January First: A Child's Descent Into Madness and Her Father's Struggle to Save Her

by Michael Schofield

“She believed you were a hit man for the Mafia, Dad, and that you had a million dollars stashed away in a Singapore bank.”

  “Well, she certainly had some strange ideas, but I can’t say whether she was mentally ill or what kind of mental illness she might have had.”

  “Is there anyone else in our family you can think of?”

  “Not off the top of my head. Nothing like what you’re describing.”

  “Wasn’t there someone in our family who committed suicide?” I ask, annoyed. Getting my father to talk about our past is like pulling teeth.

  “My cousin,” Dad replies. “Peg’s son.” Peg is my great-aunt and our last surviving relative from Australia, where I was born. “He hung himself.”

  “How old was he?”

  “In his fifties.”

  “Was he ever diagnosed with anything?”

  “Schizophrenia,” Dad answers.

  I let the word hang there for a moment. Not what I wanted to hear.

  “So there was someone in our family with schizophrenia,” I say.

  “Well, I don’t know that he really had it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He got the diagnosis after he was arrested for stealing a car. I think he probably convinced them he was schizophrenic to avoid going to jail.”

  “That doesn’t mean he didn’t have it.”

  “I spent a lot of time with him when we were growing up. He came down to Sydney back in the sixties, supposedly to find a job, which he never did. I talked to him a lot, and he only ever brought up being schizophrenic when he got into some kind of trouble with the law. He just didn’t want to work. Basically, Michael, he was a bum. Honestly, I think he finally killed himself because life was too hard.”

  That is what I am afraid of. Life is hard for Janni, too.

  I hang up the phone and get out of the car when I see Janni starting to wander around the park, obviously bored. I have to get over there and keep her engaged. I have nowhere else to go with her, and I sure as hell won’t take her home yet.

  I step onto the soccer field and instantly my feet disappear under a thin layer of muddy water. I didn’t realize it was this deep. Water is running over the tops of my shoes and soaking my feet. I start to lift my opposing foot to walk forward, but the mud grabs at my feet.

  Janni looks over and sees me coming. “Daddy, come play with me!”

  Walking through the mud is very difficult. My steps are getting more deliberate.

  “Daddy, come on!” Janni is getting impatient.

  “I’m coming!” I call, still plodding. This is hard, tiring work. I realize I am breathing heavily from the effort. I stop for a moment to catch my breath.

  “Daddy, are you coming?”

  Of course I’m coming. I glance back at the car in shock. I’ve only gone about fifty feet. Janni is still more than a hundred feet away.

  I take another step, then another. It takes everything I have to pull my feet free of the mud and move them forward.

  I stop again, needing to rest. I look up at Janni and it is like I haven’t moved at all. Every few steps, I have to catch my breath. It dawns on me that something is wrong.

  You just swallowed half of a Risperdal tablet, I remember.

  No, I think, dismissing the thought. This can’t possibly be the Risperdal. I only swallowed a little bit and that was just a few minutes ago. It can’t possibly have kicked in yet.

  “Daddy!” Janni calls. “I want you to come play with me.”

  I lift my leg and then realize I am too tired to take another step. I have an intense urge to just lie down and go to sleep.

  Janni watches me. Even from here I can see the look of concern on her face. “Daddy? Are you okay?”

  I manage one more step and the effort wipes me out. This can’t possibly be the Risperdal. It’s a kid’s dosage and I’m five times her weight, yet Janni took the same dose and she’s fine.

  “I’ll be right there, sweetie,” I call. “Just go back to playing and I’ll be right there.”

  “But I want you,” she whines.

  “I’ll be right there,” I yell. It is all I can do to keep standing up.

  Janni sullenly turns away.

  “Fine. I’ll play with 24 Hours instead.” 24 Hours is a girl, the first human imaginary friend Janni has created. Janni has no human friends anymore. She runs off through the playground, climbing the equipment, yelling out to 24 Hours. I look down at my own body, which suddenly feels hundreds of pounds heavier, then up at Janni. This is impossible. I know one of Risperadal’s side effects is sedation, yet it hasn’t had any sedative effect on Janni. She is still running around. No one would know she’s on any medication at all.

