The doctor in Louisville had described Iris’s breakdown as a brief reactive psychosis. He also added that it could be a possible bipolar disorder onset. But Iris had no history of bipolar disorder. I had ordered a number of books on the topic and had started to read them. She did not have many of the symptoms of bipolar disorder. She had anxieties and worries about Christopher, which was natural for a mother.
In my reading research about mental illness, one book specifically mentioned that a mood stabilizer such as lithium or Depakote should be added and taken together with antidepressants. I had wondered why the doctor had not prescribed a mood stabilizer for Iris when she was taking Celexa. Several days before Iris’s suicide, the last doctor she saw finally did prescribe Depakote in addition to Celexa, but it was too late.
Because Iris did not want us to disclose her condition to our relatives and friends, I began actively looking into the national and local support groups for mental illness. I immediately joined the local chapter of NAMI (National Alliance for the Mentally Ill) of Santa Clara County. I also learned that there was a local support group for bipolar disorder that met regularly at the Stanford Psychology Department building. Even though I did not believe Iris was so-called “bipolar,” I was eager to learn what bipolar disorder was and how it could be treated and cured, as I did not want to rule out any possibility of helping her.
I told Iris about the support group with high hopes and asked her to come to the meeting with me. At first she refused, but after much urging she finally agreed. That was on Wednesday, October 6. We drove to Palo Alto and found the Stanford Psychology building in front of the fashionable Stanford Shopping Center. It turned out the group was a self-help organization, formed entirely of bipolar patients, and had nothing to do with Stanford University or its clinic. The organization borrowed the room from Stanford. The only connection to Stanford was the organizer, who was being treated by the famous bipolar expert at Stanford, the psychiatrist who had been recommended by the doctor in Louisville.
It was not a pleasant experience. First of all, the organizer and another co-organizer described that they both had bipolar disorder. They were being treated with numerous psychiatric drugs, a total of six or seven at a time, and finally they’d had to stop all medication “cold-turkey” in a hospital under supervision and start all over again. This was definitely sending a chill down our spines. Then the other patients, one by one, described their symptoms and the drugs they were taking. Essentially they were comparing notes, but they were prohibited from quoting or commenting on their doctors. My original intention in going to this meeting was to get a possible idea of how to cope with Iris’s depression. But what we got were horror stories from each patient. It seemed that every one of them took several different drugs simultaneously on a trial basis, and the conclusion was that none of them worked very well. It was a totally disappointing meeting.
At the meeting, even though Iris was depressed, she was the most alert among all the people in the room, and she asked a lot of very logical questions. When we came out from the meeting, Iris told me that she felt bad that all of the people there were like “zombies,” and she was appalled to learn that a doctor would prescribe so many drugs which did not help them in any concrete way. She vowed to me on the way to the parking lot that she would never come to this kind of group meeting again and she was going to stop taking her medication from that moment on.
I was very much regretting taking her to this support group meeting, and the result was completely the opposite of what I had anticipated. That night, I was very agitated and depressed myself. I felt a melting-down sensation from my shoulders on down, and I could barely breathe. I thought maybe I was in the throes of an anxiety attack. I felt fearful and hopeless because I couldn’t help Iris.
Iris tried to spend as much time as possible with Christopher because he would be leaving for Illinois soon. She pushed him in the stroller and walked with us on the levee. I could see that her heart was struggling with so much emotion.
On Saturday, October 9, we got up at 5 A.M. and went to see Christopher off for the early flight to Illinois. The taxi van was waiting in front of their house. It was still dark. Christopher was pulled out of his warm bed and was half awake and did not know what was going to happen. Iris got up early and stood there watching as Brett moved suitcase after suitcase and handed them to the taxi driver to load into the van. Luann and Ken packed most of Christopher’s clothes, toys, books, his favorite blanket, and so forth in several big bags. The luggage completely filled the back part of the van. Iris stood there without any expression. She seemed to be trying to insulate herself from the sorrow of the scene. Finally, after Brett put Christopher in the car seat in the back with Luann, he got into the front seat next to the driver. Iris walked around the van to the other side where Christopher was sitting. She gave Christopher a big hug and then she gently touched his face with her soft hands. She stroked his face up and down a few times. She did not cry; neither did Christopher. Finally, the car engine started and the van disappeared in the dark morning mist.
