My first visit with the psychologist was horrible.
Her office was fairly friendly and unintimidating. There was
a bookshelf of toys and puzzles for children right next to the large,
comfortable sofa I sat on. She was seated across from me in a recliner, shoes
off, feet up and note pad in hand, with reading glasses on her nose. I relaxed
a bit. Her Birkenstocks lie abandoned on the floor. She wore capris and wild,
red curly hair. She looked to be about the age of 60 and she struck me as a bit
of a hippy. Not at all what I'd expected. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. I'd
arrived an entire hour early for the visit and used the time going over my
notes in the car. Perhaps I'd over analyzed, becasue it seemed that from the
very introduction, the tears began to fall.
And I sobbed. Uncontrollably, I mean. I boo hoo'd like a
baby.
She actually asked me at one point, "Are you always
this tearful when you talk about this situation?"
I hesitated to answer the question. I wanted to answer it
honestly and the truth was, I kept from talking about the situation because it
did reduce me to an emotional mess.
"At work, with friends and family ... when you discuss
it does it always make you cry like this?" She pressed.
I tried to gather myself. I took a deep breath .. and
another, and began.
"It's the uncertainty of it all," I tried to
explain. "Apart from having my son, this is the most important thing I
will ever do because it will deeply affect the way I'm able to raise my son. I
know what's best for him. And I know what he needs. I'm just scared to death
that you may not agree with me."
Why did I say that? Her pen scrawled furiously and her
glasses slid to the tip of her nose. She glanced up at me over the edge of the
lenses and looked down to write some more. She let me leave early that day.
What I'd read said to answer questions factually and
succinctly. I had been all too emotional.
The subsequent visits though, each at an hour and a half, I
thought went a little better than the last. I certainly never cried like I had
that first time again.
I was well composed, well dressed, I gushed over my baby
like a mom in love, and I spoke briefly but well of his father like a perfectly
level headed woman who is completely over a romantic relationship that simply
didn't work.
I had been warned not to allege anything I couldn't prove. I
didn't. I answered her questions. I never denied BD’s love for our son, I
merely asserted that I was the better parent for him. (This would later incense
BD, but wasn't he implying the same thing? That he was the better parent by
challenging custody in the first place? I thought that's what this was about).
And the day that I was to take the baby in with me went
exceptionally well. He walked a little for the doctor, stumbling around her
office. I'd already told her we were working on taking steps. We played with
his ring stacker, and I called out the colors to him in Spanish as he placed
each ring on the pole, and we read his favorite book. He loved it. The doctor
sat back, watching, minimally interfering and mostly observing. Certainly she
was able to see what a great mom I was.
BD and I had been alternating visits, though. She'd see me
once, then she'd see him, then she'd see me. I'm sure he was ever impressive.
He'd certainly convinced her of a few things.
During one visit, she asked me about our parental
differences. There are so many. BD and I really have little in common. I listed
the biggies for her though:
"Religion, eating habits, our lifestyles really are
quite different," I tried to explain.
"Well, I think he's pretty much over the whole eating
thing. He understands you're a meat eater and he's not and when the child is
with you he'll eat as you do and when the child is with him, he'll eat as he
does."
Is she seriously explaining BD's philosophy on food to me?
My smile remains plastered on my face but I am in a state of disbelief. First
of all, because it is clear that she actually believes that anything with BD
could possibly be that simple.
(Ie, I JUST, no lie,
JUST got an angry email a week ago -- this is a week ago, in real time as in
March of 2008 -- about feeding our child chicken nuggets from McDonalds. Mind
you, he's going on two and the only reason I even shared this trip to McDonalds
with his dad is because I'd taken him to Playland, snapped some pics, he had a
fantastic time and I was trying to tell BD I'd be mailing the pictures off.
This man about had a heart attack. The very next day, I get an email with links
to informational sources on why McDonalds is so bad for kids -- though I cook
every single day and I do not feed our child fast food as a rule -- along with
his natural doctor's phone number who will be expecting my call should I have
questions. NOTHING is simple with BD. But how dyou tell somebody how very
controlling and obsessive a person is without sounding a little off, yourself?
Granted, some of the stories I have to tell about BD are a bit far fetched and
unbelievable, but true all the same).
