Months After

Our son has been in out-patient treatment for two months. At first daily, all day, then stepping down to half a day, daily. He has been living at his mother's house, and is drug therapy compliant. The treatment center would like to continue lessening his service plan, but they do not want to release him until he has a therapeutic relationship set up with a psychiatrist. We send him and his mother a list of doctors near them and when I see them next the progress is not encouraging. They have not been able to find a doctor who will see him before August of this year. Our son asks me if I think the diagnosis is correct and I have to tell him yes. He wants to know when he can stop taking the medication and I have to tell him it could be a long time or never and that the treatment may change over time. He may have side effects that are uncomfortable and he will have to decide if the discomfort is worth risking another set of incidents like what we have experienced. I take the next day off work, take the list of doctors provided by our insurance, and make calls until I find three that will take him before August. I send him and his mother the list.

Weeks After

After our son has been in out-patient treatment for two weeks, the facility asks us in for a meeting. We believe that it will involve our son, his treatment team, and all four parents. When we arrive, our son is not in the room. We are handed sheets of paper with "helpful information" on it and a conversation begins before we can review them, led by the person most closely connected with our son's treatment. It is not at all a direct conversation, it seems to start very far back and move slowly closer, probing us all the way for reaction. It feels like we are being tested for our levels of awareness, ability to understand, and willingness to help. At several times during the conversation, I hear phrases that are new to me, so I write them down. My notes say: internal preoccupation; jumbled thoughts; blunted or constricted affect; spontaneous relating; functionality and peace of mind. When our son is finally brought into the room, well over an hour has passed and he does not meet our eyes, barely greets us and the remaining conversation is strained and unsatisfying. After I get home, I read the papers, see the diagnosis, and feel enraged that they did not simply tell us the words to our faces.

Days After

In the days after our son begins his two-drug therapy, he seems to do better every day. More organized thinking, better memory. He will leave the in-patient treatment facility two weeks after he first needed medical treatment. He starts an out-patient treatment program and that's an opaque box for me. I don't know what his daily treatment or regimen is until all the parents are asked to have a meeting with our son and the people who have been treating him. I'm both excited and scared for the conversation, but I'll leave that for more later.

Day 7: March 25

The doctor is recommending an additional drug therapy and our son asks me if I think he should agree to it. I say yes, as where he is seems like a good place to safely try all avenues for the best outcome. There is more to our conversation for the day, but this seems like the most important item.

Day 6: March 24

I am trying to keep up a pattern in our daily talks: ask him about the medication; ask him about something interesting in his day; remind him that his father will visit when he comes back; then circle back to something we talked about the prior day. I tell our son I had tried to find a commercial for mind drones and had not found one. he says it sounds like he completely hallucinated that and he seems surprised and worried. He tells me he is disappointed because his doctor does not know about the bi-camaral mind. When I call the doctor a psychiatrist, he seems upset. I ask him if he has had a chance to draw or write in books I brought he says the desk lost the box of pencils, so, no. He tells me he thought when people would invite him to eat with them they wanted to consume him. I ask him to clarify, if it's cannibalism or a spiritual consumption, and he says it's more like spiritual. That's all the time we have.

Day 5: March 23

I bring our son a notebook, colored pencils, zen coloring books and encourage him to keep a journal or make drawings to try to chart his thoughts and bring them to order. I ask him how the medication is making him feel and he just says "gassy". I remind him that I will come every day to see how he is feeling and if he is feeling more centered or his thoughts are getting better organized. He tells me another patient had a seizure right in front of him. He thinks he caused it because of some kind of negative symbiosis or synergy between the two of them. He asks me again if I know that autism was once called childhood schizophrenia. I tell him that autism was briefly called childhood egocentricism. That gets little response. He tells me that when he was about 10 years old a close friend caused him great damage by calling him a child molester. Another kid had said it was not possible for a kid to be a child molester, but he said it not to defend our son but merely to be disputative. And then our time is up.