We returned home and tried to get some sleep, but I could not. I went to see Iris in her house. With all the people suddenly gone, she was the only one in the house, and I felt I needed to be with her.
The next day was Sunday, and with Christopher and everyone gone, Iris and I were taking a walk on the levee. It was a bright, sunny day. She was quiet as we walked. While we walked, I stared at our two shadows projected on the trail, moving right along with our steps. There was no other sound, just that from our footsteps. She did not want to talk; she was silent, immersed in her own thoughts.
Several days earlier, Brett had found a psychiatrist, Dr. C, referred by one of their friends. At first, Dr. C did not want to accept Iris as a patient right way. After I learned that from Brett, I immediately called Dr. C and told him that Iris was the author of The Rape of Nanking; that impressed him; he promised to see her right away. On Monday, October 11, Iris was going to see Dr. C for the first time. Brett asked us to take Iris to see the doctor since he would still be in Illinois and could not make it, so Shau-Jin and I accompanied her to Dr. C’s office.
In the office, I handed to Dr. C my summary report of Iris in Louisville and the current update on Iris. This was the third time in two months that I had handed this report to a psychiatrist. Dr. C told us very frankly that his policy with patients and their family members was complete openness. He stressed that any discussion should be in front of patients. If we sent him e-mails, copies should be addressed to the patient too. I could sense that Dr. C wanted to win his patient’s trust by using this open policy. Looking back, I doubt that this open policy was good in Iris’s case, because we could not discuss and tell Dr. C privately information about Iris that was vital for her mental health. Dr. C did not know that Iris did not trust doctors in general and was not willing to disclose her innermost thoughts to them, rendering him unable to properly treat or diagnose her.
I was living with Iris until Brett got back from Illinois on Tuesday evening, October 12. On that day, I walked with Iris to her mailbox in her nearby post office, which only took twenty minutes. On the way there and back, I tried to get her mind off her worries. I asked her about the Lord of the Rings, the series of books that she and Michael had read and enjoyed when they were in high school, as a way of distracting her and perhaps taking her back to happy memories about her favorite pastime in the world, reading books. Iris was able to describe the complicated stories of the Hobbit and The Ring in great detail, including the names of the characters and the places and the plots. I was amazed that her mind was so clear.
After seeing Dr. C, Iris still maintained that she wanted to stop all the medications. Iris stopped taking Celexa on October 7, after the support group meeting. She told Dr. C on the phone that she would discontinue seeing him if he insisted on her taking medicine. As a compromise, Dr. C persuaded her to continue seeing him and then he would decide whether she could gradually decrease the dos
age of Risperdal. All of us told Iris that both the medication and the psychotherapy sessions were needed for a rapid recovery. If she didn’t want to take medication, then at least she should have psychotherapy sessions with a doctor. She agreed to continue seeing Dr. C. Looking back at what ended up happening, it was so ironic: Iris was the one who did not want to take the medication, whereas the rest of the family believed in doctors and thought the medication would help her.
Iris called Luann to ask about Christopher every day, sometimes twice a day. She talked to Luann for a long time on the phone, asking details of Christopher’s activities. She missed him greatly.
I was actively looking into exercise programs in a community center for Iris and myself, so we could go together every morning to exercise. I was told that the central San Jose YMCA had a good exercise program. On Friday, October 15, I asked Iris to go with me to check it out. At the beginning, she hesitated, but with my encouragement she went along with me. From our house to the YMCA was not far, about a twenty-minute drive. When we arrived at the YMCA, we went into the lobby. The clerk showed us their programs and allowed us to go in to check out the facility.
