by Kika Markham
‘With Annie [Castledine], with whom I had often worked, I began a correspondence that continued on and off throughout rehearsal.
‘She made me think about Lear… Absolute power has robbed him of the facility of imagination, the ability to see himself as others see him, or empathise with others. It has divorced him from his inner life, so that he has no soliloquy, no irony, no self-awareness. And only in and through catastrophe and madness, at great cost to others and himself, does he become human.’
The Guardian, Monday 17 January 2005
Kika’s diary
Friday 1 July 2005
A lovely message from Phil Quast, the actor and singer we both love and admire, and who, with Corin, ran weekly poetry readings against the Iraq war in the upstairs foyer of the National Theatre. I wish I could have called him back, but he’s in the Australian outback somewhere.
Today I told Corin what happened on 8 June. The press conference leading to the meeting at Basildon. Where he’d had the heart attack having become very emotional while giving the speech. He wrote it all down, said it was very helpful, read it back three times very accurately. At the moment he is not retaining the idea that he’s in hospital. He dutifully repeats it and has ‘learnt’ that he’s in the Heart Hospital. He wanted me to get ‘the script’ which was Macbeth. I couldn’t get the play on its own, so got the whole works, a large unwieldy volume, but he didn’t mind, and seemed to enjoy reading Macbeth. Earlier he was agitated. We went down to Raffles coffee shop with Arden and Petra. He was in the old pattern of anxiously worrying about rehearsing and schedules and plans etc. I realised I’d been there seven hours. I think it’s too long. Very, very, very depressed. Talked to Terry Waite. Cried to Marina Voikhanskaya, a Russian doctor who my father helped and who has stayed a friend of the whole family ever since. Russians understand suffering and never patronise. The one bright spot is Arden passing all the units in his second year at university. What a triumph!
At the end of June the biggest dilemma was the next stage of Corin’s treatment and what it should be. Was he too unstable to come home without nursing supervision? And had he possibly forgotten that he ever had a home? This was a horrible thought. We needed to get him to a place that could help restore the memory and begin to heal the psychological trauma he’d had. We didn’t understand at that point that the brain was far too inflamed and swollen to be able to respond to a programme of rehabilitation. He needed ‘containment and re-orientation’ – something that had begun on a small scale with the occupational therapists at the Heart Hospital – and above all, time for the brain to heal itself.
We had heard that the best chance of appropriate treatment would be at the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery in Queen Square, Bloomsbury. An important factor was that a patient who has suffered brain injury, memory loss etc., will never want to go back into hospital once they have been home. Therefore, to bring him home too quickly could be very risky. I was cracking under the strain of guilt, and missing discussing all this with Corin. After researching and asking a lot of professionals what choices were open to us, we put all our hopes into the hospital at Queen Square. We were given an appointment with Dr Hickman on 4 July.
Tuesday 5 July 2005
Wake up, still feel terrible. Cry to anyone who is kind. Margot, Jim MacKeith, think I’m having a breakdown.
There is caviar, lemon, yoghurt, honey on Corin’s table from Vanessa. Lots of visitors. Roger Michell reads Macbeth with Corin.
Vanessa comes back with poached sea bass and broccoli that she’s cooked for Corin.
Later I take a Librium and stay awake all night.
Wednesday 6 July 2005
Upstairs in Corin’s room there are white peaches, an ice box, smoked salmon, yoghurt, mangoes, honey and a small pot of caviar. I feel a lot of support coming from Vanessa. In more ways than one. We all go to The Garden Café in Regent’s Park and sit in deckchairs while she tells Corin and I about Hecuba. Very peaceful. Later in the discussion with a family psychiatrist she defends me. We are struggling over the question of whether Corin comes home for a visit or not. Luke says it’s not about me but about Dad. Vanessa says it is absolutely about me. She holds my hand.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SUMMER 2005
Corin Comes Home
There were three choices open to us, two on the NHS, and one private. The Oliver Zangwill Centre for Neuropsychological Rehabilitation, run by Barbara Wilson, is a clinic in Ely, Cambridgeshire that is privately open to patients from outside the borough.
We went down to visit the team and liked the staff and head doctor, but in order to take part in the rehab programme, you had to live out in a B&B, come in every morning and look after yourself in the evenings, i.e. something that would demand a lot more independence than Corin had then. The Wolfson was nearest to us and also highly recommended, and then there was the National at Queen Square, Bloomsbury.
We tried the National first, but after an interview with Dr Hickman the medical team decided he was not suitable (for treatment with them) so we then sought an interview at the Wolfson. They wanted him to stay as an in-(house)patient with supervised home visits, which seemed dreadfully cruel. Later we understood the reason for this and paid the price for Corin being an outpatient, as the shorter hours meant he wasn’t able to have the eight-hour intensive rehabilitation needed to re-orientate him. We were still novices when it came to treatment of brain injury. All this time, Corin was still at the Heart Hospital, and it was becoming obvious that he needed more emotional and psychological help. We went back to Queen Square and waited until they were able to accept him as an in-patient. It was the only option open to us and we were relieved and grateful.
