“Yeah, she has been worried about her work.”
“Has she complained about headaches more than usual?”
“You know she suffers from migraines, but I haven’t noticed anything different.”
“Has she been taking any medications or drugs of any kind?”
“No, nothing.”
He said he would have to see her to know more. We told the kids that Aunt Mia wasn’t feeling well and that we had to go back to check on her.
Will shot me a worried look. He had inherited Mia’s dark eyes and long lashes. I knelt down to reassure him, his wavy brown hair framing the concern on his face. He was just beginning to make the transition from child to teenager, and he had always been sensitive. “She’s going to be fine,” I promised him quietly.
It was a silent ride from the golf course to Celia’s place. Mark and I were deliberately not talking about the situation in front of the kids. She just needs to sleep, I kept repeating to myself in a state of bewildered shock.
Walking into the house, we saw Mia sitting at the kitchen table with Celia and Mark’s wife, Kim. Mark and I went over to join them while my father-in-law, Marcos, took the boys outside to join the other cousins playing in the pool.
“Hi, you guys,” Celia said as she saw us come in. “How was golf?” She was speaking like someone overacting in an attempt to sound normal. At any other time, Mia would have immediately noticed, but she only glanced up with a strange smile on her face. I was reminded of a person who has had too many drinks and sits there oblivious to the fact that everyone else knows she is drunk.
“It was fine,” said Mark, “really fun. What are you three doing?”
“Oh,” said Kim, “we’ve been spending time on the internet.” She was an experienced nurse and, like Mark, more poised than Celia and I. “Mia really wanted to know the details about the author of a book series she has been reading to her kids called The 39 Clues. But it turns out that there are several books in that series, all written by different authors.”
“Yes,” said Mia, looking at me with that odd smile, “but that’s just the cover story. Whoever wrote those books has the answer, I’m sure of it. It’s all starting to make sense.”
“Yeah,” said Celia, “Mia has been saying that a lot, that things are making sense. We’ve been taking notes, see?”
She handed me a piece of paper that was covered in scribbles. Most of the comments were in Mia’s handwriting, but Celia and Kim had added things, too:
The 39 Clues-track down the author and find the answer!—This was double underlined.
Doctors secretive, what are they hiding?—This wasn’t surprising, given what was happening at her work.
The bishop knows and must have sent the devil.—This last one was in small print, in Mia’s handwriting, and was clearly disturbing.
The whole sheet was covered by paranoid ravings. Mia was saying stuff that made absolutely no sense, but she adamantly believed it. The realization froze me in place as I stared at that damned piece of paper.
“Mia, I know you’re concerned about your work,” said Mark, gesturing toward the garage. “Why don’t you come outside, and we can talk about it?”
“Why would we go to the garage?” asked Mia, puzzled at the odd request.
“I want to get some air,” replied Mark. “Besides, it’s nice out.”
His last comment was ridiculous. It was September in South Florida. The temperature was about a million degrees with high humidity. But Mia didn’t ask any more questions; she followed Mark out the door. Celia turned to me.
“Holy shit!” She couldn’t hold it together anymore. “What the hell’s going on? Mia has gone crazy! You heard her. You saw her. It’s not normal!”
I felt darkness creeping in from all sides, like a nightmare where you sense a menacing presence in the space around you. Mia was so smart, her thoughts always so rational. This cannot be happening, I told myself, unable to tear my eyes from the page of demented notes.
“Did you hear me?” demanded Celia. “She’s been this way since we got here, talking about the people at her work being after her, and all of this crazy shit about the clues and the answer! Are you listening to me? Pat!”
Her shout jerked me back to reality, and I looked up from the paper. “I know, I know, it doesn’t make sense,” I said, my voice cracking. “Everything seemed fine last night, but when she woke up, she kept saying she was going to prison.”
“Yeah, no kidding. We just heard that about a hundred times!”