When we came out to the lobby, it was about noon and we were quite hungry. We found a tall, thin African man who was busy setting up food on a long table in the hallway. On the table was a sign which read “Free Food Tasting,” and on the other end another sign which read “Queen of Sheba Restaurant welcomes you.” We went up to the man and asked what that meant. He said he was the owner of the restaurant, which was just across the street from the YMCA. He came from Ethiopia, and the food on display was typical Ethiopian food, and it was free.
We could not believe our luck. This was the first time I could remember having a free lunch ever in my life. The food had just been cooked in the restaurant and brought in on the table. The steam with its distinct aroma from the exotic food made both Iris and myself salivate. We each took a plate and dished some food onto our plates. There was injera bread (similar to the Middle Eastern pita bread), black and red bean casseroles or stews, hard-boiled eggs in a special sauce, and some meat dishes and white rice. All the dishes were delicious. We could not believe the owner of the restaurant was so generous. Iris and I sat down at the small table and chairs they set up for the event and enjoyed the meal. I had never had Ethiopian food in my whole life. I found the food delicious and could not believe such exquisite food came from a country so torn by conflict and war.
I saw the satisfactory expression on Iris’s face also. This was the first time she had enjoyed food wholeheartedly since she had returned from Louisville. When we finished the meal and went out to the parking lot, we looked at each other and burst out laughing. This was our usual behavior when we came across unexpected good luck. This kind of facial expression only occurred when both of us were completely happy and satisfied.
This was the last—and one of the most memorable—moment we had together in the final period of her life. I knew she enjoyed life, she loved life. Here was the daughter I knew. Unfortunately, she did not get the chance to experience more of this joy in her life. I am saddened whenever I think about her laughter on that day.
When we came home, I helped Iris sort her papers for donation to the Hoover Archives and other institutes. In the process, Iris told me that I was the best mom in the world. I could not stop my tears whenever she said that to me!
That day was a remarkable, memorable day, but then things deteriorated rapidly.
On Monday, October 18, Iris saw Dr. C, and later we learned from Iris that Dr. C agreed with her: she could decrease the Risperdal to 0.8 mg from 1 mg, and the dosage would be decreased gradually over a period of time. That meant that Dr. C thought Iris was getting better. We did not know what Iris told Dr. C in the psychotherapy sessions twice a week. We learned later, after she died, that Iris had never disclosed her innermost thoughts to Dr. C, who told us at the funeral that Iris had misled him.
Every day, Shau-Jin and I had a routine walk with Iris on the levee. She always told us that she had much unbearable pain, which I assumed was mental pain but not physical pain. I just could not envision it while she described it to us with such anguish. I wished so much that I could relieve her pains by sharing them with her. She also told me that sometimes she felt she was being smothered, as if she was drowning in the ocean. Only later, I realized that the excruciating pain she described could have been induced by the medication she was taking—a serious side effect of the antidepressant after its withdrawal (see Epilogue).
The morning of Thursday, October 21, when I went to see her, she was very unhappy and complained that I was following her too closely. I found she had not eaten well the night before, so I suggested going out for lunch. We drove to a nearby restaurant. In the parking lot, when she stopped the car, she sat there and told me without any expression that she wanted to cry but had no tears. Her face was greenish and in a horrible depressed state. At this time, she had already mentioned that she did not want to live anymore. I also noticed that her arm and leg movements and facial expression were rigid. And it seemed even worse that she wanted to cry but had no tears. Back then, I did not suspect that all these symptoms could be the serious side effects of the medication.
In the afternoon, she came to ask her dad to make a series of duplications of her photos on DVD on his computer. She said she wanted to send them to the archives. We did not suspect at the time, but in retrospect she might have already prepared for her final destiny.
