“Take me with you, Pat,” she pleaded. “I don’t want to stay here anymore. I miss home.”
She was talking so rationally, and the way she was beseeching me, it broke my heart to answer. “Babe, I wish I could, but I can’t. You need to stay here until the doctors release you.”
“But I miss you, and I miss the kids.”
“We miss you, too,” I said, standing and giving her a hug. “You’ll be home with us soon.” I said it with conviction, and I believed it. She seemed so much better.
“No!” Mia demanded, her voice rising. “I’m coming home with you right now!”
“But you can’t,” I reiterated in a calm voice, hoping to soothe her. “I’ll be back tonight.”
“Tonight isn’t good enough!” she yelled. “I want to leave now!” She was blocking my way, looking defiant again.
“Mia, please, I’ll see you soon.”
“No!” she cried for the second time, an angry glare in her eyes. “Get me out of here, Pat! Get me out!”
“I told you, babe, I can’t do that,” I implored as my fight-or-flight response started to fire. “I wish that I could.”
“It’s not fair that you get to go!” Mia screamed, following me across the room. “I’M LEAVING WITH YOU!!”
Then many things happened at once. The two large workers materialized out of nowhere. They each grabbed ahold of Mia. At the same time, the person who had escorted me that afternoon emerged at the door. “Mr. Dylan, visiting hours are over.”
“I know,” I answered, glancing behind me, “but I’d like to make sure that Mia is okay.”
She was fighting against the men who held her. They probably outweighed Mia by a hundred pounds each, but they were struggling to maintain control. She was kicking her legs and wrenching her arms, shrieking, “GET OFF ME!! I’LL CALL THE POLICE!!”
My instincts told me to protect my wife by ripping her from the arms of her captors. But Mia didn’t look like someone who needed rescuing. She looked more like a wild animal, with vicious eyes and a savage face.
“Mr. Dylan?” The escort had come to my side. “Please come with me. Now.”
But I was mesmerized, held in place, adrenaline pumping. I was just about to jump into the fray when a hand clutched my elbow.
“Mr. Dylan, please,” begged the woman, pulling my arm. “We’ve seen this before. It will be best for your wife if you leave.”
Her voice broke me out of a trance. Maybe she was right; they were trained professionals. Without losing sight of Mia, I backed my way into the corridor. I watched through the window as the combat intensified. The two guards had grappled Mia to the ground.
“What are they doing to her!” I cried.
“They are giving her a shot to calm her down,” explained my escort. “It happens, Mr. Dylan.” My guide kept nudging me until she had led me down the hall and into the lobby.
“Trust me,” she said as we emerged into the waiting room, “Mia will be fine. Sometimes people fight to get out, but they aren’t ready yet. The doctors will determine when it is appropriate for your wife to leave.”
“Yeah, okay,” I responded gloomily. It was discouraging to move so quickly from hope to despair.
The drive home was miserable. I stopped by a Cuban cafeteria on the way and picked up black beans, rice, shredded pork, and plantains. I knew Luke would enjoy it, and the food would remind the kids of Mia.
Saturday night’s dinner went a long way toward cheering me up. It was the first time the kids and I shared a meal alone with Luke. Will and Jamie began what would become a favorite pastime: asking their uncle extreme questions about his life.
“Uncle Luke, what’s the most dangerous animal you’ve ever been up close to?” Jamie wanted to know.
“Most dangerous animal?” Luke repeated, amused and thinking carefully. “I’d want to say tiger sharks, yeah? One time, I was diving off Thailand and this monster fifteen-foot tiburón tigre came out of nowhere.” Will and Jamie were immediately enthralled.
“His eyes were spooky, too,” Luke continued. “I’m not even kidding you, either. Mira, he was looking right at me.” Luke split his fingers apart and pointed them to his eyes. “Like he was watching me!”
The kids sat spellbound as Luke paused dramatically. Then suddenly, he sat back and resumed eating. “But yo, that’s probably not the most dangerous. Everyone thinks sharks are dangerous, but they ain’t too bad. I’ll tell you what is, though—hippos.”
The three of us looked at each other and smirked, assuming that he was joking. “Hippos?” I asked. “Where did you see those?”
“Africa,” answered Luke, his eyes reengaging us. He was deadly serious again. “And I’ll tell you what, them bitches is scary, bro. Unpredictable.” I gave him a look like, C’mon, man, watch the language. He nodded and continued.
“With a hippo, you don’t know they’re there, see? One minute you be on your raft or whatnot, all at peace and such . . . pa pa pa, pe pe pe . . . and then wham! Them hippos attack. And they got huge teeth, see, I’m talking over a foot long!” He made a motion with his hands, showing us how big the incisors of a hippopotamus could be. He had the kids hooked again. This went on for the rest of the meal.
As I drove to evening visiting hours, I realized just how uplifting Luke’s presence would be. Not only did he have an endless number of outlandish stories, but he had found a favorite audience in the kids. When I neared the treatment center, however, I became nervous, wondering if Mia would put up another fight.
I found her highly sedated, probably the result of whatever they had given her when I left. In fact, she was so tired that she went to bed early. It was strange, tucking her into the mattress on the floor. But it made me feel good, like I was bringing her some comfort. She was asleep before I left.
