ONE GRATEFUL MOM

It’s the second Wednesday of the month and a wave of peace surrounds me.  I am happy, simply content.  No, I haven’t hit lotto or retired, but it seems to always be the best day of the month for the past year.   You see, my son gets his injectable medication on that day, a miracle for a man of 33 years old, who has suffered much and yet still has no insight into his mental illness and most probably never will.

 

Years of watching him take meds, dreading the climb upstairs to his bedroom with the pills and water, his anger and resentment, the name-calling, and worst of all, the look on his face as he swallowed what he perceived to be poison from his mother is gone for today.

 

The threat of another assisted outpatient treatment order has been enough to keep my son diligently taking an injectable medication. In fact, he has moved out of my home, works 3 days a week and is more independent than ever before.

 

It is not perfect.  The schizophrenia remains, but with the injectable there is much less angst and fewer symptoms. Sadly, he is only agreeing to the treatment until the “AOT” people are off his back.  But without his first assisted outpatient treatment order, he would still be battling the demons on the walls, and the streets, believing they were real and that I was somehow behind his suffering.  He attends no programs since for someone with anosognosia (lack of insight) they simply made him angrier.  How could he listen anymore to the lies they told?  Why did he have to waste 5 years with people who are sick and need help when he is healthy and educated?  No, despite their dedication to help those with mental illness, PROS programs did not help my son’s anosognosia.  There he learned to lie about having insight so that he would never have to return.  What worked was an injectable medication administered once a month.

 

But today I’m not thinking about any of this.   It’s the second Wednesday of the month and I am so grateful.  No longer do I dream about his successful business career or the family he might have had.  But, make no mistake, I still dream – a simple one - that he goes to the doctor and gets the injection because with it, he has a life.  With that injectable, he smiles and hugs me.  I know it won’t last, but for today I am one grateful mom.

THE EMOTIONAL ROLLER COASTER

Yes, after rereading my previous entry, I realize it was a bit harsh.  Perhaps I should change the title to One Angry, Hopeful, Desperate, Grateful Woman- those adjectives would explain better the feelings a mother of a young adult with mental illness experiences from moment to moment, even after you’ve done the support group run and even educated yourself enough to teach others.

But all the support groups in the world don’t matter on the days when you look at everyone else’s children getting married, having children and living the life your child deserved. The truth is this. There are days and then, there.are.days.

Some days are filled with sadness, others anger and then there are days that there is a certain level of acceptance despite the fact that I know in those moments, I'm deluding myself into believing I feel acceptance.

I don't. I can't.  I won't. I have to believe things can change. I have to hold on to hope. 

For years my own family told me to “Get on with life;  Accept it.  You can’t change his brain or his life.  Well, yes, they were half right.  I couldn’t do anything to cure him.

But I could be his advocate.  And perhaps that is what this blog is about.  I do love people, but boy can they run when the word “schizophrenia” is mentioned.  My own son runs from the archaic mention of the word.

I’m not sure if anyone is even interested in reading this.  But I will be honest- I won’t sugarcoat our nation’s mental health care dilemma.

I can’t because I have lived it.   It’s not all sad and tragic, but it’s hidden and we’re out here, living the nightmare that could be changed if enough of us joined together.

We can start by having meaningful conversations. We can all get on the same page. Replace stigma with empathy. Insist on research. Stop using jails to house persons with mental illness because there is no other option.

Persons living with serious mental illness are in an impossible situation. They have been betrayed by a vital organ. They are no different than someone whose liver or kidney has failed. Except they are. Livers can be transplanted. A kidney can be removed.

We can't transplant brains, we can only hope for breakthroughs. Our greatest hope lies in the hands of the research community. So, I continue to advocate on all fronts. For better care, for better research, for better understanding.

It's time. Please join me.

12 ANGRY MEN OR ONE ANGRY MOM

When I was in high school, I read the play 12 Angry Men.  I was amazed that one man could cast doubt on what appeared to be a clear case of murder.  But I was unsettled since there never was an outcome, a solution, a verdict…..Oh, yes -everyone was talking but that’s all that seemed to happen.

Twenty five years later I find myself 1 Angry Woman and although I always prided myself on my optimism, I must say I am losing ground. You see, I’ve always been a patriot, daughter of a WWII veteran, machine-gunned by a Nazi who lived to tell about it.  My entire career has been teaching the US Constitution and its brilliance as a government.

I’ve had many things in my personal life to be angry about.  But they are linked to my choices, poor ones at best.  Our nation’s mental health system, however, can be blamed on no one, other than apathetic baby-boomers who simply may be fortunate enough never to have encountered it.  That's why my angry tonight.

I’m no Glenn Close who can rally Hollywood to make commercials for advocacy.  I admire her work which we need, but frankly I live the life, without the awards, money, or green cleats that may be breaking barriers one day.  That sounds harsh, but it’s true.  If I could get on a commercial, would I have your attention……I can do that, you, know.  I’ve captivated the minds of thousands of teenagers and instilled a love of their nation, not an easy feat.

But for today, I’m just one angry mom disgusted with a system that has failed her 32 year old son, stripped his dignity, and tossed him aside because he has a disease that people now talk about but do little else.