Tyrone Saves the Day, Chapter 6

2 Replies

Caty’s Refuge

Tyrone Saves The Day

Chapter 6

Cyndi became a house mother, much to Caty’s delight in being with her every moment possible. One morning, I heard Caty sobbing, but guessed what had happened. Cyndi left for the States that morning. Everyone in the office tried to console her and explained Cyndi would come back in three weeks, but Caty shook her head and wailed, “No, no.” 

     With sudden inspiration, I grabbed Cyndi’s house keys in one hand and Caty in the other and headed for Cyndi’s house. 

    Tyrone, Cyndi’s black Lab, greeted us with his tail flipping back and forth and nose pressed against his cage. 

     I said, “See, Tyrone is here waiting for Cyndi to come back.” So I took her to the closet, “Her clothes are here because she went to visit with her family and will return to Monjas in a few weeks.”

     Caty knelt beside the kennel and murmured, “Tyrone, Tyrone,” as she patted his head. Then, light appeared in her eyes, as she realized her dear aunt would return. 

     On the walk back to the office, Caty said, “Tia Cyndi with mom.” 

     “Yes, Caty, she is visiting her mom and dad and will return.”

     “Tomorrow?” 

     “No it will be in three weeks, but she will return to us. Tomorrow we will check on Tyrone and make sure he is okay.” Caty’s body relaxed as she gave in to waiting for Cyndi. It seemed that if Tyrone waited, she could too.

     After completing the first casita, we prepared the girls to move onto the property. Joanne and I hired a Guatemalan couple from Monjas to be the house parents. This followed our plan for each home to have a Guatemalan mom and dad. The children needed to learn how to function as a family since they did not come from healthy environments. Until now, Tia Cyndi filled that spot, but changes came with the move.

     Caty struggled when things were outside the box, and I tried to prepare for adverse reactions. Unfortunately, Tyrone wouldn’t be able to solve all the problems.

     We planned a welcome party for the couple in the new home. Several girls expressed words of greeting and encouragement. After we had eaten some cake, Caty bellowed like a wounded cow stuck in the mud. She sat away from everyone else with tears flowing. Did she get bit by a scorpion? What could be the problem? 

     With Caty’s face against her chest, Cyndi spoke words of consolation. After that, she calmed down but still exhibited a protruding lip and wet puppy dog eyes.

     “Why did she get so upset when she loves parties and eating cake?” I said.

      We decided that Caty thought Cyndi would be leaving the orphanage because we had going-away parties for people departing the Project.  

     Later, Cyndi took Caty aside and said, “I will see you every day at Shadow, but I won’t be sleeping and eating here. However, we will have lots of time together,” Cyndi said.

     I learned another important lesson from this girl. She needed to have consistent routines or an explanation when they varied.

Psychiatric Institutions Chapter Five

3 Replies

CHAPTER FIVE
PSYCHIATRIC INSTITUTION

We continued looking for ministries that could help Caty meet her mental needs. A missionary friend operated an orphanage for physically disabled children. Since Caty’s problems ranged from the physical to the mental shut-down, we arranged for her to live there, hoping to receive specialized treatment.

Within days, we heard of Caty lapsing into wetting her pants and acting out in ways we hadn’t seen in our Home. Their psychologist confirmed what we already knew. Caty had been traumatized, and it affected her mind.

In two weeks, we received another call from the director saying that she had taken Caty to the psychiatric institute in Guatemala City. The place I dreaded the most. The director said that their program did not work, and Caty didn’t fit into the category of mentally delayed.
I flipped out. We wanted Caty to come back to Shadow. This psychologically damaged child needed to be in a place of love and security. An environment to stimulate her brain. A psychiatric ward did not provide that opportunity.

Joanne and I frantically discussed what we needed to do to get her back while shooting up prayers like fireworks on the Fourth of July. I shuddered about the fear this girl would experience in such a place—alone and rejected. Lord, protect her, fill her with peace, and let her have favor with those around her. This would be no small feat because we no longer had legal custody. It belonged to the institution, and they would decide if we could get her back. But our God is a miracle-working God, and I found a sense of peace in my heart.

A week later, the Lord opened a door, and through all of the legal procedures, we got custody of Caty. Joanne and I went to the mental institution and met with the director. She seemed impressed that we wanted Caty in our Home. She observed Caty and reported that she didn’t belong in this type of environment. Her cognitive abilities excelled above the other residents. Caty needed to come home.

