the 3 am feedings and diaper changes, I've never done it. I've changed diapers in my life, yeah, and I have been "christened" by several friend's baby boys.

I know I would honestly die for my friends' young sons, and I hope i live long enough to dance at their weddings, and see their college graduations.

But I do know in the animal kingdom, baby birds are kicked out of the nest by their momma and they have to fly or they go ker-plunk on the ground. That is nature.

Human beings usually don't experience this until they are about 17 or 18, graduate high school, and then it's either work or college.

I imagine cutting the cord is a hard thing to do.

I know that parents never stop loving their children, no matter how old they get,, and how many mistakes they might make.

By making mistakes only can we grow.

But some day love is... love is.... I always found this to be what I wanted love to be.

From "The Fountainhead", by Ayn Rand.

I love you, Dominique. As selfishly as the fact that I exist. As selfishly as my lungs breath air. I breathe for my own necessity, for the fuel of my body, for my survival. I've given you not my sacrifice or my pity, but my ego and my naked need. This is the only way you can wish to be loved. This is the only way I can want you to love me. If you married me now, I would become your whole existence. But I would not want you then. You would not want yourself-and so you would not love me long. To say 'I love you' one must first know how to say the 'I'. The kind of surrender I could have from you now would give me nothing but an empty hulk. If I demanded it, I'd destroy you. That's why I won't stop you. I'll let you go to your husband. I don't know how I'll live through tonight, but I will. I want you whole, as I am, as you'll remain in the battle you've chosen. A battle is never selfless. [...] You must learn not to be afraid of the world. Not to be held by it as you are now. Never to be hurt by it as you were in that courtroom. I must let you learn it. I can't help you. You must find your own way. When you have, you'll come back to me. They won't destroy me, Dominique. And they won't destroy you. You'll win, because you've chosen the hardest way of fighting for your freedom from the world. I'll wait for you. I love you. I'm saying this now for all the years we'll have to wait. I love you, Dominique." [Howard Roark]

I need to find my I. I need to be incharge of my life again, captain of my destiny.

If I fail it was not from something you did. You gave me the bike,and the training wheels. It's time to take the training wheels off. I realize you did that once before, before my diagnosis, and even during my diagnosis until it became abundantly clear in my 30s I was and always will be bipolar.

But it's time to take the training wheels off now. And like the momma bird, baby will be fine and soar beautifully.

See, mom and dad gave me beautiful wings to soar with.

And I love them with every breath I take and am grateful to have been blessed by them.

Repost- Talking Baseball

In honor of the Phils getting into the world series, some childhood memories of seeing the Phils play at Veteran Stadium. 


What does the final game of the 1980 World Series have in common with the final game of the 2008 World Series? It was the only time in my father's life, where he, a die hard Yankee fan, wanted the Phillies to win the World Series.  

My father grew up in Brooklyn. And like all pre-teen boys, he lived to play baseball. Baseball was his passion. When he wasn't playing, he was with his friends at Ebbets field watching the Brooklyn Dodgers, or the Polo grounds. It was a treat when his mother, the woman I was named after, took him to a game at Yankee stadium when school was out. Dad rooted for the Dodgers and the Yankees, and to this day, will tell you what he was doing when Bobby Thompson fired the shot heard around the world. 

He played ball every waking moment as a boy, stopping only for a stretch when he was drafted into service during WW II. When he came back home, he settled down in NJ and played locally on a softball team, as pitcher. He was so good, that in the early 50s, he was approached by the local Negro league, as a reverse Jackie Robinson, to be the first white player on their team. Dad was humbled and accepted the post of pitcher for this team as well. 

Eventually dad met mom, they got married, and had a nice two bedroom house with a back yard in the suburbs of NJ. My mom, a Brooklyn girl, was thrilled to have a back yard to garden. She has, and still has, a green thumb, as does my father.  

But you can take the boy off the baseball diamond, you cannot take baseball out of the boy. My father became my father, and from the moment his girls were old enough, he bought us mitts, bats, (painted pink) and taught us how to throw and pitch softballs. My sister excelled at this, it was more difficult for me. But the time with my father was priceless, since dad often worked such long hours, time with him was wonderful. If he wasn't playing with his girls, he was sitting on "his" chair, watching the Yankees on WPIX. I use to crawl up and sit on his lap, smelling his Old Spice as I would watch the game with him. I had to be perfectly still and not move until commercials, but it was lovely. 

When the girls got a bit older, a client at my dad's laboratory, had season tickets for the Phillies at Veteran Stadium. My father would go 5 or 6 times a year with the whole family; mom, and the two girls. It was a treat. Dad was at his element, first bundling the entire family in one of those monsterous Pontiacs with white walls he use to drive. My father was a Pontiac man.  