  CHAPTER NINE

  January 2008

  I have to teach at 8 A.M., so I’m speeding, weaving in between slower cars, when Bodhi starts crying in the back. I know my driving is scaring him, but I don’t have a choice. I’ll still be late to CSUN, and the class is only fifty minutes long.

  I’m driving Bodhi to Susan’s old roommate, Jeanne, which I do every weekday morning now. I was offered these classes last September, three months before Bodhi was born, and I took them without hesitation. I only graduated with my MA nine months ago and already I get enough classes at CSUN that I don’t need to be one of the “freeway flyers,” part-time college instructors who have to shuttle from college to college to pick up enough classes to pay the bills. Taking these early-morning classes the more senior instructors don’t want is how I’ve achieved that. But that was before Janni became violent.

  Susan and I both wake up before dawn. While I shower and shave, she gets Bodhi dressed and packs his diaper bag. This way when Janni wakes up in the morning, Bodhi won’t be there and Susan won’t have to lock the door, keeping Bodhi inside with her, while she takes a shower.

  I pull into the driveway of Jeanne’s house. Leaving the car running, I detach Bodhi’s car seat from its holder and carry him to the front door. I put him down on the front stoop, ring the bell, and race back to the car to retrieve his stroller.

  Jeanne opens the front door, still in her nightgown. “Hi, little man,” she coos, bending down to pick Bodhi up out of his car seat. I stand in the driveway with the stroller, watching them. I’m glad Susan doesn’t have to see Bodhi leaning against Jeanne like she is his mother.

  She turns to me. “Hi, Michael.”

  “Open the trunk of your car so I can put his stroller in the back” is my response. In the back of my mind, I know I am being brusque, rude even, but I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to think. If I think, I will have to deal with feelings I don’t have time for right now.

  Jeanne goes into her house to retrieve her car keys. “How are things? How is Janni?”

  “The same,” I answer quickly, unlocking her trunk and loading in Bodhi’s stroller.

  “Doesn’t the doctor have any ideas?” she asks, bouncing Bodhi up and down in her arms.

  “She wants Janni to see a neurologist,” I answer, “to rule out any brain damage. Because so far the antipsychotics aren’t working.”

  “I can’t believe she is on antipsychotics,” Jeanne replies, shaking her head in dismay.

  I slam the trunk closed. “Are you okay for diapers?”

  “Uh, I think so.”

  “Okay, I’ll be back to pick him up at twelve-thirty.” I get back in the car and back out of the driveway.

  I floor the acclerator, racing down the street, away from my six-week-old son. I didn’t say or kiss good-bye to Bodhi. I never do. I can’t even bring myself to look at him when I leave, because I am afraid if I do, if I see his eyes meet mine, I will collapse into a blubbering mess. Jeanne has a daughter, too, Lauren, who’s a year younger than Janni. Every time I return to get Bodhi, Lauren is sitting over Bodhi, talking to him, playing with him, and making him laugh. I’d never heard him laugh until I brought him here. I watch them together and it hurts. Lauren is like the big sister Janni was supposed to be.

  THE
EEG TECH puts the first conductor on Janni’s forehead and she immediately pulls it off.

  “Janni, you have to leave that on,” I order her.

  “It’s cold,” she complains.

  “That’s just the gel they put on to increase the conductivity of the electrical activity in your brain. I know it’s cold, but it will warm up to your body temperature very quickly.”

  “I won’t do it,” Janni replies.

  “Janni, don’t you want to see what your brain waves look like? It will be like seeing your own thoughts!”

  “No.” Janni gets up out of her chair and moves for the door.

  I grab her.

  “If she is not going to be able to do this today,” the tech says, holding dozens of electrical wires in her hand, “we could reschedule to a day where she’s in a better mood.”

  “This is always her mood,” I say irritably, thinking, Why the hell do you think we are here? “There isn’t going to be a better day.”

