After the disastrous meeting yesterday, I am asked to attend another meeting today. Reluctant as I am, L asks me to come and so I agree. I meet with her case coordinator and the lead psychologist. C comes with me.
I explain my concerns at the lack of communication and the conflicting clinical views. They recognise, eventually, that this was poor and apologise. The importance of collaboration is stressed and I query how collaboration works if the views of a collaborator are dismissed without discussion. During the meeting it becomes clear how much they have misunderstood what I am trying to tell them. Her case co-ordinator wonders how she got it so wrong and I tell her it was because she didn’t ask, didn’t listen and made assumptions. She nods and accepts this and I respect her more for it.
But it feels too late to start again and I feel too ill and too broken. Just as L’s anorexic voice tells her she is fat and greedy, my depressive voice screams Failure at me. And this means I am no use to her. We agree that the unit will make all the decisions in consultation with her father and he will keep me informed. L comes in at this point and looks anxious and I tell her I am glad she is staying and that I am handing the reins to her dad for a while. This too feels like failure.
Then I visit my GP and I cry and cry. I cry so much I think the entire surgery hears. She listens and lets me cry. Then she tells me to go home and rest, signs me off for a fortnight and tells me to be kind to myself. I buy Mini Eggs and lie on the sofa with tea made by K and wish for the world to just stop.