We would get to Veteran's stadium early, so dad could see the players practice. He would get a score card, and mom would have one too. Dad taught mom how to fill out a score card when they were dating. Dad would point out the players to us, like the King entertaining his court. One time we saw Willie Mays warming up. Dad walked down to the fence with my sister, watching in awe. Mays saw dad and my sister, waving to him, and (this is a true story) picked up a baseball to throw at my sister to catch. Dad caught it, whipped out a pen, and asked Mays to sign it. Mays came over and said something like "I don't like signing autographs, but my sister was way too cute and he signed his name and handed her the ball.  

In Junior High my father was down sized and lost access to the games. There were no more live ball games until I went to college and would drive out to Yankee stadium with a friend.  

But in my Freshman year in college, dad was not only following his beloved Yankees, he was closely watching the Phils. Maybe because their line up was so fantastic, Pete Rose, Mike Schmidt, Tug McGraw. I had gone to bed early that night they won the World Series, the dorm was quiet, and I had spent the evening studying. The next thing I knew i was in the fountain in front of the dorm. Seems like the guys were so excited (and drunk) that the Phils won, they went into the all girls dorm and raided it, dumping every girl they could find in the fountain. I had gone to bed that night as my wont, in a t shirt and panties. I woke up in the fountain, soaking wet, and when i raised up, one of the Frat boys, drunk as a skunk, said " First prize wet T shirt" and handed me a medal.  

Those were the days. I will let Terry Cashman take it from here.

Well, now it's the 80's, And Brett is the greatest, And Bobby Bonds can play for everyone. Rose is at the Vet, And Rusty again is a Met, And the great Alexander is pitchin' again in Washington.

Baseball. Fast foward to 2008. Phils are once again in the World Series. Rose still isn't in the Hall of Fame. Veteran's stadium is long gone, but the Phils are once again great, and the fans- let's put it this way. No other city has fans as devoted as Philadelphia, whether it's the Eagles or the Phils. As I start to write this, some high school boys are in my apartment complex parking lot setting up fireworks. They weren't even conceived when the Phils won in 80. The players, from that year, are ensconced in Cooperstown. The players of today will be there soon. And these boys, someday, will take their sons and daughters to the game and tell them what they were doing the last time the Phils won the Series. And have a drink and reminisce. Like I do when ever I hear about the players from the time I came of age in the 80s.

I'm talkin' baseball! Like Reggie, Quisenberry. Talkin' baseball! Carew and Gaylord Perry, Seaver, Garvey, Schmidt and Vida Blue, If Cooperstown is calling, it's no fluke. They'll be with Willie, Mickey, and the Duke.

Some childhood memories, I am getting older or why can't they make TV like this anymore?

I've been nursing the same cold now for 3 weeks. Temperature fluxing from 100-101 daily, won't go down past 100.  Cough bad- phlem balls, yeech.... I have not left the house in over a fortnight, which explains why I am in such a bad mood.

This morning my mom took me to the doctors office- while we were waiting in the waiting room, she was telling me she has been glued to PBS' new Ken Burns series on National Parks. She was asking me if I remeber the summer I was 12 and my sister was 10 and we drove out west to "show the kids America". Gas was 35 cents a gallon she told me. I didn't realize that.

I remember the car we drove in a 76 Pontiac  Bonneville, brown, with a tan padded roof. My sister and I sat in the back - my parent's nightmare , as we subjected them to 2,000 miles of "Are we there yet?", 'MOOOOMMMM!" , and the ever famous "I GOTTA GO NOWWW". Needless to say, it wasn't a very good trip for all involved, and we turned around and came home quicker than dad wanted.

One of the things my mother wanted to see was the Old Faithful geyser. She was a city kid- so this really appealed to her. We stopped at a hotel overlooking the park, signed in and went to KFC for dinner. The next morning, my mother woke us up at 4:30 am. My father wanted to sleep, mom said the geyser went off at 6 am. "You're getting us up at 4:30 am to see a geyser piss?" said my dad.

Exit stage left. Two little girls laughing so hard at their father they both had accidents and had to get new shorts on.

Now, thirty some years later, my mother is watching TV with my dad- seeing Old Faithful on TV- and laughs. Dad asked her what she is laughing about.

"Do you remember the time you said you didn't want to get up at 4;30 am and see a geyser piss?"

No. No recollection. As he ages, more and more memories are being wiped from his gray cells- like the brain is saying "You are in your 80s you don't need to recall this anymore".

I've been thinking of my childhood. One of my most favorite memories was watching the Sunday Night Movie- Dad in his chair,  Mom on the couch, each daughter under one arm. And children silent for once-glued to the TV because we loved this show.  I loved this, I felt so safe and secure snuggled with my mom.


Here is the opening. Henry Mancini in all his glory.  For the life of me, I cannot recall the show "Hec Ramsey'.  I can recall the other ones clear like I saw them in last night, but not this show I wonder if anyone remembers it.

And one more view- I didn't realize that Jack Klugman as Quincy was also in the line up. Check out the music. It's slightly higher in octave, and a bit livelier.



Ah, take that 70s show! This was great 70s TV!!