“Yes.”
“For weeks! And now you have a safe? Where’d the safe come from, Pat? Tell me the truth!”
I wanted to scream, too. How many times would she ask me about the truth?
“Mom, listen to this!” she howled, putting the phone back to her ear. “Pat doesn’t trust me to take the pills. He makes me open my mouth and show that I swallowed them, like a little kid!”
I couldn’t hear what Lucia was saying, but it made Mia snarl. “Have you been talking to Alex, too? Or did Pat tell you to say that?”
She paused to listen, a disgusted look on her face.
“Fine!” she snapped. “I’ve got to go. Here, you can talk to Pat.”
Mia threw her phone at me. Catching it, I kept an eye on Mia as I spoke, “Hi, Lucia.”
“Oh, Pat, we are very sorry that you have to go through this,” she said. I could hear the distress in her voice.
Mia walked into the bathroom.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Um, I really hate to do this, but I have to let you go.”
Hanging up, I stood listening for a second. I couldn’t tell what Mia was doing, but at least I knew where she was. When she came back out, I had the medication ready, along with a glass of water. To my surprise, she stomped over to me in a huff and, glaring at me, grabbed the pills.
It always took her a while to swallow the medications; she had to go one pill at a time. And with the addition of Zyprexa, she was now taking eight pills three times a day. But she started swigging them down, without saying a word. When she finished, she turned to me, opened her mouth, and stuck out her tongue. “Happy now?”
She ignored me the rest of the night. After she fell asleep, I snuck out to review the day with Luke. He agreed that Mia’s condition was becoming explosive.
“I’m afraid we’re getting to the point where she’ll have to go back to the crisis center,” I confessed, “and I hate it. I mean, they’re good people, but if she goes back there, we lose all control over the situation.”
“Fuck it, then,” said Luke. “Don’t send her back.”
“They keep her safe in there, though.”
“We can keep her safe here. You and me, bro. We’ll make sure she can’t get out . . . Lockdown.”
I considered his idea. I could keep Dr. Rojas fully informed of her condition. He could act as our in-house psychiatrist. I would have to do something with the kids, though; no way could they be part of it.
“I don’t know,” I said, still undecided. “Last time she was in there it took a week to get out. We can’t keep her locked down in the house for a week. We’ve got the kids.”
“Then let’s take her over to my parents’ house,” suggested Luke. “They come here and watch the kids; we take her over there. Whatever shit happens, we handle it. Mark would be down.”
The idea was tempting. Luke and Mark were the ideal partners for a scheme like that. But two things made it unrealistic. First, I didn’t want to be away from the kids for even a few days. Will clearly needed me around, and I guessed that Jamie did, too. Second, the ordeal would be difficult for Mia. Even the three-hour trip to her parents’ house would be traumatic.
“It’s a good thought, and maybe it comes to that,” I said, “but for now, let’s brace ourselves for the weekend. I’ll get the kids out of the house after school tomorrow, and hopefully things will improve by Sunday.”
“You got it, Patricio.” He nodded his head in support. I felt more confident knowing that Luke had my back.
The illness was gaining in strength; I didn’t want to face it alone.
13.
The Worst Night Ever
Broken Bells
“The High Road”
1:37–1:48
Mia landed her first job the month after she graduated from the PA program. I was stunned how quickly she had offers. She accepted a position with a sole practitioner. Dr. Ted Bailey ran a popular pediatrics office about five minutes from our Houston apartment. He was a family man, with three daughters and a supportive wife, and he spent too much time at the office. Hiring Mia would allow him to take a day off every now and then.
Both Mia and I really liked Dr. Bailey. He was an experienced and caring physician who invested a lot of time in his patients. He also had a dry, self-deprecating sense of humor that made him immediately likable. He made the ideal mentor.
Within a few weeks, Mia was seeing patients on her own. It had only been three years, but she had already accomplished the goal she had set for herself after college. She was helping people and doing everything a doctor could do.
I hadn’t set any real goals for myself at graduation, other than to pay off student loans. I hadn’t enjoyed working at the investment bank, and my finance job in Houston was interesting but not in pursuit of any long-term objective. When it came to my career, I was floundering.
Mia encouraged me to consider graduate school. It would allow me to think carefully about what I wanted to do with my life. Professionally, I had no sense of purpose, which was especially clear when juxtaposed with the fulfillment Mia received from her work. I began applying to business programs.
Meanwhile, as they worked together, it became apparent that Dr. Bailey prized his relationship with Mia. She was diligent and thorough with his patients, and he trusted her.
However, Mia and I faced a difficult decision nine months into her dream job. I had been accepted to a few business schools, including Harvard, but my attendance would require a move. That meant saying goodbye to Dr. Bailey.
“Of course, I’d hate to leave,” Mia said, “but we need to consider our long-term goals. We don’t have any relatives here, and we’ve always said that being close to family is important. And if we go back to Harvard, odds are that you’ll have the flexibility to get a job somewhere near family, whether that be in Florida or back in Chicago.” She included the Midwest for my sake; Mia’s dream was to ultimately settle within driving distance of Miami.
