by Julie Dewey
Marlin and I pulled out the trunk she had inherited from her father, Daniel, who was Iona’s youngest son. She admitted it had been stored in her attic for over twenty years now and that she had never taken the time to go through it. The contents were musty and irrelevant at the time. Now, however, the case was important, so we started taking the items from the trunk one at a time. In it we found more photos of the mystery woman. She was always frazzled looking and always wore an unappealing, droopy grey dress with numbers on the pocket.
“Do you think she was an inmate somewhere?” Marlin asked.
“I’m not sure. Why else would she have numbers on her pocket?”
“Do you suppose patients had numbers to identify them? I mean, you have to admit she looks like a patient. She is so dazed and frail, sort of cuckoo if you know what I mean,” Marlin stated.
Looking at the photos I did know what she meant. The woman held the baby at length, like she was frightened of hurting him. She had the beginnings of a smile in one picture, but in all the others she was stoic and defeated. Her hair indeed looked red in some of the photographs and it was always unkempt and knotted.
We continued to paw through the trunk and came upon a stack of letters. The letters were fading but with a magnifier we could make them out.
The correspondence seemed to be between three women. We could easily make out Iona’s name and were able to recognize her penmanship. We determined that another author of the letters was from a woman who claimed to be the godmother to the baby, Daniel. Her name was Jennifer and we questioned whether or not she was related. Finally, the last woman who had letters in the stack was named Cat. We presumed Cat was the frazzled woman in the photographs because her notepaper was stock paper, not stationery. We coded the letters and then arranged them chronologically. Marlin took half of the letters to read and I took what was left and we relayed our findings to one another.
“Holy smokes,” I said after reading one of the letters in my group.
“What?” Marlin asked.
“Sit down. I don’t know how to tell you this cousin, but if what I just read is accurate then we aren’t biologically related.” I put the magnifying glass on the table and sipped my tea. I stared into the distance trying to make sense of what I’d just uncovered.
“What on earth are you talking about, of course we’re related.”
“According to these letters, this Cat woman, the frazzled looking one, is Daniel’s biological mother. It appears that Iona adopted him because Cat was in trouble with the law. There are references to stealing horses, and even murder.” I put my hand across my mouth and chewed my bottom lip. It was all making sense.
“Oh my,” Marlin said, sipping her tea beside me.
“I recognize this Jennifer woman. We have a picture of her at home. She is standing with Iona and her family. They look to be very close, but I still don’t think they are related. They look nothing alike and we know it isn’t her mother. We have photos of her mother so that is certain. In the letters Jennifer refers to Daniel as her godson. ‘I am taking good care of my godson…’ she says right here. I pointed to the place in the letter where Jennifer made the claim.
Marlin held the magnifying lens to the letter and surely it indicated that Jennifer was Daniel’s godmother. It made sense too that Daniel was Cat’s son, they were the only two with red hair in the family.
“Which explains a bit about my nephew’s illness, he has a great-grandmother with mental illness too. My God.”
“My God is right.”
“I am going with you to the suitcase exhibit. Maybe this Cat woman has her belongings there too. If she does, they would rightfully belong to me. I mean, that would make her my grandmother.”
I reached across the table and held tight to Marlin’s hand, we would find the answers together.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Hanging by a Thread
Marlin and I walked along Wells Beach from the public walkway down to the jetty. It was about one mile each way and felt invigorating. Just walking along the ocean was restorative. It always served to remind me how small we were in comparison to the world. That something larger was at work, and that while life wasn’t always fair, it was beautiful if we knew where to look. Just then I saw a glimmer in front of me, I bent over to pick it up and sure enough it was a blue piece of sea glass. I held the treasure and took a deep breath, for the road ahead was long.
Marlin packed and prepared to drive home with me. She would stay at my apartment where there was plenty of room for her to spread out. I called Camille ahead of time to prepare her and Helen, but Jenna was still an in-patient so we didn’t have to worry about that.
I was getting anxious to be home, Camille had something to discuss with me but she didn’t want to do it over the phone. I knew there was no change in Jenna’s condition and wondered if the doctor wanted to increase her shock therapy.
The drive was smooth and we were home by mid-afternoon. Marlin hugged Camille and Helen tightly and when the group broke apart there were tears all around. We sat down together and told the girls about our discovery. They were saddened and surprised to learn that Marlin wasn’t our biological relative, but we decided collectively that we were family regardless. If anything, the discovery brought us closer together. Helen drove Marlin to my apartment giving me time to catch up with my daughter.
“How is she?” I asked, sitting down with my daughter.
“She is the same, Mom. The ECT is not going as well as Dr. Saul hoped it would. She hasn’t had any incidents, but she isn’t markedly improved either.”
“It’s only been a few days though so what does that mean, where do we go from here?” I asked.
“He brought up the idea of a half-way house. He said there are several in Syracuse that would fit Jenna’s needs well. The cost of keeping her at Hutchings is just too much, and our insurance might cover the halfway house. I just don’t know though, Mom. I would prefer her to be here being taken care of by people who love her. I just can’t imagine her being happy among multiple caregivers who care more about a paycheck than the patient.”