Day 4: March 22

Our son has been transferred to an in-patient treatment facility. There is a one-hour visitation period in the evening and his mother and I split the time. First she goes with her husband, then I go. Our son has three pieces of paper with him. One is a mandala he colored in art therapy. One is a drawing that is supposed to be one happy thing and one unhappy thing. He has drawn a sun and a black hole. The sun is bigger than the black hole and I am glad for that. One is information about the drug therapy that is being recommended. He has not consented to take it yet. I let him know that it is his choice as an adult and he asks if I think he should. I say yes. He says he did not like the anti-anxiety meds they gave him, they made him feel wavy. I tell him I will visit every day so we can talk about how the medication is making him feel and if it is uncomfortable we can take action. We agree. He tries to tell me about how he came to this place. He doesn't remember much about the ER, doesn't remember his father and I being there. He says the BSU was called Exodus and that seemed like an ominous name. He wasn't sure what would happen if he left there or what came after. He is ready to talk about the zombie apocalypse today. After he had spent several days time traveling he felt like he should leave his room. It was perhaps 3 or 4 AM. He went into the kitchen and ate some Cheerios. He thought that maybe the expiration dates on food meant you might die by then if you ate them, but September seemed far enough away to be worth it. He went outside for awhile and when he tried to get back in the door was locked so he went walking. At the middle school he heard a child call him names from inside the building "Child molester." I ask him if that's the worst thing you could be and he says yes. There is no one around and he thinks it is because he is part of the zombie apocalypse. There are few people left to prey on, and he feeds on their misery. He asks me again if I have seen a commercial for a government-created brain drone. I tell him no, but I will check it out and I will be careful just to do research. He seems to be struggling really hard to order the sequence of events and his thoughts. I ask him if he would like to write it down to keep track and he's noncommittal. That's all the time we have.

Day 3: March 21 PM

I bring some books in with me, thinking our son might not want to talk further. He's not interested in the books, but he does eat a sandwich. I let him know he has gotten so thin he could be hospitalized just for that. He says he had decided that historically, people did not need to eat or drink to survive. The doctor has arrived and is ready to conduct all the assessments for that day. Our son says I may attend with him. On our way to meet the doctor, we pass a nurse on her way to the day room to rouse the other snoozing assessees, saying "it's time to wake some people up!" The doctor starts with some simple questions, does our son know what day it is, does he know where he is. Our son answers, but puts his knee up to his chest and asks forcefully "Am I sleeping now?". The doctor continues to read down his checklist of question and our son doesn't answer but asks "Why did that lady say it was time to wake up? Am I sleeping?" When he asks again, the doctor asks why that is a concern. The doctor discusses starting a drug treatment regimen and our son consents. The doctor recommends in patient treatment for further observation and our son consents. At the front desk I ask what happens next and they let me know they will start looking for an in patient treatment, it can take as little as two hours if we have insurance. I give them my insurance card. We go back to a visiting room for more conversation. He asks me if I know that autism used to be called childhood schizophrenia. I didn't know that, and ask him why that's interesting or important and he does not reply. He asks it several more times over the course of the afternoon. His mother had told me he thought he was part of a zombie apocalypse so I ask him about it. He seems angry and says that's not what happened. Later a nurse comes in with an anti-anxiety med. She says his heart rate is too high. Our son asks me if I think he should take it. I'm thinking of his BMI at 16, worry about how healthy his heart muscle is, I say yes. He looks at it for a long time, takes it out of the little paper cup and holds it for a long time. Takes it. It's early evening, his mother is back to visit, so it's time for me to head home.