Thursday 7 July 2005
Corin had just moved into the hospital on 6 July when the catastrophic London bombs went off the very next day – one close by near Tavistock Square, which Corin must have heard. There was no transport anywhere so I walked to the hospital – the streets were full of walking silent people – no buses or taxis, just worried-looking people. I longed to be able to talk to Corin about what had happened but thought it would upset him, so I said nothing. When 9/11 happened I was in Northampton playing A Wedding Story by Bryony Lavery. I don’t know where C was but we rang each other every two hours – we thought it was the beginning of World War Three.
At first Corin seemed to settle down on the small comfortable ward with green curtains surrounding each bed and a small locker. But every morning he would wake, unsure which country he was in. Sometimes, he thought he was in Vienna, which was strange until I realised he’d been reading the Thomas Bernhard script Heldenplatz which we had had translated by Andrea Tierney and were both going to be in.
Tuesday 12 July 2005
I brought Corin a review of Pericles in The Independent. He read it.
‘It’s recent?’
‘Yes, do you remember it?’
‘Sort of.’
In the Raffles shop he says, ‘So it’s not on now?’
‘Yes it is. It’s still going on.’
‘Who’s going on for me?’
‘Mark Rylance, with the book.’
‘Well that’s an honour I suppose.’
I came to the hospital every day and we sat at the long refectory table for lunch with the tall arched windows looking out onto Queen Square. Corin was becoming sadder all the time. One of the activities we did together was to look at his ‘Get Well’ cards and start to answer them. He read them very carefully and was very touched by some, in particular Babar Ahmad’s card from Woodhill Prison. But soon he became restless and listless and very confused as to where he was – Italy?
The hospital says he could come home for a short visit with the family to see how it goes.
Kika’s diary
Friday 15 July 2005
Dreadful scary night. Fall asleep without sleeping pill at midnight and wake at 2.00 a.m. I am at the bottom of a lake. Unnamable sadness. Is it loneliness? Take pill. So app
rehensive about Corin coming home.
Saturday 16 July 2005
It’s Corin’s 66th birthday and he arrives home and is very pleased – relieved? – to see me. Hugs me for a long time. Seems happy to be in the kitchen and garden but he takes no notice of his surroundings. Looks at all of his cards very carefully. We go out in the garden.
I show him the apples growing well, but he shows little interest in them or the garden. Doesn’t go upstairs. Doesn’t stroke Mutchka our beloved cat and at 3.30 becomes restless and wants to go back to hospital. How terrible and sad. And a relief. The children suffer for him and want him to come home properly. I am torn between wanting to please them and feeling horribly afraid of having to look after him in this situation. He reveals so little of his dilemma. I suppose he cannot articulate it. After all, he still doesn’t believe he’s had a heart attack.
Mark Rylance sends Corin a lovely card:
Corin
Happy Birthday my old friend. Every day, every moment, every blink of the eye – A Birthday in your wide and universal life.
It was grand to see you and I got so much from our conversation about what it is that connects people. We talked of these days now being like the first rehearsal weeks of a new part, a new role for you. I’m so happy to be in this play with you. I sense you have been somewhere words can’t describe, but being with your patience and thoughtful nature gave me a feeling of it.
Lots of love and Happy Birthday.
Mark
Thursday 21 July 2005
Another bomb scare. All the stations are closed. Everyone walking. Went to Chiswick with Vanessa who gave me a lovely chicken salad with chutney, and jelly and cream! Corin rings sounding sad and frail. Says his session with the psychologist was hateful. I begin crying – again. Vanessa very kind and drives me back into London. Most of the roads are blocked off so I get out and walk to the hospital. When I get there I see Corin helping patients and visitors into taxis, gaily, acting as a doorman, ‘Have a good evening! Good night!’ It’s kind of sweet and scary at the same time. Brain injury causes disinhibition, which I intend to learn a lot more about. He wants to come home, and there is pressure from the family for him to stay the night, which makes me resentful. I’m frightened because I don’t know who he is any longer and what he might do. I don’t have enough medical knowledge to cope with another possible episode. As it happens, his psychologist says it will not be good for Corin to come home to stay at this point. It will only confuse him and he will not want to go back to hospital, and it will be impossible to continue his treatment. So the home visit is delayed.
Saturday 23 July 2005
Get to the hospital around 5 p.m. to find Corin fast asleep.
At supper the nurse wakes him and he becomes or is extremely depressed. ‘I’m falling apart’. We eat supper on the ward, cauliflower cheese, and do some replies to his cards. He does this very well, but loses interest. Wants to go home. Becomes distant and morose. Looks as if he wants to cry but can’t. I tell him these feelings are a sign of recovery. He has pain when rehearsing a part and but now it’s his life. It helps a bit but now we are both distressed. A walk round the square helps. The nurses are kind to me and hug me which makes me cry. Later blessed Vanessa rings.
Afternoon, Tuesday 26 July 2005
Watching the film in the ward. Corin and I both weeping, watching Emma Thompson and Alan Rickman in a Jane Austen movie. Luckily Harvey comes by and cheers us both up by showing us his diamond engagement ring for Jodie. ‘Ann’, one of the patients, is an expert on jewellery, particularly diamonds, studies it carefully and pronounces the carat. Delightful moment.
