Mia lived in Dunster House, which was far from the party at Cabot House where we met that night. But hers was the first face I noticed across the crowded room, and we had a great time hanging out together. A few days later, she called me unexpectedly. She wanted to know if I was attending my house formal, an elegant dance that each house held at the end of the semester.
“Nah, I’m not going.”
“What? You aren’t going to your last formal?” She sounded appalled.
“I don’t have anyone to go with,” I replied, a broad grin stretching across my face.
“Oh, come on, I’ll go with you.”
She had basically invited herself to my house formal, but I still assumed it was strictly platonic.
A large group of us met at a restaurant before the event. Mia and I were sitting at one end of a long table, next to my roommate, George, the same guy from the pizza incident. It was a fancy place, with way too many extra forks and spoons. Given that we were all poor students, a heavy awkwardness descended as we studied the prices.
“So, what’s it gonna be, bub?” quipped Mia, peering across her oversize menu at me with a sarcastic grin. Her comment sliced right through the pretension; George and I loved it. The chemistry was special that night, and the three of us laughed our way through dinner.
Later, during the dance, George pulled me aside. “I never knew Mia was so funny! She’s awesome.”
“I know,” I agreed, watching Mia from across the room. He followed my gaze and knew what I was thinking.
“Yeah,” he chuckled, slapping me on the back, “too bad she dumped you!” He gave a snort and walked away.
He’s right, I thought. I shouldn’t let myself daydream.
And I didn’t, until the end of the evening. Mia surprised me with a kiss.
“I had a great time tonight, Pat,” she confessed, treating me to an up-close view of those captivating eyes. “How about giving things another try?”
She didn’t need to say it twice.
***
I slowly opened the door to Mark and Kim’s bedroom. The room was dark, almost like nighttime. Mark’s hours in the emergency room could be rough, and he had installed blackout curtains so he could sleep during the day. Kim heard me come in.
“I was just about to come and get you,” she whispered. “Mia isn’t asleep, but we were talking quietly. Go ahead and take my place.”
As Kim left the room, I lay down next to Mia.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said so softly, and with so much feeling, that I suddenly thought the psychosis had cleared. “Kim is acting weird.”
“What do you mean, ‘acting weird’?”
“Look at this. It’s the middle of the day, and we’re lying here in the dark.”
Mia was right; it was strange to be lying in total darkness when it was so bright outside. Maybe lying down had brought her thoughts back into focus. “So, how are you doing? You were a little upset earlier, but now you seem better.”
“I’m okay. I’m trying to figure out why everyone is acting so weird. What are we doing in bed? We need to start figuring things out.”
I lost hope at this last comment. Somehow, I had to persuade her to go to the emergency room. That seemed impossible at the moment.
“You may not remember, but you woke up really early this morning,” I said. “So, Mark thought you might want to take a nap. Plus, I woke up early with you, and I’m pretty tired.”
“I didn’t realize that you were tired.”
“Yeah, well, we both got up at 5:30 a.m.”
“I’m sorry.” Even in her current state, Mia’s inherent compassion came through. “I’ll be quiet,” she said, “and maybe you can rest.”
I had never been able to nap during the day. Mia, on the other hand, had always fallen asleep almost immediately. At any other time, I would have heard her breathing slow within ten minutes, and then she would have started twitching.
But that didn’t happen. As time dragged on, I found myself becoming increasingly anxious. We had to get Mia to the hospital, and I was wasting time. I could feel her thoughts racing furiously beside me in the distressing silence. After what seemed like a half hour, I couldn’t stand it anymore.
“You’re not asleep, are you?” I whispered.
“No,” she whispered back.
“Isn’t that strange?” I asked. “I mean, when else over the past twenty years have you not fallen asleep within five minutes of lying down?”
“Yeah, I guess. I was too busy thinking about work.”
“Look, babe,” I said. “Mark told me that sometimes people get overtired. It especially happens when they are thinking about work a lot. He suggested that if you couldn’t fall asleep, we might want to get something to help you.” I knew that she respected Mark’s opinion as much as I did.
“You mean like lorazepam?” she asked. This was typical of Mia; whenever the conversation turned to anything medical, I was quickly in over my head. I decided to wing it.
“Yeah, something like that,” I replied, hoping it wouldn’t get me into trouble. I had no idea what lorazepam was.
“That might help me relax. Would he call it out?” I realized that she had asked if Mark was going to call the pharmacy with a prescription.
“No, not exactly,” I said. “He thought it would be best to go over to the hospital. Given that he works in the emergency room, he said it would be faster. Plus, they’d be sure to have whatever we need.” I hoped it sounded believable.
“Really? That’s odd. Why would he say that?”
I started to panic. Of course, she was right. Mark would never have suggested that. No wonder she thought everyone was acting weird—we were acting weird. I was trying to formulate some plausible reason why I had suggested this, when Mia spoke again.
“Maybe the pharmacies around here aren’t reliable,” she said. “Maybe they don’t carry even the most basic prescriptions.”
She hadn’t been addressing me when she posed the question. She had been talking to herself, and she had devised a rationale that would never have crossed my mind.
