The Lady in the Back Row

Day nine without food.

Four calls to mental health triage. Two ambulance calls. IRT aware. Services say she is “fine.” GP told her to go to hospital. She refuses.

Kids start school today.

How do I function knowing my child is starving, alone?

If you rang a vet and said your dog hadn’t eaten in nine days, they would say:

“Bring them in.”

Electrolyte collapse is a leading cause of sudden death in starvation.

The constant minimising from services is making me feel neurotic.

This is a medical emergency.

Day eight with no food.

My girl is the kindest, most loving, and supportive person I have ever known. It is the cruelest illness to watch her turn so negative about herself and starve because of delusional thoughts. Thoughts that convince her of the complete opposite of reality.

She has a weekly appointment with the GP for blood work. Triple zero did not admit her yesterday. They told her to attend her GP instead. Today she goes back for results. Surely she will be admitted today.

Yesterday the heat reached 42 degrees.

A starving body in that heat.

It is excruciating to watch.

And still she plays with the kids. Still she tries. Still she cooks and cleans.

I don’t know how a body this weak can keep going.

I forgot I even had Pilates this morning.

My mind is tired from worry.

If hospital comes today, I will need to knock off and get the kids.

Tomorrow they start school.

Life keeps moving.

We are not.

No plans.

No certainty.

Just waiting.

Hopefully hospital today.

Seven days without food.

Third day calling triage.

Trying to get someone to understand.

Told Sunday’s case manager notes should have been enough.

Told to call an ambulance. I did.

She has a life-long, permanent mental illness.

She cannot see she could die.

Each day. A risk assessment.

I am not a doctor.

I juggle work.

I juggle children.

I juggle this crisis.

They did a face-to-face over the phone.

She presents well.

It looks fine.

It isn’t.

Every hour. A risk assessment.

Constant vigilance.

Endless calls.

Waiting.

It never stops.

Yesterday I was told to wait.

Yesterday was the case manager appointment.

Wait until she becomes dizzy.

Wait until tomorrow’s appointment.

Today triage says:

If I think she needs emergency, call 000.

She is on day six without food.

She drinks small amounts of water.

She can still walk.

She is still delusional.

From the outside, it can look stable.

From the inside, it feels like a quiet emergency.

They are talking about changing the diagnosis to PTSD.

I don’t care what it’s called.

I care what it’s doing.

Services seem to think I am a neurotic mother.

She says she will not eat until July.

I say the date will change.

Because this illness always moves the goalposts.

So I sit in between,

all while the kids and I sit in this illness together.

Watching a body without nourishment.

Watching a mind that cannot recognise danger.

Six days without food is not nothing.

Psychosis is not nothing.

I am not dramatic.

I am paying attention.

No food

Watching your child suffer through something so heinous is unbearable, particularly when she cannot understand that her life is at risk.

The struggle to convince her to go to hospital continues.

The case manager/ nurse has a scheduled visit today,

Hoping that he sees the reality of what is happening and advocates for urgent hospital care.

No food.

Still arguing thresholds, not starved enough yet for admission.

Care reduced to criteria.

Life can’t be planned.

I get angry. It’s the wrong reaction, but a predictable one.

This illness is insidious.

It removes people from reality and cannot be reasoned with.

Time sits still, waiting….

Recovery or Death ?

Suspended inside the illness.

Blessed for the strength that keeps moving me forward, alone.

I went looking for jade for wealth.

Weeks of searching led me nowhere, too small, too showy, too much gold. And then I stopped on a piece I hadn’t been looking for: white jade with apple green, described as grounding for carers. It felt less like I chose it and more like it chose me. Perhaps the universe has a broader definition of wealth: steadiness, endurance, the ability to hold when life tilts.

I washed it under running water, kissed it for luck. A quiet ritual of alignment. And then reality intervened, the bail is too small for a heavier chain. Practicality reminding me that even grounding needs adjustment.

Yesterday, I was approved to attend a RAP learning circle, an honour. One step forward. And yet at home, the personal side quietly crumbles. Surging forward at work while ten steps back play out in the background.

Caregiving is rarely visible. It demands stamina, restraint, and clarity……..and even when we are chosen for roles or meaning, the weight remains.

Perhaps this is the jade I was meant to find: not wealth as accumulation, but wealth as grounding. Not abundance as excess, but abundance as responsibility.

Interesting, to say the least.

I went to the office yesterday and was reminded how much I enjoy connecting with people, even though I often isolate myself working from home.

Meeting great staff in the office highlighted a little contradiction: I’m a team leader, yet I don’t always feel like a people person. Still, I enjoy re-engaging with the world, even in small ways.

The scent of gardenias greets me at the front door. The tomatoes have struggled this year, yet the gardenia is covered in more blooms than I have seen since moving here, August will mark three years. Some things flourish without effort, even when others do not.

School holidays are drawing to a close, work is in its second week, and life is gathering pace again

As I move through the morning with the quiet comfort of something ahead: portable long service leave, seven uninterrupted weeks. It is an office day. I am fortunate to work from home most of the week, and grateful for the one day that draws me back into the world, as work continues to shift toward something more flexible, more balanced.

Balance, like the garden, reveals itself in what quietly thrives.