Wednesday 27 July 2005
The pain I feel now is the happiness I had before. That’s the deal.
C.S. Lewis
Terrible loneliness coming home on the tube. No one in the kitchen. No one in the garden. Jemma rings up and cancels coming over. About to drown in weeping. Have a whisky. Put a chicken in the casserole.
Friday 29 July 2005
When I come into the ward, Ann tells me that Corin was very agitated in the morning and told her to go to rehearsal to check her lines.
Apparently, they were doing Three Sisters – Corin said he didn’t need to look at his lines as he’d been understudying the play all his life!
Happiness comes when the family arrive and take Corin through the little park to local Italian trattoria Cosmoba. The waiters are very friendly and particularly love it when Vanessa, who speaks perfect Italian, orders the food and chats to them.
Sunday 31 July 2005
Lunch with Harvey and Jodie. It went well. Corin had a lovely sleep on their double bed. Then on to Vanessa in King Edward VII Hospital waiting for an operation. Vanessa looking wonderful in black retro dress of Joely’s, glasses and straight hair.
On leaving, Corin becomes VERY agitated and thought we were due to be at a production meeting with the director and others. He said later ‘I feel an awful fool.’
Monday 1 August 2005
Corin rings me from hospital at 8.00 a.m. and cries. My heart is breaking. How long can we go on like this?
Harvey rings to say he has proposed to Jodie – on the beach – and she has accepted!
Tuesday 2 August 2005
Corin rings to say he has packed for home and when am I coming to get him? I cannot convince him he’s in a hospital and must stay for treatment. ‘Well when are you coming?’
He has become, in the course of the morning, very angry and paranoid. His psychologist has tried to calm him but to no avail, and by the time I get there he refuses to sit anywhere and talk, even outside, because it is ‘dangerous’ and there is a state conspiracy to murder us, ‘we must get away.’
We walk round and round the little park, he refusing to go back to the hospital and gripping me tightly. Then he hails a taxi and pulls me in beside him. ‘We’re going home.’
The nurses are by this time gathered round and trying to get me out of the taxi. Corin is threatening violence to anyone who tries to stop us. I manage to tell the taxi driver to keep driving round the area for a bit. The driver realises what has happened and after a bit we end up at the hospital entrance again. By this time, two consultants are there and they ask Corin to come in and talk. They are calm and sympathetic but Corin is angry and won’t be pacified. They want to take him to the psychiatric wing upstairs, but Corin won’t get in the lift. I’m sure that one of us is going to have a heart attack or faint. Corin is very red in the face and convinced that they are State police. Eventually he comes with the doctors up to the fifth floor and we all have a cup of tea.
They explain to us that they will have to keep him in a closed ward for some weeks and monitor him, but this may be against his will.
Vanessa bravely says that she is prepared to take him home with her and to look after him.
They warn us that once out of hospital, Corin will never agree to come back again.
I couldn’t think what to do for the best. But I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him in a closed ward.
So that night, we take Corin back to Vanessa’s flat in Chiswick.
We give him some valium and put him to bed.
I, too, take a valium, but I don’t sleep. We have cut loose from all medical supervision or help. I am frightened.
Later, Dr B explains to Corin and me just how distressing memory loss is and how it can lead to mental breakdown. When in everyday life one feels lost or disturbed, or in a place we don’t recognise, we use reflective, self-monitoring memory to re-orientate ourselves back to reality.
But if we are unable to reflect or remember past events it is traumatic. We may not feel ‘normal’ but we don’t think we have gone mad – we don’t quite know (a few weeks ago Corin and I talked a lot about King Lear and Corin’s present situation) so we think that all the problems and danger are coming from the outside, the other people. You become paranoid and/or psychotic.
Corin was coping with cognitive difficulties, not phy
sical ones. As an actor he was very good at hiding these difficulties. Helping him adjust to what had been lost is part of the struggle that we all engaged in.
CHAPTER FIFTHTEEN
AUGUST 2005
Springfield
Two days after Corin moved in with Vanessa, I was door-stepped by the Daily Mail who wanted to know if my marriage was over as Corin was now living with her. Despite all my experience of the tabloid press, I’m afraid I was still shocked and distressed at the cynicism of it. ‘Is this why you wanted to become journalists?’ I shouted at them, ‘To increase people’s unhappiness? Even if you’re not ashamed, your mother would be…’ Oh dear. I should have lived in another century.
After a day of not being able to leave the house without them appearing from behind the privet hedge (there must have been very little happening in the news that week), I rang Harvey’s best friends Joe Edmonds and Tom Brind who lived nearby and asked if they could come over. This they did and guarded the house until the wretched scavengers retreated with no story to tell. Tom and Joe were the ‘men of the match’ that day and I will never forget their kindness to me.
The next three weeks were rather surreal. We all took turns staying at Vanessa’s so that one of us was always around in case of difficulties that might arise with Corin. He and I would walk along Chiswick Mall past the lovely Bedford House overlooking the river, where his family had lived for a time, and then to the Black Lion pub for lunch and watch the cricket.