As we waited for the completion of the paperwork, I wondered how our little gal would react when she saw us. Would she be excited? We had entered the building through the dining/kitchen area, and Caty stood by a table. She looked up and then turned her back to us. Did Caty feel angry for all she had endured? Did she think we abandoned her? Within our hearing, one of the workers commented to another that she was glad Caty would leave with us because she didn’t belong with this population.

The director’s office opened to a hall that separated her from the metal cell structures on the other side. I watched as men and women sat listlessly on the concrete floor. In contrast, others moved slowly around, speaking gibberish and making loud sounds. I knew the cells served to protect the people within but lacked any semblance of a home. I saw only adults, so I assumed Caty joined them. How could she ever come out of her shell with significantly mentally challenged people surrounding her?

With the legalities completed, I went to Caty, got a half hug, took her hand, and told her we were going home. She turned, flipped the other hand in a half-wave to the workers, and said, “Adios.” Off we went as she matched my steps to the car. Perhaps in her secret place, nothing had happened since she left our Home several weeks before this. I believe the Lord spared her the trauma because of prayer.

Caty’s Refuge

2 Replies

School Options

Darla France from Life Touch Ministries (http://www.lifetouchmin.org/) described trauma:“When a person witnesses or experiences an actual event where he feels threatened or hurt.” We had confirmation in Caty’s situation that she could not deal with the trauma she experienced and shut down part of her brain. So, where do we go from here?
My problem-solving went into overdrive. I pondered what Caty’s individual needs would include. I questioned how to obtain justice in her life when we had nothing to track those responsible for the abuses. It overwhelmed me, but the Lord graciously reminded me to trust Him with the plan for her life. But, unfortunately, my worrying didn’t bring anything positive to her situation.
“Oh, Lord, will I ever learn that You are the One with the answers for Caty?”
Joanne, the staff, and I discussed additional help for Caty. “We must keep her with us for as long as possible.”
“Let’s send her to our school with the girls just like they would with special needs students in the states,” said Joanne.
“We can check out other options while she’s occupied there,” I said.
We sent her with the girls, and I chuckled as I saw her strut and giggle as they walked the three blocks. Several self-appointed classmates stepped forward to help. The director and teachers at Liberty Christian School set up a program for her while looking at other possible services for Caty.
The social worker found a school for intellectually disabled children a short distance from San Cristobal. Joanne and I visited the facility and liked the plan they had for their students. I didn’t know how Caty would feel being away from her security, but we needed to test her response. It concerned me about her reaction to the transportation service available for the students. Would Caty refuse to leave with strangers?
The day the van came, she fell over her feet with eagerness and jumped into the back seat. I relaxed as we prayed for her and trusted that it would be a good day. All her actions hit on the positive. One more step toward learning how to cope with her disabilities. 
When the van returned that evening, Caty gave me her mulish look. “Chica mia, they will come and get you tomorrow, and then you can go to school again.” With pushing and shoving, we finally got her out of the van.
Within minutes the girls surrounded her with questions, and her pout turned to a smile.
“Did you like school?” 
“Was it fun?”
“What did you do, Caty?”
She giggled as her hip swung out in a pose of importance.
After a few days of school, Caty shuffled with her arm stuck back and out while her foot dragged. At mealtime, we saw her eating with her hands. Then it struck me that Caty imitated the children she spent the day with. She copied the behaviors of cognitively healthy girls, but now a different class of people modeled for her. Actions of regression did not go with our plan.
“Joanne, we can’t let this continue. So we are back to the beginning with her.”
“Let’s pull her out of the school and send her back to our school. She must stop this new behavior and continue imitating our girls.”
Disappointed, I crossed one more idea off the list of options for helping Caty to receive an education with her handicap.
We put Caty back into Liberty Christian School, and she settled in as if she had never left. Perhaps she went into her secret place while away from the Home. The foot-dragging stopped, as did other adverse actions.

