by Julie Dewey
“What did I do wrong, Mom?” Camille asked me on the way home. I pulled the car over, and turned off the ignition.
“You did nothing wrong, this is like any other disease. Can a person help it if she gets diabetes or cancer? Those are also genetic and can be treated with medications, medical procedures, and therapy too. This is not any different. You have to stop thinking this is your fault or you will drive yourself crazy.”
“If I had been around more, maybe I could have done something to stop it.”
“I don’t think mental illness can be prevented, Camille, and she is predisposed. If anyone is to blame it’s me. It was my grandmother after all that was mentally ill, so it was in my genes. I am sorry for that, I really and truly am.”
“That’s like saying you’re sorry I was born, and I am grateful for my life. I am just so overwhelmed by all of this, Mom, I don’t know if I can handle it.”
“I thought you were feeling better over the last few weeks, do you think your anti-anxiety medicine is working?”
“It was helpful at first, but now I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like it just masks my emotions and I don’t want that. Other times it gives me the energy I need to face the day. I am planning to stay on it for now even though I have gained fifteen pounds.”
“We both talked about getting more therapy too, outside of Dr. Saul. Maybe that would help? Doesn’t your insurance cover that at least?”
“It does. It just takes more time from my day and I have so little to spare as it is.”
“Well, I cashed in a portion of my retirement. It’ll get us by for the next six months or more if we play our cards right. I think we should grab a pizza for tonight, and maybe think on the ECT procedure, how does that sound to you?”
“Pizza sounds great. ECT for my little girl, not so great.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
ECT
Camille and I researched and talked at length about ECT treatment as an option for Jenna. After several discussions with the doctor as well, we finally agreed that it was time to try it.
We explained to Jenna what was going to happen, as did the doctor. Jenna kept her gaze elsewhere during our visits and rocked her body back and forth in our presence. We never really knew what she heard anymore and had no idea what she was thinking.
“Jenna, today is your first treatment,” I said, to my granddaughter as I walked into her room. I sat on her bed and reached over to take her hand in mine. Her mom followed behind me. I sensed her agitation immediately and the floor nurse suggested it had to do with her breakfast schedule being altered. She was not allowed to eat or drink anything for twelve hours before the shock treatment and this put her in a dizzying state. She paced the wooden floors of her small bedroom and talked animatedly to herself all the while.
“Time to go.” Said the unfamiliar nurse who appeared at Jenna’s doorway with a wheelchair. She interrupted Jenna’s pacing and expertly maneuvered her into the chair. When the foot pedals were positioned, she proceeded to wheel her down a narrow corridor that was unfamiliar to me. The hallway wound around several corners, connecting the buildings, and led to the back building where the ECT treatments took place. Jenna was changed into a hospital gown and held down as the nurses tried to place the IV in her forearm. Confused and scared, Jenna lashed out and made the insertion very difficult. Finally, her favorite nurse, Barbara, was able to calm her enough so that another attending staff member was able to place the IV and administer the relaxant. She was strapped down to the table and small electrodes were placed on her scalp and chest. Soon after the sedative was administered, Jenna became sleepy and closed her eyes. I held her hand and Camille rubbed her hair. Then she was wheeled away from us and taken in to a specialized room for her first of a long series of treatments.
***
“Everything went well,” Dr. Saul approached us in the waiting room. He was wearing hospital scrubs and a mask that he pulled over his head while we talked.
“Is she okay?” Camille asked.
“She has a headache and did throw up, which can be a side effect from the anesthesia. I doubt she remembers anything past the waiting room though.”
“Will we see any results today? Is that possible?” I wondered out loud.
“It’s possible but not likely. I expect to see improvements by the third or fourth treatment. So, in two days we will repeat what we did today, and then next week we will have two more series. After that I might increase the intensity and go three times a week. That won’t be determined just yet.”
“Thank you, Dr. Saul. May we see her?” Camille was overcome with fear for her daughter and although the procedure was quick and painless, it didn’t lessen her concern.
“The nurse will come out and get you once she is more lucid.”
The first of many treatments was behind us now.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Photographs
While we waited and prayed for Jenna to react to her treatments, I researched the suitcases that were left behind at Willard. I struck gold because there was going to be a presentation at the Ithaca Free Library in a few weeks. I fully intended to be at the presentation.
It could take several months to receive Iona’s medical records so we took the matter into our own hands and launched into a historical tour of our family. Maybe it didn’t matter if anyone else was plagued with mental illness, but if they were it might help in Jenna’s recovery process. We have been told multiple times that family members that share DNA do well on similar medications. Meaning, if we had a cousin or anyone else fighting a similar battle and they had already tried medications it could help narrow the choices for Jenna. Additionally, it could be helpful knowing we weren’t alone.
“I know people don’t talk about this stuff, but if one of the cousins has anything like Jenna, I for one would want to know. We could be a good support to one another,” I said to my girls as we focused our efforts on the family tree we were making.
