Day forty-seven: the law has a date

This past week I did not write here. The file kept growing — dated, complete — and the case now lies where it belongs: with the professionals.

Something important happened this week. On 19 August, the independent client confidant asked the facility in writing to explain the restriction of telephone contact — with four questions that come straight from the Care and Compulsion Act (Wzd): has this restriction been designated and recorded as involuntary care? What concrete serious harm does it prevent? What less intrusive alternatives were explored? And was the Wzd officer involved? The facility has until Monday 24 August to answer. The legal track runs in parallel.

And today is a date set by the law itself. An involuntary admission begins with an emergency order from the mayor: three days at most. A judge can extend it: six weeks at most. After that — the law says — the measure ends, unless a judicial authorization has been requested before it expires. For someone admitted on 6 July, that six-week term runs out this week.

The family has therefore put one question to the competent authorities: on what legal title is she being held there right now? The answer sits in a court file, and the law prescribes who must receive it: the client herself, her lawyer — because everyone facing involuntary admission is assigned one, free of charge — and her relatives through the established channel.

What stands firm is unchanged: every time my mother was reached these past weeks, she was clear and unambiguous in her wish. Out of the closed facility — home, or to a place she chooses herself. The law grants her that voice. This week must show whether the system does too.

This is day forty-seven. I write down what happens, because my mother cannot — and because a day will come when people ask how this was allowed to happen.

We are not done.