I didn't even know how to respond to that. So I continued
with my list.
"Medical treatment is also a big concern," I said.
"BD is against Western medicine and I think treatment should it be necessary,
is important."
"Has the child been vaccinated?" She asked,
peering up at me over her glasses.
Now, I'm nervous. How could I not see this coming.
"Yes, I had him vaccinated with his first round when we
were home for that month."
"Does the father know?"
"No, I haven't told him."
"You haven't told him you had the child
vaccinated?" She asked surprised but almost upset as well. "What if
he went and got the child vaccinated without your knowledge? Now the child has
received a double dosage of vaccines, then what?"
Excellent point. But it was not going to happen in a million
years.
"BD would never ever get our child vaccinated or stand
by while I did. He is absolutely against injections of any kind unless it's to
draw blood or administer fluids," I said.
I tried to explain to her that he'd been vaccinated as a
child and had a terrible reaction and so his parents had not vaccinated their
five children who came after him. They do not believe in vaccinations. He'd
given me books, lectured me endlessly, pulled up websites about the dangers of
vaccines ... He did not want it done and would not allow it.
And I was scared, quite frankly. Though much too prideful to
admit it. I mean, after the baby had received the shots, what could BD really
do? Be mad? So what. But still, I was scared to tell him.
The psychologist was unmoved. Her face had contorted into
something of a frown as her pen moved like lightning. I did not know it then,
but this would be damning to her opinion of me.
We'd have to wait two gruelling weeks before the
psychologist's final report would be drafted and sent to our respective
attorneys' offices. I just hoped for the best.
I do believe that when God works a miracle, he closes 9 out
of 10 doors first, so that when that 10th door opens, the odds have already
been so dim that you can't thank anyone else for what you've received but a
higher power.
I'd depended so heavily upon this doctor's report, it took
over my thoughts in the day and my dreams at night. I'd read several other
published and mock reports. Who knew that this isn't the way that my prayer
would be answered. I went over the verbiage in my mind, inserting mine and BD's
names imagining what she might think of us both.
When the 20-page report finally came down and my lawyer
called me in to go over it with him, it was clear, the psychologist hadn't
thought much of me.
"She didn't like you at all," My lawyer blurted
out.
He was not a man to mince words. I was going over my copy
line by line as he sat at his desk flipping through his, pointing out the
highlights.
"You really pissed her off with the whole
vaccinations," He said. "She thought you were arrogant
and you think
you're the child's only parent ..." he went on and on.
My God, some of the stuff she'd said about me was right in
line with BD's character. I was in
f*cking bazzaro world. This was crazy.
And the kicker:
"BD feels that Ms. Ganache wants to alienate him from
his child and strip him of his fatherly rights in raising that child. His fears
are not altogther unfounded. She makes major decisions unilaterally as in her
vaccinating the child against his wishes and not sharing it with him. BD did
not learn of his child's vaccination until this doctor made him aware of it
during a session and he was quite upset. She has also taken the child to the
doctor on at least two occasions and received prescription medication for the
child without making BD aware of this."
That's a graf from the report VERBATIM. She'd misunderstood
everything. And what does she mean I unilaterally made the decision to
vaccinate our child? He had unilaterally made the decision not to vaccinate our child. So one of us was gonna have our way,
right? Why would it not have been a problem if our child remained unvaccinated?
Am I having an out-of-body experience right now?
And didn't she understand that the reason I had to sneak to
the doctor with my baby is because after begging BD for weeks, he refused to
allow him to go? He did not want our child medicated at all. He would not allow
it. It wasn't that I didn't want to tell him, I couldn't tell him. We were
still under the same roof at the time. She hadn't believed anything I'd said.
The doctor went on to suggest first, as my motion with the
court had been for permission to relocate, that I not be allowed to leave the
state of New Jersey; And second, that the custody of our child be shared 50/50
between the two of us on a two-day, three-day schedule. Madness. Who does that?
This was her suggestion to the court.
And it was only the beginning of the type-written misconstrued
information and some, down right lies, that would pass the judge's desk.
I was about to be accused of everything, lesbianism, alcohol
abuse, negligence, irresponsibility and general character flaws ...
BD had a taste for blood.
Originally posted on
March 27, 2008
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