“Well, you can’t say that would be true for all the care-givers. I am one hundred percent certain that Dr. Saul would not release her into the care of anyone that wasn’t qualified.”
“I know. I trust his judgment, I really do. It’s just hard.”
“What I want to know is how you are doing? How is Camille?”
“I am hanging on by a thread, Mom and that’s about all I can muster. I am just so sad for what my daughter is missing out on, and for what I am missing out on. I mean there was a school dance this week. If none of this had happened, we would have spent the week shopping and getting her all dolled up. Instead she is facing ECT treatments and living in a room with cinder blocks for walls,” my daughter admitted through her tears.
“All we can do is have faith. Let’s not give up yet, she may still be able to go to a dance in high school. Okay?” I pleaded, wiping her eyes with my sleeves.
“Okay.” Camille answered leaning into me for a hug.
We were interrupted by a phone call coming from Hutchings. It was Dr. Saul and he wanted to let us know that he received a package from the Office of Mental Health in Binghamton, New York. Iona’s medical records had been unearthed at long last. They were sent to him directly because of the HIPAA laws that stated even though a patient was deceased, they still retained the right to patient confidentiality.
“Oh my goodness, it’s the medical records. They are finally here,” I said, holding Camille’s hands in my own.
Chapter Twenty-Six
More Medical Records
“Her attending physician was a man by the name of Dr. Macy. It says that Iona became a patient in the year 1915 at the age of fifteen years old. She is initially described as being a frightened, malnourished, yet educated young woman with severe mental disturbances. For instance, upon her admittance she had a shaved head and was described by her parents as being unru
ly. After numerous psychotherapy appointments, she is diagnosed as having delusions of grandeur as well as having obsessive compulsive disorder. The doctor had noted that Iona’s delusions had names, the first being Hetty. The second delusion was Rose Mary who Iona believed was another patient on her ward, although the notes indicate there was no such person. The documents detail Iona’s obsession with counting and they detail the therapies she was treated with, namely the hydrotherapy baths. The hydrotherapy is notated as working to calm Iona’s nerves. The notes state that she was involved, or had several scuffles with, another patient that ultimately got her placed on different ward, one that was more strict.” Dr. Saul shuffled the papers and adjusted his glasses before continuing.
“She was employed at the facilities barn, working with the horses, and initially appears to do well in the position. Then Dr. Macy receives complaints that Iona is disturbing the other patients, he notes that she has become violent and has even resorted to theft. As a result, it is decided that at night-time her wrists must be shackled to her bed posts and her room remain locked so that she cannot get out. He describes her room and personal hygiene as grave. She sleeps in her own fecal matter and urine, no longer brushes her hair or washes. The doctor has a notation that he is considering other forms of therapy such as insulin shock therapy or skull drills. The doctor notes that six months after her admittance, she falls gravely ill and is in quarantine for five days. She is diagnosed with the flu and taken care of in the infirmary. Then she disappears along with his horse. The last note indicates that several search parties were sent to locate the patient but that she was never found.”
Dr. Saul closed the manila envelope with Iona’s records and sipped his coffee. “The field of psychiatry has obviously advanced in the last century. Dr. Macy’s definition and understanding of delusions of grandeur may have been a blanket diagnosis for a wide range of illnesses. However, because he describes her hallucinations in great detail, we can infer that she was schizophrenic. She didn’t have some of today’s classic symptoms that we look at when diagnosing a person with delusions of grandeur, in other words from what I can tell she didn’t have fantastical beliefs about herself. She didn’t think she was a queen with great wealth, or that she was all powerful. It’s possible she had bipolar disorder that went undiagnosed. I say this because the images she saw are described as coming and going. If she were in a manic state for instance, she would have been more likely to see them. Does that make sense?”
“It sounds like Jenna.” I said.
“It certainly helps to have these records. Now we know for certain there is a genetic component. Unfortunately, because it was so long ago we don’t have treatment options to use as a guide.”
“What about the hydrotherapy? Is that still used today?” Camille inquired.
“When we think of hydrotherapy today we envision nice relaxing baths and calming music. However, back in the early 1900s the baths were altered based on the patient’s constitution. In other words, if a patient was lethargic and unresponsive to any other therapy, they were treated with stimulating sprays or submerged for hours in ice filled tubs. Some institutions practiced a procedure that involved wrapping the patient like a mummy in soaked towels and then submerging them in water. They were strapped tightly to the tub and blasted with high jet streams of water. Conversely, if a patient was hyperactive, they were given warm baths and often kept in the water for days at a time in order to subdue them. Today all of this has been replaced with psychiatric medications which I believe work better and are more humane for the patient.”
“It’s hard to imagine my grandmother enduring such cruel treatment.”
“Yes, I understand. However, doctors back then did their best to implement therapies that they believed worked. They didn’t think they were in the dark ages, but using the most modern advances to help treat patients.”
“Where do we go from here with Jenna? The ECT doesn’t seem to be having much of an impact.”