“I know, but she seemed fine after church. She was acting normal again. I’m telling you, she just needs to get some sleep.”
“Sleep! Can someone go crazy just because they haven’t slept at night?” asked Celia. “No, I’m not buying that! We used to pull all-nighters in college.”
“I’m not saying this is from missing one night of sleep. She’s been worried for weeks. She might not have slept for days.”
“But that’s not normal, Pat. When people get tired, they sleep. They don’t go crazy!”
“But people don’t just go crazy, Celia,” I countered. “What are you saying, that Mia has somehow come down with a case of schizophrenia?”
“I don’t know. I’m just so worried about her!”
“I’m worried, too,” I replied, my tone softening.
“Mark will figure it out,” interjected Kim.
As if on cue, Mark poked his head through the garage door. “Hey, Pat, why don’t you come out and join us?” he asked, his eyebrows drawn together in a solemn expression. It must have been how he appeared in the emergency room.
Stepping into the garage was like walking into a sauna. Rather than keep her car in there, Celia used the space for extra storage. All kinds of bikes, balls, and skateboards covered the floor and various shelves.
“Mia is really worried about work,” Mark said. “I was thinking maybe the two of you could take a walk and talk about it. She always feels more comfortable with you around.”
“Okay, sure,” I said, smiling uncomfortably. I could feel my blood pumping fast as I took Mia’s hand, leading her out of the garage and into the baking sunshine. She continued prattling on about work and clues and hidden messages. We meandered a couple of driveways down the street, but it was way too hot to be outside. I directed us back to Celia’s garage to get out of the sun. Mark had returned inside the house.
It was unsettling, to be walking so closely with the person I loved and to be so unnerved. I didn’t know how to act. Should I play along with her crazy rants, would that reinforce her behavior? Should I try to reason with her, even though that seemed pointless?
As we walked into the garage, Mia became more agitated. She was explaining to me about her work, and how they had started hiding cameras around the office weeks and probably months ago. Somehow this was connected to a secret clue hidden in these books that she had been reading to the kids.
“We need to figure out where the author lives, Pat!” she pleaded. She continued holding my hand, imploring me as if her demand were somehow rational. “He can tell us why this is happening. He can tell us why it all started!”
She stopped abruptly, and her face went pale. “Oh my God, we need to go back to the beginning! We need to go in reverse!”
Her eyes widened, terror shining through them. “We need to go back!” she screeched.
“Mia, listen to me,” I said, trying to hold her close. I was using as comforting a voice as I could manage. “You need to relax. You just need to get some sleep.”
“Sleep? What do you mean, ‘sleep’?” she gasped, squirming out of my embrace.
“Well, I’m not sure that you slept last night.”
“What! What are you talking about? I didn’t sleep last night?” she asked, her voice loud and demanding.
“Babe, I don’t think so. Do you know if yo
u did?”
“OH MY GOD, I DIDN’T SLEEP LAST NIGHT!!”
“Calm down, don’t shout,” I said. I was concerned that the kids would hear her yelling.
“Why not!?” she asked. “Something is really wrong, Pat! Something is really wrong!” She started screaming, “Oh my God, I didn’t sleep! We need to go back to the beginning! WE NEED TO GO BACK!!”
I stood immobile, thunderstruck. My wife, whom I had never heard yell in my life, was shrieking nonsense to me at the top of her lungs.
“It’s The 39 Clues!” she cried. “You need to listen to me, Pat! We need to go back! We need to reverse everything! OH MY GOD!! OH MY GOD!!”
And then she just started screaming louder than I thought possible.
Mark saved me again. He came rushing out to the garage.
“Hey, Mia, what’s all the shouting about?” he asked in a harsh voice, louder than usual to be heard over Mia’s screams. She stopped yelling and turned frantically toward him. Kim had come into the garage, too.
“Keep quiet,” Mark ordered. “We’re going back to our house now. We know you have a lot to talk about, and we’re going someplace private so the four of us can figure this out.”