Caty’s Refuge

Leave a reply

THE INVESTIGATION

During the first several months, Caty spoke only a few simple words on rare occasions. One day she said, “Mama left, Mama left,” but didn’t say anything more. At times, Caty described “blood all over, dirty” to her caretakers with hand motions from the elbow to the wrist. She described a scene by crossing her arms in front of her and said it was “bad.” Caty told about a knife and slid her hand across her throat. Another story came out about a baby and a boy riding a bus. Caty mentioned a papa who had blood all over his arms and hands. She repeated the words of gory happenings, so we knew that something horrible had taken place with her watching or participating. We couldn’t come to any conclusions because of her limited speech and mentality. We speculated about her involvement in satanic rituals.
Caty had mental and physical issues that needed immediate attention. So we followed what we thought to be the obvious route of wisdom.
I first took Caty to a missionary dentist. After the exam, he said that her teeth indicated she was fourteen years old. We guessed she would be younger. I realized girls appeared smaller than their age when nutritionally deprived in early development.
A medical doctor’s exam verified that she had scars from physical abuse on various parts of her body. In addition, her stomach and pelvic area had marks of cigarette burns. Injuries from consistent sexual abuse were prevalent and would set anybody’s imagination into orbit.
The judge ordered testing by the children’s court psychologist. I hoped that this routine would disclose something about this mystery child. I went with Caty to assure her she wouldn’t be alone and followed the woman’s instructions doing the assessment. I led her to the room and thought it better to be out of sight. Caty sat slumped in the chair, her eyes looking downward and her bottom lip sticking out.
I’m sure the psychologist tried every trick she had to document some action, but Caty portrayed a frozen statue. Finally, the court official told me that Caty didn’t need to return for any more psychological appointments. Her parting comments included putting Caty in a mental institute as the best option for her.
No, Lord, she can’t go to one of those horrible places. Where is the justice? My heart sank. I had hoped that something would help unravel the mystery about Caty. But instead, I left the appointment with her, hand-in-hand, and with pain in my heart.
Part of the process of finding missing family members requires putting the child’s picture in the newspaper and on TV. Shadow of His Wings complied with this part of the investigation. First, we waited for answers to the missing person’s report. A word from somebody looking for Caty or who recognized her face, but nobody came forward.

In a city of 2.5 million people, how does one find the necessary information for one girl with no leads? Caty needed a name and birthdate for registration in the computer system. Since nobody responded to the publication of her picture, the judge gave a name and set her birthdate for the court’s records and documents. Up to this point, Caty didn’t exist.
Next, we arranged for Caty to meet with a brain specialist. Having a professional evaluate her brain function would undoubtedly shed some light on how we could help this young girl. I looked forward to this meeting with great anticipation.
While waiting for the neurologist’s exam, my thoughts went down many avenues as I watched this young girl. Who bore the responsibility for the damage done? Would Caty recover and be able to function normally? Is she locked up inside her head with the inability to communicate with us? Question after question came as I struggled within myself. Yet, we wanted to help her find her identity and come to healing.
After the exam, the doctor explained that Caty had a healthy brain, but not all of it was functioning. He said he had seen many cases like hers during his time as a doctor in Guatemala.
“These children are part of satanic rituals and subjected to horrible things that they can’t emotionally endure. So they escape by shutting down that part of their mind.”
I hung on to every word the doctor said, trying to grab hold of any helpful information. I never expected to hear him say, “In cases like this, the survival instinct is for protection, and a part of the brain turns off. That is simple layman language for what happens.”
“What can be done to help her?” I asked, pen in hand, to write down the recommendations.
“At this point, there is nothing you can do,”
“You don’t have any suggestions on how we can help Caty?” I said.
“There is an institute for the cognitive deficit run by the government. I recommend you put Caty in this place for her sake and that of your orphanage.”
I walked away from the meeting feeling like a door had slammed in my face. What would we do with a fourteen-year-old who needed the care as if Caty were four? What about justice for this child who became a victim of sinful and selfish people? Could her family, a mother or someone, be out there looking for her? A part of me wanted to protect her and keep her in the Home. Another aspect of me knew how difficult it would be to allow her to stay, but a mental institution would not be the answer. Caty deserved more in life. I felt like angry bees buzzed in my head.
I prayed as I drove back to the orphanage, “Lord, where do we go from here? Please show us the way. I don’t know how we can help her, but I know she didn’t come to us by accident. Help us to know the plan.”
Caty watched me with a grin. Excitement showed on her face because she got to go someplace in the car with Mama Carroll—a big treat in her eyes. I smiled back. There had to be a way to work all of this out. I trusted the Lord to bring us the answers.