“We have to give it more time. Some patients take longer to react to the therapy and Jenna may be one of them. Have you discussed the half-way house situation yet?”
“Yes, briefly. It’s difficult to imagine Jenna being under someone else's care when she could be at home with us.”
“I understand. The house I have in mind for Jenna is located in Cazenovia. It is a co-ed facility for adolescents and has two full time chaperones with nursing degrees that reside there. There are eight children residing there with four aides at all times. There is twenty-four hour care by professionals. If you want to set up a tour you may do so. Here is the phone number and the contact person.” He handed us a piece of paper with the information scrawled across the top.
“We will do that.”
“For the rest of the week we will continue our current course of action and reassess her situation as necessary. We will get her stabilized before we make any big moves.”
When Camille and I came home Marlin was making phone calls of her own to the Mental Health Agency. She was interested in obtaining her grandmother, Cat’s records. She desperately needed information on the woman, and thought it might help her nephew as well. Records were not released unless there was a doctor who requested them so Marlin put calls into her brother, Dave’s, ex-wife. Their relationship was estranged but she prayed that the call would be returned.
In the meantime we prepared a list of questions for our meeting with Jon Crispin. Jon was the photographer who cataloged the suitcases that were found in storage after the Willard Asylum for the Insane closed in 1995 due to budgetary constraints. Our research indicated that the suitcases were found by a former employee who was tasked with emptying the old buildings of their contents. The woman, Beverly Courtwright, opened a door to the attic of one of the back buildings and found among the cobwebs and debris, racks of possessions and suitcases belonging to former patients.
Beverly contacted a curator at the New York State Museum and told him of her discovery. The curator, Craig Williams, then oversaw the collection of more than four hundred suitcases. The contents of each case were cataloged, and photographed. Then they were stabilized and placed in a collection at the museum.
It was not only possible, but probable, that if Iona ran away her belongings were left behind. While Jon’s exhibit only included a small number of suitcases, he had access to the rest.
When the day of the exhibit arrived we went early to Ithaca. We had lunch at the Ithaca Bakery and did a quick tour of Cornell University. Camille, Marlin, and I met with Jon an hour before his presentation.
“Thank you for meeting with us, Jon. We have obtained records for our family member, Iona, and we are praying her suitcase may be among the ones in your exhibit.”
“Unfortunately, it isn’t in my exhibit, I only have six with me today. However, the name rings a bell. Mind you I photographed over four hundred suitcases, I seem to recall the name Iona. If you have time today, after the exhibit I will call Craig Williams and have him check our records. If the suitcase was left behind, he would be the man to talk to.”
“May we have it back, I mean if it’s there?”
“I am not sure, you’d have to discuss that with Craig. Right now they are the property of the museum, but I suppose if you can prove it belongs to your family member, there is always the possibility they will release it to you.”
“Wow. What an incredible discovery.”
“You can say that again. It’s been a humbling journey. I think it’s incredibly important to share the collection of photographs with a wider audience in order to understand the human side of the disease of mental illness,” Jon said.
“I agree, maybe it will help shed light on mental illness and how far we have come to understand it.”
“Yes, and how far we still need to go,” Camille added.
The presentation Jon gave was educational and well done. To gaze upon the belongings of people admitted to Willard Asylum and to learn about their life histories was thought provoking.
The dignity with which the time capsules were preserved was a testament to Jon and the interns that handled the contents. The suitcases differed greatly in their contents, offering a glimpse into the mind of the troubled patient who lived during a time when being different meant being isolated. Of tremendous interest was what the patient packed, or had packed for them. What the cases had inside described the patients more fully than any medical records could. Jon described the contents of several suitcases as examples. For instance there was the woman who did beautiful needlework. There was the obsessive compulsive man whose notebook contained every single railway station in the United States. There was the gay military man and the leather worker. Most troubling was that the full names of the patients could not be revealed. This brought up the question as to whether or not this stigmatized the patients and their families further.
Jon opened the floor for discussion. He started by saying that ‘normal’ can be a relative term. Depending upon when and where you were born and who your family was. The discussion that ensued delved heavily into the subjective nature of what defines a human being as being mentally ill and then how they must be treated. The historical treatment of mental illness, and the use of restraints, along with sedatives and hypnotic agents in the past versus the medicated climate we live in today was examined. We discussed the ideology of the Prozac nation, and the fact that as a society we were taking more and more pills to cure our problems. There were no right or wrong answers to the questions posed during the discussion, but it did serve to bring attention to the plight of mental illness.
After the discussion Jon called Craig and we scheduled a meeting with him for the end of the week. We would travel to Albany and be taken to the viewing room of collection.
Chapter Twenty- Seven
Suitcases
We arrived in Albany and went directly to the museum. Craig Williams set aside time so that he could personally meet with us and escort us to the suitcase collection. We were taken into a storage room that contained numerous shelves of musty smelling luggage. There were cases of all shapes and sizes. Some were in mint condition with straps and buckles that remained in working order. Others looked to be falling apart. As Craig directed us to the far right corner of the room, the ghostly remains of all that surrounded me sent a shiver down my spine.