  “In order to get an accurate reading,” the tech replies, “I need her to sit perfectly still. Even the slightest movement can affect the readout.”

  “For how long?” I ask.

  “Ideally, about thirty minutes.”

  I exhale, frustrated.

  “There is no way she’s going to sit still for thirty minutes.” I had hoped this dumb woman would help me by engaging Janni, teaching her about the EEG machine and what she is doing, but she’s not making any effort at all. I have no patience anymore for anyone who can’t help me with Janni.

  “If you don’t think she can do it awake, we can put her under anesthesia.”

  “Can we do that now?” I ask hopefully.

  The tech shakes her head. “No. That would have to be done at a hospital.”

  “Janni, do you want to go to the hospital?” Susan asks, making me jump. I’d actually forgotten she was here. Not that it makes any difference. It might as well just be me. I am the only one who can get Janni through this. I’ll teach her, be silly, do whatever I have to do.

  “No,” Janni answers.

  “Then come on,” I urge her. “Let’s get through this.”

  It takes twenty minutes just to get the electrodes on Janni’s head. She keeps complaining they are cold and trying to take them off, but I hold both her hands in mine and keep talking to her, trying to teach her about EEG machines and brain waves.

  Finally, every electrode is on.

  “See, Janni? I told you it doesn’t hurt.”

  “I want them off!”

  “Just keep focused on me,” I tell her. “Focus on my eyes.”

  “Okay,” the tech says. “Try to hold perfectly still.”

  Janni shifts in the chair and, pulling one of her hands free from mine, reaches up for the wires going into her head.

  I quickly grab hold of her hands to prevent her from pulling off the electrodes.

  “Are you getting it?” I ask the tech, not taking my eyes of Janni.

  “She needs to not move,” the tech replies.

  “Janni, just hold still, okay?”

  “I want to get out!” she cries, trying to twist free of me.

  I feel for her. Even a normal kid would have a hard time sitting for an EEG, let alone Janni. But we need answers, some explanation for her violence.

  “Just hold on, Janni,” I repeat calmly. “Do you want to see what your brain waves look like?”

  Janni nods.

  “She can’t move her head,” the tech says sharply.

  “If she can see them she might stay still,” I reply, increasingly pissed off with this tech.

  Janni turns her head to see the readout, allowing me to look, too. There are eight lines, all moving at different speeds.

  “Those are your brain waves,” I say to Janni.

  Janni turns back, which frustrates me. I would have expected her to be fascinated by this. Every time she moves, several of the lines on the screen jump wildly.

  “I want to go,” Janni says again. “Please get me out of this.”

  I sigh, losing hope. “Are you able to get anything?” I ask the tech.

  “Let me go ask the doctor and see what he wants to do.” The tech leaves.

  While she’s gone, in between trying to keep Janni from pulling her electrodes out, I watch the screen, trying to see if I can identify something unusual, like one wave jumping wildly. But they are all pretty much the same.

  The tech comes back. “The doctor said it would be nice to get thirty minutes, but we don’t need it. If she can just sit still for two minutes, that will be enough to get her baseline.”

  Hope rises again. “Did you hear that, Janni? Just two minutes. You can do two minutes.”

  I count down from one hundred and twenty. When Janni moves after ninety seconds, I want to scream. We were so close!

  “Janni! We only had thirty seconds to go!”

  “I want to get out!” she cries.

  The tech starts to remove the electrodes. “We’re done,” she says.

  I slump, dejected. “So we’re going to have to do the hospital.”

  The tech shakes her head. “No, I think we’ve got enough to at least get a sense if there’s anything abormal.”

  “Is there?” Susan asks, again reminding me she’s actually here.

  “The doctor needs to analyze the printout.”

  “Can he do that today?” I ask.

  “He can’t today.”

  I am so frustrated. I want to know. No, I need to know. I don’t know how many more times I can take holding Janni down during one of her rages, looking into her eyes, and seeing something else other than my daughter. I need to know what that “something else” is. Then I need to know how to stop it.