“That’s probably it,” I agreed quickly.
“But to go all the way to the hospital for something like lorazepam? That doesn’t seem right.”
“Well, that’s what Mark said. When it comes to that kind of thing, he knows what he’s talking about.”
“But it’s not like he can prescribe anything for me in the hospital. He’s my brother; I can’t be his patient.”
I hadn’t considered this, but she was right again. I said the first thing that came to mind. “He said he knows the doctor working right now, so it wouldn’t be an issue. He said it’d be really easy this way.”
“Really easy to get me prescriptions . . . easier than calling it out . . .” She was still talking to herself, and something told me to remain silent. I couldn’t think of anything to say anyway.
“Okay,” she said, sounding tentative.
“Great,” I responded quickly. “Well, obviously we’re not going to fall asleep here. Let’s go tell Mark that we should head over to the hospital.”
We were soon back in his truck, where the conversation returned to the bizarre. Mia was focused on religion, explaining that the devil was real. She thought Satan must have something to do with the current situation—the clues and her work and everything.
“I bet our local bishop summoned the devil before we left and told him to follow us,” she concluded. “He must have been hiding in our trunk on the drive over here. I wonder if he’s still in there or if he escaped over at Celia’s house.”
This didn’t sound anything like the Mia I had married, but I was only partially listening. Mostly, I was willing the truck to go faster.
Mark’s hospital was in Melbourne, a half hour away. The drive was painfully long, but upon a
rrival we were swept into the mayhem of the emergency room. Mark led Mia through a door at the back while I checked her in. It took time to answer all the admitting questions and provide insurance information. When the process was over, I found myself in a hallway with Mark. He was introducing me to Dr. Adams, the physician on duty. She was young and smart looking.
“Hi, Pat. I know you and Mia have had a tough day,” said the doctor, who had a friendly disposition. “We’re going to see if we can get her to relax a bit. She’s a little agitated, so maybe you can help her calm down until the medication takes effect?”
As she said this, she opened the door to a room. I saw Mia lying on one of those movable hospital beds, her small body surrounded by a large mattress that was propped up in the back. A nurse was circling around. The obligatory blood pressure machine was close by, and Mia already had an IV in her arm. She looked up as I entered.
“Pat!” she blurted out, surprised to see me. “Where did you go? This is overkill, look at all this!”
“Um,” I stammered, “well, I guess they have their procedures.”
“Procedures? No, this isn’t right. Let’s get Mark and tell him to get us out of here.”
I noticed that Mark and Dr. Adams had remained in the hallway. “It does seem kind of over the top,” I agreed, “but we’ve come all this way. Let’s stay a little longer.”
At that moment, the nurse approached with a syringe. “Mia, the doctor thought this would help you relax. It’s Ativan, and I’m just going to put it through your IV.”
“Right, lorazepam,” said Mia. I would soon become quite familiar with Ativan, or its generic name, lorazepam. It was a sedative regularly used to treat anxiety. Lorazepam wouldn’t necessarily put you to sleep, but it would sedate you. It would also wreak havoc with your short-term memory, but I hadn’t learned about that side effect yet.
“What about you, Pat?” Mia asked. “You were having trouble sleeping today. We should probably start these procedures for you.” She said the last comment aggressively.
Then the nurse, who had finished with the sedative, started asking questions. “So, Mia, I understand that you haven’t had a lot of sleep lately?”
“I guess not.” She stared crossly at me as she said it.
“And you’ve been under a lot of stress at work?” The nurse was trying to be nice, but he was fighting a losing battle.
“Yes, I have.” Even though Mia was curt and unhappy, I was amazed by how normal she was acting. I held my breath, waiting for the paranoid thoughts to start spilling out.
“Okay.” The nurse paused. “Can you tell me, are you currently taking any medications?”
“No.”
“Do you use alcohol or recreational drugs?”
Mia gave me that look again. She was losing patience fast. “No, I don’t. How many questions do you have?”
At this point, Dr. Adams came in. “Hello again, Mia,” she said. “I see that you have been reunited with your husband. How are you feeling now? Do you feel more comfortable?” She was trying to determine if the Ativan had started working.
“Yes, I do. I feel much better. Thank you.” Mia had never been a good liar. “It is probably time for us to go.”
The doctor ignored her, turning to me. “We’ve given her a sedative, which should help her relax.”
Dr. Adams looked back toward Mia. “Don’t worry, we won’t keep you here long. I’m just going to ask you a few more questions. Now, do you have any family history of depression?”
Mia had, in fact, suffered postpartum blues following the birth of Will. As she was telling the doctor this, Mark entered the room, tugged my shoulder, and motioned toward the door. I hesitated and then followed.
“Mark, I think I better stay in there. She’s getting pretty upset,” I said as the door closed behind us.
“It’s okay. The sedative should kick in soon.” He gave a terse shake of his head, indicating that Mia’s anger didn’t concern him. “I wanted to let you know what we’re planning. We’ll be running all kinds of blood tests to see if anything is going on organically. Some of those will take a while to get back. We’ll also be doing an EKG, an EEG, and a CT scan of her brain.”