Shau-Jin and I were quite worried that day, so we called Brett and went over to their house. The four of us talked. We told Iris that she should not harm herself. We tried not to use the word “suicide” for fear it would give her the idea or confirm her already-dark thoughts. She did not answer. That night I knew it was a very dangerous and critical time, but I was in despair and did not know what to do. I wanted to write to Dr. C and tell him about Iris’s suicidal thoughts, but I was afraid that he would insist that I send a copy of my e-mail to Iris as he believed in a policy of openness with his patients. I hesitated and did not e-mail him.
Over the weekend I called Iris and Brett, but they weren’t home. I didn’t know what Iris was doing. Out of desperation, finally on Sunday evening, October 24, I gathered my courage and mailed my e-mail to Dr. C. I told Dr. C that Iris had told us that part of her wanted to live, but another part of her wanted to die. She said this occasionally, but on Thursday she mentioned it several times, and I had to do something.
Then Dr. C noticed that my e-mail did not have Iris’s e-mail address and returned it to me. He lectured me that he did not wish to communicate without Iris’s knowledge and wanted me to re-send my e-mail to him and a copy to Iris. I had no choice and did so accordingly.
Brett also wrote to Dr. C the next morning and told him that Iris had been off the Celexa for more than two weeks now and only on Risperdal 0.8 mg and had become increasingly depressed. In the evening, Brett sent another e-mail to Dr. C, sending a copy to Iris and us, and said that Iris had been visiting Web sites like thefinalexit.org and other suicide and euthanasia Web sites. This really alarmed us a great deal.
In the evening, Dr. C called Iris at home and got no response, so he called us. We immediately went to their house and found that Iris and Brett had just come home from a walk. We told them that Dr. C had called and was quite concerned with Brett’s e-mail about Iris’s browsing some suicide Web sites, and he wanted to talk to Iris. Iris returned the call. On the telephone, Dr. C told Iris that she had two choices: either take the antidepressant Celexa or go to a hospital. Iris was stunned. She agreed to take the medication. But after she hung up the phone, she was very angry and told us we had betrayed her by reporting this to Dr. C.
Two days after she took 1 mg Risperdal and 5 mg of Celexa on Thursday, October 28, I took a walk with her in the morning and had lunch with her in her house. I tried to be with her all the time. I came home to rest for a while that afternoon. At 3:30 P.M., I called to check on her, and there was
no answer. I knew she should be alone at home and wondered why she was not answering, so I went to her house. She was not there, and her car was gone. I went upstairs to her office and found that the computer was on. I saw that she had last been browsing a Yahoo map, and that there was an address on the map. I immediately called Shau-Jin and asked him to search for that address. Shau-Jin called me back and said it was Reed’s Sporting Goods and the shop sold hunting equipment. I was alarmed and waited anxiously in Iris’s house for her to come home.
Finally, an hour later, she came home, looking somewhat uneasy. While she was making an excuse about cleaning the garage, I checked her purse in the living room. In her purse I found a safety manual for using a gun and a sheet on how to apply for a license to own a gun. I was terribly scared and went to the garage and confronted her about the gun safety manual. I asked her why she needed a gun. She was stunned and became very unnatural and said that she needed it to defend herself. In the meantime, Brett came home from work and Shau-Jin came to the house too. I told them about the incident. Brett calmly asked her why she needed a gun. We all told Iris that she was safe—she did not need a gun. Then Brett asked Iris to go outside for a walk.
I was very scared that night, but I still did not know the proper way to deal with the situation. Everyone thought I was always overly worried, but the fact that Iris was going to a gun shop was unthinkable! Nobody in our family had ever even handled a gun in our entire lives, not to mention owning a gun. This was completely out of character for Iris.
It should be noted that the day Iris visited a gun shop was the third day she had resumed taking Celexa, and September 21, when she’d made her first suicide attempt, was two days after she first took Celexa. I cannot help but thinking that there is a strong correlation between her taking the antidepressant Celexa and her suicide attempts.
The next day was Friday, October 29. In the morning when I went to see Iris, she did not want to see me. She apparently knew that I was checking on her very closely, and she wanted to distance herself from me.
Woman Who Could Not Forget Page 42