My daughters and I gathered and sifted through all the newspaper clippings and photographs we had of Iona and her family. We placed what we had in a large shoe-box to catalog later. Helen was beginning to understand the toll Jenna’s condition was taking on me and Camille and became more empathetic to our situation. She reached out to cousins and any living relatives to seek information, time lines, and pictures.
We drew a family tree on a large piece of poster-board and tacked it right to the wall. The tree was not divided between Iona and James’s families because we had no information whatsoever about James’s kin. There was one photograph of a portly farmer wearing overalls and sucking hay that was among our photographs, but no one knew who the man was. Because the photograph was well preserved we always assumed it was someone of importance to James, otherwise his family was a mystery. We focused our research on Iona and her children and set to work with a time-line.
Unlike James, Iona had some photographs that were revealing. Photos of herself as a youth depicted an unhappy, unsmiling child. She had perfect posture but was so thin that by today’s standards she would be considered undernourished. In the photo I stared at now, my grandmother’s hair was pulled tightly back with ribbon, making her eyes bulge out and appear like huge saucers. Her parents flanked her, but no one touched each other. There was no loving hand on a shoulder, no contact at all. In fact, you could see the wallpaper behind and between the folks in the photograph due to how far apart they stood. Iona appeared to be in her teen years when this photo was taken, we would guess around fourteen years of age. Until she was older and had a family of her own we didn’t find one other picture of her.
As an adult Iona had several photos taken together with her family. The grouped family photos were of particular interest to me. I studied my grandmother, the woman perched on a chair, whose hair was long and greying. She didn’t wear it up as so many women did during this time-period, instead, it hung in waves, past her shoulders, framing her face. She was a pretty woman, a natural beauty you could
say. Her features were symmetrical and strong. Her nose was straight and pointed, but not overly sharp. Her eyes were almond shaped, with eyebrows that arched perfectly across them. She had deeply embedded crow’s feet, and in the photos where she was smiling, she had all her teeth.
Her clothing was not fancy, it was not dour or dowdy either. Instead, it was colorful and straight-forward, as I envision her to be. In the photo where she was seated alone on the porch, one arm up and over the back of the chair, she seemed to be looking at someone who wasn’t there.
The next picture was snapped with the entire family present and a baby was sitting on her lap. The baby had fiery red hair, and was sucking his two middle fingers. You could almost imagine the drool sweeping from chin to bib when studying him. Beside the baby an older boy stood, he was a toddler and I knew that was my Uncle Johnathan. The girl beside Uncle Johnathan was older, she has a letter “S” embroidered on her smock so I presumed this child was, Suzette, my mother.
The family looked happy and healthy in this photograph. There were other photos where a couple, labeled Don and Jennifer, were surrounding the group. They may have been family members of James’s but we would never know. However, one would deduce the couple was well loved. James himself was shown with both arms around the pair in more than one photo.
We were confused by the photo Uncle Daniel’s daughter, my cousin, Marlin, sent. The photo shows the same red haired baby boy being held by a woman who was clearly not related. The woman was skeletal, her eyes frantic, her hair frayed. She wore a dress with stitching on the pocket that we could not make out. I think her hair could have been red, but Camille and Helen think it was brown. The age of the photo and the fact it was black and white made it hard to say for sure.
“We have to find out more about this picture. I swear it is the same baby boy, and I think that may be letters or numbers on her pocket,” I said to Camille pointing to the mystery woman’s dress.
“We should take it to a specialist, Mom. I am sure we can find someone who repairs antique photos. Maybe they can even blow it up and we can get a better look at the image.”
“Okay, let’s put it aside for now and label it as needing further research.”
“Done.” Camille said as she cataloged the picture and then clipped it behind the family photo where the same child was sitting on Iona’s lap.
We had spent days going through photos and categorizing them when I found a single photo of a child named Lucy. This child was standing on her own two feet, holding a blanket. She wore a dress with smocking across the bodice and ruffled short sleeves. Her hair had been combed back and hung in waves just below her ears. This photo looked professionally done, it has been cropped and matted, while all the others appeared to be from a simple Kodak camera.
“Wow. The child in this picture bears a striking resemblance to Iona, yet I have no recollection of her. My mother never mentioned another child to me. It’s odd, really odd. Put this in the research pile, Dear,” I said as I handed the mystery photo to Camille. Helen looked at it as well and suggested calling our cousin, Gi-Gi.
Gi-Gi was Johnathon’s one and only child. The story goes that he and his wife struggled to get pregnant and had lost all hope when Gi-Gi was conceived. Gi-Gi was spoiled and doted on causing quite a stir among the cousins. She bragged relentlessly about her newest hair combs, and finery, along with her books and the extravagant trips she took with her parents, making everyone else feel inferior.
When Gi-Gi married a banker she fully expected to live a lavish life that resembled her upbringing. Instead, the buffoon she married invested their money in scheme after scheme, leaving them broke with two girls, Claire and Susan, to feed. Gi-Gi amazed everyone when she held her head high as her family moved from a four-bedroom home into an apartment complex. She began work as a secretary to earn a small income and help climb the family out from debt. However, when the banker was found with lipstick on his collar and started coming home drunk several times a week, Gi-Gi left the louse for good. She filed for divorce and was awarded sole custody of the girls.