  TWO WEEKS LATER we go back to the neurologist to get the results of the EEG.

  Everything is normal.

  I can’t believe it. I am so desperate for answers that I would actually have been relieved if I’d been told she had a tumor. I will accept any explanation for the violence. But still no one has one.

  “Janni wasn’t able to sit still for very long. Are you sure you got enough?” I ask, prepared to do it again, putting Janni under general anesthetic this time.

  The neurologist shakes his head. “We got what we needed. The point was to look for anything abnormal, and there isn’t anything.”

  I am devastated. We’re back to square one.

  “So do you have any idea what is causing her behavior?” I ask weakly.

  “You need to go back and talk to Dr. Howe,” he replies. “We’ve ruled out physical causes. It’s not for me to say anything else.”

  I persist. “Consider it a second opinion.”

  The neurologist watches Janni bounce around his office, unable to sit still, picking up things and throwing them. “Honestly, I think it’s ADHD.”

  ADHD? That’s supposedly what I had. Why I was on the Ritalin.

  I’d always believed that I didn’t need it, that I was given it simply because my mother couldn’t handle me. But I’m not so sure anymore. I take Lexapro, which is an antidepressant. I’ve tried different antidepressants for years, but none of them worked until Lexapro. Maybe that was because my depression didn’t manifest as sadness.

  I got angry … just like Janni.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Early February 2008

  We’re on our way to Pump It Up, an indoor play area in Woodland Hills, a half-hour drive away and a good test to see if Janni and Bodhi can ride in the same car while she’s on her new Ritalin medication.

  As usual, as soon as we start driving, Bodhi starts crying, but this time, Janni doesn’t react. It’s like she doesn’t hear him crying. We still have her in the front passenger seat next to me, while Susan rides in the back next to Bodhi.

  When we get to the play area, I am shocked to see only babies and toddlers.

  “Where are the kids Janni’s age?” I ask Susan.

  Susan is settling down with Bodhi, preparing to feed him.
/>   “It’s a school day,” she replies.

  I feel a pang of pain in my heart. I’d forgotten that Janni should be in school by now. Janni’s peers are growing up, while Janni appears to be stuck. The world is moving on without her, I think sadly, remembering my image of her as a shut-in.

  I don’t expect Janni to last long at the play area. I figure if we get an hour we will be doing well. To my shock, Janni starts helping the younger kids climb into the tunnels or into the ball pit. She’s interacting with other kids!

  The Ritalin is the answer to our prayers, a miracle drug. Not only is her violence gone, but here she is, busy helping the younger children. I haven’t seen her be nice to another child since she was a toddler herself, and now here she is, holding their hands, taking them back to their mothers when they get scared, reassuring them. She is suddenly the big sister I always hoped she would be.

  Every so often she runs back to us, but instead of talking about her imaginary friends, she talks about the other children, giving us their names and how old they are.

  She is talking a mile a minute. She has always been a fast talker, but this is even faster.

  I have read up on Ritalin, just as I have on Risperdal. Like all ADHD drugs, it’s supposed to calm a child down. The fact that it is winding Janni up can mean only one thing: Janni doesn’t have ADHD.

  “She’s very wound up,” I say to Susan after Janni runs back to play with the toddlers. “It’s like she’s high.”

  “But at least she’s not being violent,” Susan replies. “I would rather her be high and happy than unhappy and violent.”

  I agree. So Ritalin makes our daughter high as a kite. At least she’s happy and the violence is gone.

  AFTER A FULL day of playing at Pump It Up, we get into the car and drive home. I start to think my original belief was correct: The source of Janni’s rage is a disconnect between her brilliant mind and her young body. It’s been making her depressed, and that makes her become violent. The Ritalin makes her high, thereby taking away the violence.

  It is early evening and traffic is heavy. Bodhi starts to cry. Given that she didn’t scream at him when he cried on the drive here, I am taken by surprise when Janni suddenly screams at him to be quiet.