“Yes, that’s true,” I replied.
“Then, Pat, it seems pretty clear: we have to go.” After finding her perfect position, she was willing to give it up for me and our future together.
We shared dinner with the Baileys a few times that year. Mia and I enjoyed spending time with their family. The Bailey girls were middle and elementary school kids, with little frames and big personalities. I enjoyed watching Mia interact with the family’s young daughters, and I began daydreaming about becoming a parent.
Mia was the perfect person to build a family around—caring, patient, and exceptionally gentle.
***
Friday began the same way as Thursday, with Mia spinning through ever more confrontational phases of psychosis. Given that she preferred spending time with Luke, I went into work that morning. Being away from home gave me the flexibility to prepare for the weekend without being overheard.
First, I called Mark to update him on Mia’s worsening condition. As Luke had predicted, Mark was eager to help, and he liked the idea of using his parents’ house as a makeshift crisis center. But he understood my rationale for keeping her home.
Next, I reached out to my dad. He lived most of the year in Indiana but spent winters in a town ten minutes from us. Fortunately, he had recently driven down for the season.
Luke and I had devised a plan together. Mia had scheduled an appointment with one of the priests for later that night. I didn’t like her meeting with anyone when she was psychotic, but I couldn’t prevent it. In her hyper-religious state, she was seeking refuge at the church. If I denied her that, she would probably think that I was possessed by Satan again.
Luke would drive Mia to her meeting. During that time, my dad would come to our house to pick up the kids. They would stay at his house overnight and, depending on the situation, maybe longer.
I left work early that afternoon. Walking into the kit
chen at home, I saw a paper cup sitting on the counter with all of Mia’s midday medications inside—she was over two hours late taking her pills! I felt a sudden jolt of anger mixed with trepidation. Luke knew the importance of keeping her on schedule.
He must have heard me come in, and he emerged from the back hallway. “Patricio,” he said, “how was your day, brother?” He was pointing at the medication and flashing me the “quiet” sign with the other hand.
“Fine,” I said, giving him a wondering look.
“Yo, things been messed up here this morning,” he whispered. “Sorry couldn’t call or text, she been with me nonstop.”
“Luke, the medication—”
“I know, but bro, she wasn’t having it. I couldn’t get her to take it,” he said, his voice still low.
“She has to take it.”
“Dude, I tried. It woulda been a fight. I’m telling you, man, a serious fight.”
“Where is she now?”
“She’s back there.” He pointed to the back room. “Same shit. Good one minute and then on another planet the next. Insane shit, hermano.”
“Alright, we have to get her to take the medicine.”
“It ain’t happening unless we tie her down, bro.”
Jamie was due home any moment; I couldn’t risk her walking in on that. Instead, I asked Luke to resume his watch and quickly texted Dr. Rojas. Two minutes later, Jamie walked in the front door, excited to be starting the weekend. I tried to hide my anxiety but kept checking my phone. Within fifteen minutes, Dr. Rojas had texted back:
If she won’t take it, hold off and add the Zyprexa and Seroquel to tonight’s dose
Skip the midday Ativan
Update me tonight
I relayed the message to Luke. A short time later, Will returned home from school, too. Given that it was a beautiful late October day, the kids wanted to play outside. Jamie began riding her bike around the cul-de-sac, and Will and I started tossing the football. About twenty minutes later, Luke came out to join us. He caught a pass close to me and said, “She’s okay, back in your room now.”
An hour later, Mia came out of the house through the garage door. She was talking on the phone and sounded natural. “Great, well, we wanted to let you know we were thinking of you on your birthday,” she said. “Here, I’m sure your Uncle Pat will want to say hi, too.” She removed the phone from her ear and whispered to me, “It’s Bobby.”
Bobby was our eleven-year-old nephew, Brad and Jen’s son. I was relieved to see Mia looking and sounding so normal, and I considered canceling our plans for the weekend. I grinned at her and grabbed the phone.
Mia smiled warmly back at me for a moment, and then went inside. When the call was over, I hung up and put Mia’s phone in my pocket. I didn’t think much of it. Luke and Mia had to leave for her meeting in a half hour; I would return the phone to her before then. But ten minutes later, she came storming back into the garage. “Has anyone seen my phone?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry. Here it is.” I walked up the driveway to hand it to her.
Mia glowered. “Why do you have my phone, Pat?” she growled.
“We were talking to Bobby,” I said, surprised at her hostility. “You’re the one who called him.”
“What are you talking about?” she demanded.
I realized that the kids were watching. I ushered Mia into the kitchen. “Mia, you called to wish Bobby a happy birthday, and then you brought the phone outside so that I could talk to him.”
“Oh right,” she said. “That’s why you had my phone in your pocket.”
“Yes, that’s why.”
She appeared ready to explode. “Pat, why do you keep stealing my phone?”
“I’m not stealing your phone.”
“You keep stealing it!” she yelled. “Just stop it!”
“Mia, why would I steal your phone?”
“You tell me, Pat! You tell me!” she roared. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“I’m not doing anything to you.” The right response would have been silence.