Back home, I finally dealt with dozens of unanswered voice mails that were plaguing my phone. Most were about Mia, many from friends who were concerned because she had stopped responding to them.
About halfway through the messages, I heard the voice of one of the doctors from Mia’s former practice. “Pat, our office has been receiving calls from Mia. She says she’s locked up at the Gulfshore Treatment Center and needs our help. Is everything okay?” I looked at the date; it was several days old. “Can you please call me?” the doctor finished. “We’re all very worried about her.”
But Celia took Mia’s cell phone when she was admitted to the crisis center! I thought frantically. How is she making calls?
Flustered, I immediately dialed the doctor. She was one of Mia’s closest work colleagues and answered quickly. I confessed that Mia was suffering from serious anxiety and that her psychiatrist believed the treatment center was the best place for her. I didn’t mention psychosis, and the doctor didn’t question me further, but she was an expert. She must have known that the situation was far more serious.
Checking in with the receptionist the next day, I asked, “Do you know how someone here could have gained access to a phone?”
“Why, yes, Mr. Dylan, there is a phone for our patients to use,” the receptionist replied, as if nothing could be more normal. But her response startled me. Trying to keep Mia’s illness a secret was a losing battle if she had access to a phone.
As discouraged as I was, seeing Mia made me feel better. Her thought process was even clearer than the prior afternoon. Her personality remained flat and unemotional, but she wasn’t warning me about lurking dangers. And she wasn’t nearly as groggy as the night before.
As our time together drew to a close, I finally mustered the courage to broach the question. “Mia, have you been calling anyone while you’ve been in here?”
“I think I might have called my work a few times,” she said, “but that’s the only number I could remember.”
It was encouraging; contacting her work was unfortunate, but at least the damage ha
d been limited. I was concerned about leaving, but Mia escorted me to the door without protest. Surprisingly, I left the GTC feeling upbeat for the first time.
More good news arrived later that afternoon. Dr. Martinez called and said that, in his opinion, Mia’s condition was no longer an emergency. He believed that the Seroquel had finally addressed her psychosis and that she could come home the following day. But she wasn’t fully recovered, and for that reason he wanted to see me before discharging her. We agreed to meet at the crisis center the following morning.
I was excited to welcome Mia back, but the kids seemed apprehensive. She had been acting strange before going to the treatment center, and that was after they had already been told that she was better. Luke seemed pleased when I told him, but we hadn’t yet discussed a plan for managing things once she returned.
“I’m assuming you can watch Mia during the day, when I’m at work, and provide updates periodically?” I asked.
“That sounds like a plan,” he said. “I been thinking, though. I don’t have a phone. Maybe we use email to communicate, or Skype?”
It hadn’t occurred to me. Of course Luke didn’t have a cell phone; he slept on the floor of a dive shop on a remote island.
“Hmm, that’s a problem. Okay, what’s your Skype handle?”
“Cubano Perdido,” he answered, smirking.
I shook my head. “Lost Cuban” was certainly the handle most befitting Luke. However, given that only one computer was available to him in our study, and that he might need to contact me quickly, Luke agreed to buy a cheap mobile phone. I offered to pay, but he wouldn’t hear of it.
My visit with Mia on Sunday night was similar to the one during the day. I expected that now that the psychosis had cleared, her personality would start to resurface, but I was wrong. Her thoughts were coherent, but she was apathetic and listless.
When I was tucking Will into bed later that night, I could sense his nervousness about returning to school after the weekend. He was even worse the next morning. I tried to calm him down the best I could before sending him off, but he was half-paralyzed with anxiety. When I saw his call an hour later, I wasn’t surprised.
“Sorry, Dad,” he whimpered. “I tried . . . I really did.”
“I’m sure you did,” I reassured him.
“I just wanted to hear your voice. I just wanted to make sure you were there.”
“I’m always here, Will.”
“I know,” he sniffed, “I know.”
“Now, see if you can go back to class. It’s only until lunchtime.”
“Okay, I know.”
“Love you, Will. Please let me talk to your counselor.”
“I love you, too, Dad. Okay.”
As soon as I heard Will transfer the phone, I wasted no time in questioning Mrs. Perry. “Good morning,” I said. “I was wondering if you knew anyone who might be able to work with Will, maybe give him some tools for managing his anxiety?”
“Why yes, Mr. Dylan,” she said, “I could give you several names, but I think the best would be Matthew Brown. He has worked with several of the kids I advise, and people have really good things to say about him.”
“Matthew Brown?” I confirmed. “I’ll call him.”
A couple of hours later, Autumn was ushering me through the corridor of the crisis center. I didn’t realize that offices were located on the right-hand side of the hallway. Autumn opened a door, and I saw Dr. Martinez sitting at a desk. He stood and greeted me.
“Pat, as you know, Mia is on a high dose of Seroquel,” he began after I had taken a seat. “And she needs to stay at that level for a while.”
“Okay, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Well, it might be. These drugs can be difficult. First, they make you tired. But it’s more than that, they make you feel sort of dulled, like you aren’t really yourself.”
