One last post on Newtown and then onto Christmas stuff. My dining table is piled high with unsent Christmas cards and empty boxes, which are in badly in need of baked goods. Life is really too sweet right now to get mired in madness. But I have two quick anecdotes that need to be shared. 

Yesterday, I met with my usual coffee clutch of moms at the swimming pool at the YMCA. We started talking about Newtown before we dumped the bags and took off our coats.

One woman said that she had to commit her son to a hospital when he had a terrible reaction to an anti-depressant medication. Anti-depressants are tricky. It takes a couple of weeks for it to build up in your system, but it also takes a couple of weeks to get it out of you. I guess his reaction was so bad that she felt that he needed to be hospitalized for assure the safety of the boy and his family. She's an extremely responsible woman, so I'm sure that she didn't make this decision lightly. 

She said that it was extremely difficult to do commit her son to a mental hospital. The schools and the insurance companies refused to pay for it. The insurance company told her that she had to call the police on her son multiple times before they would cover the stay in the hospital. 

When he was finally in the hospital (she ended up paying for it out of pocket), she didn't think he was safe there. He was mixed in with kids with very severe emotional problems and they attacked him. She spent the day at the hospital with him in order to protect him. 

I'm not sure if this story is typical or not, but if it is, then maybe we do need to examine mental health support in this country. 

After swimming, I drove to a sport complex to pick up Jonah and his teammates from speed training. On the way back, I rolled down the windows to get some relief from 13-year old boy stink. The boys chattered away about school and some random shit that I couldn't follow. Then one of the boys started a discussion about which teachers would take a bullet for them. It was typical black humor of young teenage boys, but it was disturbing. It's weird how kids cope with these sorts of traumas. 

And that's it for the horror story of Newtown on this blog. You all can chat, but I'm moving on. Baking be happening here.