Gi-Gi moved her girls into an even smaller apartment and vowed never to re-marry. Instead, she threw herself into a career at Kodak, working her way up the ladder and became the first female executive in the company.
Gi-Gi stayed true to her word and never so much as dated again. She earned a substantial income at Kodak and retired with enough savings to allow her to remain comfortable the rest of her days. Currently at sixty-eight she was enjoying good health and time home with her grandchildren.
“I got a call from Marlin today. She found a trunk full of her daddy’s treasures that she said we can have. One of us just needs to go get them. She said it would cost an arm and a leg to mail, but that it has pictures and a bundle of letters too.” Helen said.
“Well, geeze, I can go to Maine and get them, but Camille I’d hate to leave you alone for more than a few days.” I said.
“Mom, I will be fine. It’s a six hour drive so you should stay on a while, take a break from all of this.” She gestured to the table full of photos and the poster board as well.
“What if Jenna has a break through?” I asked.
“I will contact you right away if she does. Really, Mom, you deserve a break.”
“All right, let me call Marlin and see if she is free next week.” Truthfully, I wanted the break. I didn’t enjoy long car rides anymore, but the beach and fresh ocean air could be reviving. I spent so much time focused on Jenna and Camille that I wasn’t taking care of myself the way I should be. I had gained fifteen pounds over the course of six months and worried about my sugar levels. I had pre-diabetes and needed to take a time out.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Marlin
I packed a small bag for my trip to Maine. I was sure to include both of the photographs that included the baby boy in question. I hoped Marlin might have some insight as to who the woman holding him in the picture could be. I loaded my car with snacks and country music CDs and set off.
I hated leaving Camille alone, but thought she might enjoy some time to herself. We rarely, if ever, fought, but still it was nice to have the house all to yourself once in a while.
My drive was tedious, but when I crossed into the state of Maine my hear fluttered. Maine was our vacation destination as children. My parents and their siblings would rent a small house a few blocks from the beach for two weeks every summer. During the stay, the cousins were able to form lasting bonds and the parents were able to unwind.
I rolled down my driver-side window and inhaled the salty sea air. Memories of scavenger hunts and long walks on the beach came flooding back to me. I was known as the family beachcomber, I spent hours every morning scouring the beach for sand dollars or sea glass. I still had my sea glass collection displayed in my apartment.
I arrived at Marlin’s home in York already feeling refreshed by the change of scenery. She made a fresh pot of seafood chowder because she knew it was my favorite. We ate our fill and caught each other up on family news. I explained to her in greater detail what was happening with Jenna and she was very saddened by our situation. Marlin never had biological children of her own, but could only imagine our distress. Marlin’s brother, whom we fondly called Davey, had two boys, David Junior and Matthew. They each had two kids of their own. It was David Juniors son, Noah, that had his share of issues. Yet until now, I didn’t understand their depth. Marlin explained to me that when Noah was seventeen years old he had horrible mood swings. They blamed the hormones initially, but then they realized he was dealing with a deeper issue. He was diagnosed with bi-polar depression.
“Was he treated as an out-patient?” I asked Marlin about her nephew.
“Yes, he was initially.” Marlin cleared her throat before continuing.
“Uh-oh,” I commented.
“He had an incident, where he was manic and uncontrollable. He was a danger to himself so he was admitted against his will. It was awful. Eventually, they fine-tuned h
is medications and he was sent home. I don’t see a lot of him, but I think he still struggles. If Davey were alive to see it, he would be beside himself. He loved his boys with all his heart and wanted nothing but the best for them.
“That’s what we all want. Camille is on medication now for anxiety. I mean what is this world coming to? They didn’t have all this medication back when Iona was at Willard.”
“No, they didn’t. Back then they just took out a part of patient’s brains and crossed their fingers for the best.”
“Can you imagine?” I asked.
“I can’t. Oh, goodness, I almost forgot to show you this. Hold on...”
Marlin disappeared but when she came walking back into the kitchen she had a drawing of Hetty. It was different from the one that hung in my house growing up, but it was Hetty alright. She had a very distinct look, those apple shaped cheeks, the full face, double chin, dimple, and ample bosom couldn’t be mistaken.
“Wow, that’s different from mine. Yours is even labeled.” At the bottom of the drawing Hetty’s name was spelled out.
“Iona was able to live with her demons, so why can’t the rest of the world?”
“Well, Jenna simply can’t. She isn’t capable half the time.” I grew misty thinking of my granddaughter and explained to Marlin the lengths that I was going to in order to obtain Iona’s medical records. I also told her about the traveling suitcase exhibit and she thought that sounded rather interesting.
“The exhibit is in Ithaca next week. I have already contacted the gentleman who took the photographs and he has agreed to meet with me before his presentation.”
“That could be very productive. It would be incredible to think Iona’s suitcase could be among those found.”
“I don’t want to get my hopes up, but that would be insightful to say the least.”