“Wow, okay,” I said, remembering the brain tumor conversation and then trying to forget it. “How long will all that stuff take? She doesn’t want to stick around.”
“She won’t be leaving tonight, Pat. I don’t want you leaving, either. We’ll admit her to the hospital, and you can sleep in her room.” His voice was a mix of clinician and compassionate brother-in-law. I realized that Mark was worried; he thought we would find something in one of the tests.
“What about the kids?” I asked. They both had school the next morning, and we still had to make the three-hour drive home to Sarasota. “Jesus, what time is it?”
“It’s just before six. Don’t worry about the kids. My mom and dad are taking care of them. They’ll miss a day of school, but that’s the least of our concerns right now.”
“I should probably call them.” I started to reach for the phone in my pocket. Mark stopped me.
“It won’t be much longer, and then you can call. I want to be sure Mia calms down so that we can start the tests.” He opened the door, and I took that as my cue to return to her side. She was still answering questions.
“No, I don’t remember,” she was saying. She turned to Mark and me. “Can we leave now?” she asked, but she didn’t seem as angry.
“No, not yet. I’d like to run some tests, just to rule out any other reasons for your unusual sleeping patterns over the past few days,” said Dr. Adams.
Mia frowned, but when she spoke, her voice had lost its edge. “When will that happen?”
“We’ll do it now,” replied Mark, sensing the change in Mia’s mood. “It won’t take long.” He turned to me. “Pat, I’ll stay with her during these tests. You can just hang out in the waiting area.”
“Okay,” I said, turning to Mia. “I love you, babe. I’ll be right here when the tests are over.” I leaned over to give her a kiss, but she ignored me. I left the room as the nurse was busy preparing what looked like vials for taking blood.
I walked to the waiting room and then kept going. I thought my phone would get better coverage outside, plus I needed fresh air. A weight was lifted off my shoulders, and I realized it was the stress of being around Mia. It felt like carrying around a stick of dynamite.
Releasing the tension in my back, I took a deep breath and called the cell number for my mother-in-law, Lucia. She answered, and I provided a brief update. She was quiet and supportive, and then she put the kids on the phone.
I spoke first to Jamie, who answered in her typically upbeat way. I could picture her sandy-brown hair tied back in a ponytail as she probably half listened to me and half concentrated on a picture she was drawing. Jamie was always doing something creative.
“When will we be going home, Daddy?” she asked, hiding any concern that she might be feeling about Mia’s health. I told her it would be soon and that everything would be okay. She seemed satisfied with that.
Will wasn’t so easy. I told him the same thing, but, from his mumbled responses and silent pauses, I could tell that he wasn’t buying it.
Next, I called my mom. I wanted to see if she had noticed anything unusual about Mia’s behavior that morning or over the weekend. It sounded strange telling my mom that Mia was psychotic. The word had been poisoned by pop culture. I phrased it as “Mia is suffering from psychosis,” which sounded more acceptable.
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,” my mom said, her familiar and sympathetic voice lending me strength. “You know, Mia did seem more reserved than usual . . . quiet, like something was on her mind. But no, nothing like what you are describing.”
She wanted to know what was causing the strange behavior, but I didn’t have an answer. I realized how much I
didn’t know about the brain.
Returning to the waiting room, I opened the browser on my phone and googled acute psychosis. This brought up all kinds of links to schizophrenia-related articles. I wasn’t ready to contemplate something as serious as that. Instead, I went to the psychosis entry on Wikipedia. It talked about a “loss of contact with reality,” which certainly sounded like Mia’s situation. It also described various impairments associated with psychosis. She didn’t suffer from hallucinations, like hearing voices and seeing things, or from catatonia, moving in an uncontrolled way.
But the article also mentioned delusions—false beliefs that a person clung to without adequate evidence. It said that oftentimes these could be paranoid in nature. That was a clear yes in Mia’s case. The other impairment was thought disorder, which referred to people misinterpreting what they heard or read. I remembered how Mia misunderstood certain things I was saying, like how she mistook “you’re going to turn here, right?” for “you’re going to turn right here.”
Reading about psychosis made me feel a little better. At least, it confirmed that this had happened to other people. But my heart sank as I reviewed the possible causes. Dozens of reasons were listed, and many sounded bad. Brain issues, like tumors, were prevalent. Articles also mentioned diseases of the endocrine system, mostly dealing with the thyroid.
Outside of these “organic” causes, dozens of mental health disorders were described. They all sounded scary, too. I read that bipolar disorder involved periods of both depression and mania, and that someone going through a manic phase could become psychotic.
I was still lost in research when Mark returned to the waiting room. I had been reading for over an hour, alone among a small collection of tattered chairs and side tables. Most of what I learned only increased my concern, especially the part about brain cancer, and he could sense my apprehension.
“The CT scan was normal,” he said quickly. “She doesn’t have any sign of a tumor.”
Safe, Wanted, and Loved: A Family Memoir of Mental Illness, Heartbreak, and Hope Page 3