“You are doing something—you are stealing my phone, trying to trick me!” she cried. “It’s hard enough without you taking my phone!” She glared at me, tears filling her eyes. “I need my phone, Pat!”
“Mia, I am not taking your phone.”
“YOU ARE TAKING IT!!” she shrieked. “AND YOU’RE LYING!!” She ran off toward our room.
Calling off our plan was out of the question. Soon, Luke and Mia were pulling out of the driveway, and I was assembling Will and Jamie. I informed them that their grandpa was back in Florida and wanted to see them. He would be picking them up in a half hour to go to the movies, and then they would spend the night at his house. As expected, they were thrilled to see my dad and, I think, relieved to be getting away. I helped them pack an overnight bag, and he arrived right on cue.
With the kids gone, the house was strangely quiet, but my stomach was queasy. Experience told me to double-check the lock on the back door of the lanai, and that started me thinking about the way the last psychotic episode had ended. Soon, I found myself wandering aimlessly around the house, worrying about the weekend.
Luke and Mia returned home an hour later. After asking them about the meeting, I said as nonchalantly as possible, “Oh, hey, my dad is back in town. He and the kids decided to go to the movies, so they’re just going to stay at his place tonight.”
Perhaps I didn’t sound as casual as I hoped, or maybe it was Mia’s paranoid condition, but the comment didn’t sit well. “What?” she asked. “No, that’s not right.”
“Yeah, it’s fine.” I tried to sound calm. “The kids were really excited.”
“I don’t want them to spend the night at your dad’s. I’m not comfortable with that.”
“They’ve done it before.” This was technically true, although it wasn’t common. He usually stayed at our place.
“No, the kids need to be home with us tonight! I don’t like it at all. What if your dad hurts them?”
“Hurts them?” I asked incredulously. “What are you talking about? My dad loves the kids, and they love him. He would never hurt them.”
“You don’t know that!”
“I do know that.”
“He could hurt them. He could molest them!”
“Molest them? Mia, how can you say that?”
“Things like that happen all the time, Pat!” she claimed. “This is our kids we’re talking about.”
“Yeah, and it’s my dad we’re talking about.” I was getting offended in spite of myself. “Mia, the kids will be fine.”
“I should have just as much say in this as you! They are my kids, too!”
“Yes, they are,” I agreed, “but tonight you weren’t home, and I made a decision. The kids are at the movies with their grandpa, and that’s a normal thing. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.”
She scowled and rushed to our guest room, slamming the door and yelling, “I’M JUST AS MUCH THEIR PARENT AS YOU ARE!” Luke was standing in the kitchen, having witnessed the whole thing. He shook his head when I looked over at him.
“That went well,” I said. “An auspicious beginning to our night.”
“Could have been worse,” he replied. “At least you got the kids out. Now it’s you and me, hermano.”
The next hour was uneventful. Mia remained holed up in the guest room, and Luke disappeared to the back of the house. Silent and alone, I started making dinner. Once it was ready, Luke and I tried to persuade Mia to join us at the table.
“Babe, please come out and eat. You must be starving,” I pleaded.
“I’m not eating with you, Pat. Just go away!”
Luke rolled his eyes.
“You have to eat,” I said.
“I don’t have to do anything,” she whimpered, her mood shi
fting quickly. “I can’t believe you don’t support me—not with the kids, not with the treatment center, not with anything.” We heard her begin to cry.
“Yo, whatever, Mia,” said Luke. “When you get hungry, come on out. I’m gonna eat.”
“Mia, babe, I love you, and I’d really like to eat dinner with you.” I sighed, my head against the door, but she didn’t respond.
The guest room was located at the front of the house. I noticed that the front door was unlocked, so I quietly walked forward and turned the bolt. Then, after five minutes of listening miserably to Mia’s muffled sobs, I joined Luke for dinner.
After we had eaten and cleaned up, Luke and I made our way back to the guest room. With nothing else to do, we sat on the floor next to the door. It was slightly after 8:30 p.m., and we could see the dark sky through the front windows of our foyer.
After twenty minutes, the door opened. Mia walked out, calm and collected, and sat down on the floor next to us. “What the hell am I doing in there?” she asked. I looked blankly at Luke, who glanced from me to Mia.
“It’s cool,” he said. “Sometimes I need time to myself, too.”
“No, this doesn’t make any sense,” she said. “I don’t even know why I’m in there.”
Neither Luke nor I dared bring up the kids, so we let her comment sit in the air. Mia rubbed her eyes. “What is happening to me? Why am I acting like this?”
Again, Luke and I let the moment linger. “Are you hungry at all, babe?” I asked finally.
“No, I’m not hungry.”
The three of us sat in awkward silence for a few more minutes. It was a strange scene. The glow from the outside streetlamp spilled through the windows, but otherwise we were sitting in darkness.
“Thanks for being here, you guys,” she said, “and for putting up with me.”
I marveled at the bizarre swings in her clarity and disposition. The highs and lows were exhausting.
“Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but with you,” I responded, almost tearing up.
Safe, Wanted, and Loved: A Family Memoir of Mental Illness, Heartbreak, and Hope Page 17