“Yes!” cried Mia. “We need to figure this out. It’s all got to mean something.” She remained hysterical, but she had stopped screaming.
“Oh absolutely,” agreed Mark emphatically. “I absolutely think that this means something. And we’re going to find out what.”
He turned and gave Kim a quick nod. She strode forward, took Mia’s arm, and started walking her to the driveway. At the same time, Mark pulled me aside.
“Pat, Mia is suffering from acute psychosis. That means that her brain is not functioning properly. Her thoughts are not based in reality. I have seen this before in the emergency room.” He was speaking quickly without showing the type of panic that I was feeling. He stopped, and his voice softened. “Dude, I know, it’s scary.”
Mark immediately became the expert again. “We need to get her to the emergency room, but we have to do it in the right way. We are going to get her out of here, away from the kids, and then I’ll need some time to arrange things. Just go with it for now. We’ll talk in detail later.” He had led me to his truck. I climbed into the back seat, next to Mia.
I sat in stunned silence as Mark drove, adrenaline coursing through my body. For over twenty-one years—as long as I had known her—the thought of being next to Mia was so comforting; but, sitting beside her in that truck, it felt like standing in front of a firing line, bracing for the first shot.
Mark and Kim maintained a continuous dialogue with Mia during the trip. She seemed to gain comfort by talking and having people answer without telling her to calm down. Their conversation would have sounded deranged to any eavesdropper.
“So, this author has the answer?” Mark asked.
“Yeah, he has the answer. It’s somewhere in those books.”
“And the doctors have been working on something without telling you?” Kim followed up.
“Yes, they have been. They’ve been videotaping the rooms, too. I think they’ve been tapping the phones.”
Their exchange gave me the opportunity to digest what was happening. Back in college I had taken a psychology class, and I had read about mental health disorders. I knew that the brain functioned with the help of various chemicals, and that these chemicals interacted with neurons. But I had never been around anyone with a serious mental illness. I had certainly never interacted with someone who was psychotic.
In my head, I began formulating an explanation for Mia’s startling behavior. Anxiety surrounding the upcoming changes at work had affected her sleeping patterns. She had reached a state of overtiredness that had somehow become unstable. The stress and lack of sleep had thrown the chemical balance in her brain completely out of whack.
Mark seemed to have been thinking the same thing. “So, Mia, when we get to our house, what do you think about trying to take a nap?”
“I’m not tired.”
“Yes, but you were up early,” said Kim. “Let’s just lie down for a while, and then we’ll be ready to talk about everything.”
By the time we arrived, Mark and Kim had somehow talked Mia into trying to take a nap. Kim took her into their bedroom, and I stayed with Mark in the living room.
“Okay, like I said, we need to get Mia to the emergency room,” he said.
“Really? You don’t think she’ll be better once she gets some sleep?”
Mark furrowed his brow and frowned. “She’s not going to sleep,” he said matter-of-factly. “Pat, let me make something clear to you. This is a serious medical situation. Acute psychosis isn’t something to toy with. It could have an organic cause. If it does, we need to know immediately.”
I was startled by his grave tone and offended that he thought I was taking it lightly. “I know this is serious, Mark, but speak English. I don’t know what you just said.”
“Look, Mia’s brain is not working. We need to find out why. It could be a brain tumor; I don’t know. It could be a number of things. We need to run tests, lots of them.”
I hadn’t considered a brain tumor. The only thing worse than Mia in her current state would be Mia with some type of terminal disease, something that couldn’t be treated. My face must have reflected my thoughts, and Mark quickly added, “I’m not telling you that Mia has brain cancer, but we need to know what we’re dealing with.”
“Okay, let’s get her to the hospital.”
“It’s not that easy,” he said. “If we Baker Act her, we’ll lose all control over the situation. Plus, it will probably keep her from getting a job in the future.”
“What are you talking about? What is Baker Acting?” I hated the sound of it.