“Ah, right.” I nodded my head. “I’ve noticed that about Mia.”
“I’m sure you have. And also, the medication can make people gain weight. It slows the metabolism and makes people hungry. It’s a double whammy.”
“Alright, but these symptoms aren’t long term, are they?”
“They will dissipate if Mia stops taking the Seroquel, yes.”
“And when will that be?”
“Well, that depends. It’s not our job, here at the crisis center, to make a full diagnosis. We do our best in the time that we have, but Mia should be seeing someone regularly.”
“Yes, well, I expect that she’ll continue seeing you.”
He smiled. “I appreciate that, Pat, but I should tell you that people often switch psychiatrists after coming to the crisis center. Being with me reminds them too much of their time here. If that happens with Mia, I won’t be offended.”
“Really? Okay, well, I guess we’ll see. But right now, you’ve spent the most time with her. What do you think is going on?”
He thought carefully before answering. “It’s a strange case. The original diagnosis of brief reactive psychosis might be correct. But I think it must be related to bipolar disorder. She seemed manic when I first saw her, and that didn’t change when she was admitted here. Mania can frequently turn psychotic. I see it all the time.”
“I’ve been reading about bipolar, though, and you were right. It’s not bipolar without depression.”
“Yes, that’s what makes it strange.” He sat in thought again before snapping back to the task at hand. “I don’t have a good answer for you. But now, it’s time to get Mia home.”
Soon, Mia and I were walking out of the lobby. I had her duffel bag in hand, and it felt strangely like she had been released from prison. I thought she would be happy, but her personality was as blunted as it had been the day before.
“There’s a surprise waiting at home,” I said as we started the drive. “Someone came into town to spend time with you, someone you haven’t seen in a long time.” I thought hearing about Luke would brighten her mood.
“What are you talking about?” She sounded frustrated.
“Luke. He’s at our house! He came to see you.”
She looked confused. “Luke? Why would Luke be at our house?”
“He came home because he heard you were having a difficult time, and he wanted to help.” I expected some sign of excitement, but she only frowned.
With the benefit of hindsight, I understand Mia’s reaction. After spending a week in a mental health facility, she was thinking more clearly, or so she had been told, but she didn’t remember much. And then abruptly, I told her that Luke was in town, someone whom she hadn’t seen for over a decade. That wasn’t normal, and it made her nervous. Was her mind fooling her? Was I trying to fool her?
Of course, at the time I didn’t realize this. So I tried again to cheer her up. “Anyway, the kids will be excited to see you when we get home.”
“Pat, why would the kids be home?” she asked, becoming angrier. “The kids are in school right now.”
“I pulled them out early so we could spend time together. Luke is picking them up. They should be home when we get there.”
“Whatever, Pat, whatever.” She shook her head in disgust and ignored me the rest of the trip.
Her reaction was equally chilly when the kids greeted her in the kitchen. She hugged them, but she didn’t show any interest. This was also true when she saw Luke. Lunch was awkward, much like our meals before Mia went to the crisis center. It didn’t faze Luke, but the kids and I were disappointed.
After lunch, Luke took the opportunity to go fishing. I suggested that the rest of us play board games, something we had always enjoyed doing together in the past. But the feeling of discomfort permeated the afternoon. Mia left abruptly after an hour, saying she was tired, and the kids retreated to their bedrooms.
I remained sitting among the games. Having Mia around wasn’t
going to improve our situation. Her sour disposition made everyone uneasy, and the fact that her personality was so different was distressing. Hopefully, she would start to act more like herself soon, but I didn’t know if that was possible while she was on so much medication.
I decided to check on Will. He was at his desk, doing homework. “How was the rest of your day, kid?” I asked.
“It was okay.” He sounded dispirited. “I don’t know what happens to me at school, but I’m really not looking forward to tomorrow morning.”
Sensing that he wanted to be alone, my thoughts moved to Jamie. When I walked into her room, she was lying down on the bed, reading. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”
Jamie put her book down and sat up. “What is it, Daddy?”
Closing the door, I paced across the room to the end of her bed. “I’ve been meeting with Will. Given everything that’s going on with Mommy, he’s been worrying a lot.” She was focused on me, her young eyes looking intently into mine. She didn’t say anything. “And, well, I thought maybe you’d want to talk about it, too.”
“Talk about what?”
“Talk about how you’re feeling. You know, with everything that’s going on with Mommy.”
“Oh, I know what’s going on with Mommy.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I know exactly what’s going on.”
“Really? What?” I was surprised, but maybe she had been reading about mental health. She was a precocious child.
“Mommy was taken by aliens,” Jamie said, her voice solemn. “They have her up on their spaceship. And then they put a robot in her place, hoping we wouldn’t notice.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. “Jamie, sweetie, you don’t really believe that, do you?”
“Do you?” she retorted.
“No, I don’t think that. I think Mommy has an illness and needs our help.”
“Okay.” She grabbed her book. “Is that it, Daddy?”
I wanted to keep talking. I was pretty sure she was joking, but I wasn’t certain. However, Jamie clearly wanted to lie back down and continue reading.
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