Day 3: March 21 AM

It's the last 24 hours of our son's 72 hour mandatory hold. We are told that if they do not have a place for him in the behavioral stabilization unit, someone will come to the ER and assess him. We also find out that at admittance, there are only 105 pounds on his 5'7" frame. The thought of him spending his last day of hold laying in the ER with just a security guard present is unsatisfying. I take the day off and head to Vallejo to act as advocate and see if we can't get a better outcome. When I get to the hospital, he is not there. He has been moved to the BSU. When I arrive there, his mother and other dad are there, so I wait my turn to see him. He is ambulatory and acknowledges my presence. When I ask him what he remembers about how he got "here" he seems more ready to talk and more fluid than I have seen him in a very long time. The concepts he stitches together are so unrelatable to my own reality, that when I switch out visitation with him, I go to my car and write down key items so I don't forget them. He told me he had been time traveling recently and it was unsettling. When he would wake up in the morning, he would look at his phone and it would be a day or two earlier than when he went to sleep. I asked him if he was having the same day over and over again and he said no, it's like a new day every time. He said he went to school on St. Patrick's Day and it felt like everyone was disdaining or disregarding him. He thought they were all speaking in code, maybe related to the Fibonacci sequence, but he couldn't figure it out and he felt excluded and shunned. He said he had figured out that there are really 11 dimensions. The first three are not point, line and plane, but velocity, position and acceleration. He could not remember the others. When I told him his blood tests had come out clean, he said he was surprised. He said he thought they would find other people's thought waves in his bloodstream. He said he saw a commercial on TV for mind drones created by the government to control people. I told him I had not heard of such a thing, but I would look into it. He was concerned that if I saw the ad, my mind would be controlled too, so I let him know I would be careful. When I mentioned that he was found barefoot, he said he thought that would be like a mythological person or like Jesus. He says when the police came to pick him up he went with them willingly. He thought they were there to do a charade or a pantomime to help him re-create and work through his birth trauma. It's time to switch visitation and I walk with him to the front door, I put my hand on his upper arm. My thumb and forefinger nearly meet when I encircle his arm with my hand.

Day 2: March 20

Heading home from Sacramento around noon, the ER in Vallejo is on the way. We know our son is safe and getting medical care and we discuss if his current state is something we want to witness or if it's better to respect our adult son's medical privacy and just keep going. We go to the ER. We run into our son's mother and other dad in the waiting room and they give us a quick update--our son is awake but not alert. He needs to be eating and drinking soon or there may be additional steps taken. We are all waiting for a bed to open up in the County emotional stabilization unit, since he has been 5150ed and that is the necessary next step. When we go in to visit, there is a security guard outside his room and I am relieved to see he is not in restraints. He seems very small in the bed, twisted up in several blankets. When his father sits down, our son asks "Is everybody crazy?" by way of greeting. His eyes are open only slightly and seem to roll with the movements of his head from side to side. His father offers him food from the hospital tray nearby. Our son only asks "Is this a trick?". Wherever our son is, it doesn't feel like we are in the same space at all. He is mostly unresponsive to sound or touch. Some more attempts at connection, blanket tucking, reassurance, there is not much we can do but wait this out. We go home.

Day 1: March 19

Late afternoon/early evening, we are driving to Sacramento, to a house party and to spend the night. The Bluetooth activates and the readout is M's first wife, the mother of our kids. If she is calling, we can predict it's about the kids and it's not good. That is true. She lets us know that our oldest son was brought home by the police that morning. They had found him outside in a local park, very cold and with no shoes on. They recommended taking him to the local emergency room for follow up and that is where he is now. She reports that he was very agitated at the ER, kept trying to leave and they had to put a security guard on his door. His blood tests came up clean and his electrolytes are well balanced. He was given an anti-anxiety medication and is now sleeping for the night and she is on her way to her home. This feels like a very liminal space with no immediate course of action. We decide to go to the house party because all we want to do is be with people who love us. That night I can't really sleep. I feel cold all night and I can't imagine where our son is, tagged to this earth.

The path with the uphill climb

These days I tell people our family is on a new path that starts with an uphill climb. We are still not sure what to call the thing that happened. Our son asked me to write down what I can remember and I told him I would. Here is where I am accountable for that promise.