“Sorry. Baker Acting means committing someone to a mental health facility against their will. We can’t make Mia go to the hospital, and she might not want to go. You saw how she started screaming back there in Celia’s garage. If we call 911, they will take her away to the closest facility and put her in lockdown.”
“Good Lord,” I gasped, “are they allowed to do that? Just take her away from us like that?”
“A hundred percent they can do that, especially if they think she might hurt herself or someone else.”
“Mia would never hurt anyone! You know that, Mark.”
“I’m not saying she would, but people with psychosis are unpredictable. Mia can’t control her thoughts. Basically, right now that”—he pointed to the bedroom—“is not Mia.”
That was a sickening concept, but it made the situation a bit easier to comprehend. “Okay, so what do we do?”
He said he was going to call his cousin Alex. In the commotion of the day, I had forgotten that Mia’s cousin was a psychiatrist. He ran a successful practice down in Miami; I knew him from family holidays. Mark pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number.
“Alex, yeah, it’s me. We have a real problem here. Mia woke up psychotic. Yes, mostly paranoid. I don’t know. No, no prior signs, but it seems to be progressing.” As Mark started talking, it felt like a movie; it couldn’t be my life.
“I need to get her to the emergency room. I know, but I can’t Baker Act her. I can’t do that to my sister. No, I know, Alex, but I’m not going to do that!” Obviously, Alex’s professional opinion was to send Mia to a mental health facility.
“Right, I could do that. I do know someone with an affiliation. Yes, she’ll have to agree to go on her own. I know, that’s what I’m concerned about.” Mark glanced my way. “Yeah, he’ll have to. It’s the only way. Okay, thanks. I’ll keep you updated.” Mark hung up the phone and stood staring at me.
“What’s the plan?” I asked.
“Okay, you have to know this, Pat. Those crisis units at the mental health facility—they are the most depressing places you can imagi
ne. I can’t put Mia in there. I just can’t do it to her.”
“Fine!” I almost screamed. “I don’t want to do that, either. What’s the other option?”
“I’ll call the emergency room and get things prepared. We’ll get Mia admitted to the hospital, and we’ll order a ton of tests. I know a psychiatrist who can see her there. And we’ll get some sedatives in her so she can sleep.”
“That’s perfect!” I said, feeling that my prayers had been answered. “What do you want me to do?”
“That’s the key to all this. You have to convince her to go. You know how paranoid she is right now. We can’t force her into the hospital, so it’s up to you. If she refuses to get admitted, the whole thing will fall apart. Then, we won’t have a choice. We’ll have to Baker Act her.”
I felt an incredible surge of energy. In a surreal day filled with so much fear and confusion, I finally knew what I had to do.
“Leave it to me,” I said, suddenly confident. “Let’s go save Mia.”
3.
The Emergency Room
Pearl Jam
“Black”
0:49–1:10
After meeting in her dorm over pizza, Mia and I dated for a couple of weeks, but then she broke it off. She was sweet about it, using the excuse that she needed to concentrate on her studies. It was disappointing but not unexpected; Mia was way more academically focused than I was.
Three months later and home for the holidays, I received a letter from her. Surprised, I opened it to find a delicate card with the image of a dove and the word Peace outlined in gold against a white background. Inside, Mia had written:
Pat, Merry Christmas! I really enjoyed meeting you this fall. Even though we broke up, I truly hope that we can remain friends. Love, Mia
Given Mia’s personality, it was impossible not to remain her friend. In the years that followed, we met every month or two for lunch and saw each other randomly at social events.
By the spring of our senior year, we were basically done with graduation requirements. One night, I ran into Mia at a house party. At Harvard, a house is a blend of apartment building, dormitory, and social community. After their first year, students are sorted into one of a dozen houses, and it becomes their home during the rest of their time on campus.
Safe, Wanted, and Loved: A Family Memoir of Mental Illness, Heartbreak, and Hope Page 2
