My Thanksgiving Vacation
This year Thanksgiving was rather odd. I cooked a big, traditional dinner but we ate at a really odd time -- like 10 PM and we didn't have a traditional table. We all sat around in the living room, eating, and watching TV, and playing with new babies.The oddity of the meal didn't really bother me. After all when you have twins that are less than a week old... time has no meaning. Everything seems focused on feeding and changing the new little ones.
There were a few other surprises over the weekend. The last couple of weeks I've been feeling rather blue about my life. It should have been obvious to me, why it was happening now, but it wasn't. It wasn't obvious until I had to face it.
Elizabeth's dad is allowed to have in-person, supervised visits every six months. However his last in-person visit was well over a year ago. Every time a visit was scheduled something came up.
First he asked me to postpone the visit because he had a job that required him to work long hours of over time. He had been out of work for over a year when he got this job, so every minute of overtime was welcome. He was also nervous about turning down the overtime for fear they would use that as an excuse not to extend his contract. We postponed the visit, his contract was not extended, and he has been unemployed ever since.
The next several times we made arrangements for him to visit with Elizabeth he canceled because he was in the hospital for suicidal thoughts and or behaviors. Then he disappeared. Recently he resurfaced... he's in the hospital again. This time he asked if Elizabeth could visit him in the hospital. I guess you can't get any more supervised than a locked ward in psychiatric hospital so I agreed.
The down side... this meant I had to take Elizabeth and I had to see him. With the other supervised visits, I had someone else drive Elizabeth to the doctor's office. The driver sat in the waiting room while the actual visit was supervised by psychologist. The hospital where he is only has visiting hours on Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday. This meant we had to visit at prime dinner time on Thanksgiving Day. I couldn't ask a friend or relative do that...
As the time of the visit got closer, my anxiety level rose. Except for a few court appearances I hadn't seen him in person since the day I left. I really didn't know what to expect. If things got too out of control or if Elizabeth seemed agitated in the slightest, my plan was to leave immediately. But what about me?
He's in a hospital building that is dedicated to mental health. I had been to other hospital buildings owned by the system that runs this unit. In fact, the twins had born in the main facility just five miles or so down the road. But, I had never been to this building. As we approached, I though we were going to the wrong place. There was a big sign that said "St. Clair's." But the building didn't look like a hospital at all. It looked like manufacturing facility or other type of office complex. I was sure that we were heading towards some kind of administrative building. But as we pulled into the driveway I saw in very, very tiny letters "Mental Health in-patient facility" under the name.
Elizabeth and I parked. We walked towards the big double doors. The entrance was institutional to the n-th degree. Just inside the door we were met by what appeared to be an armed guard. Maybe I was having hysterical visions, but I thought I saw a side arm. He searched our bags and my purse. He had us sign in the guest book and gave us visitor badges. Usually I hate wearing a badge. I will do anything to hide it -- even at work I wear my badge low and out of site. But today I made sure that both Elizabeth and I had our badges securely affixed and plainly visible. The guard gave us directions to Steve's unit.
We had to walk through several long, bleak, pale hallways. Our footsteps echoed on the cement block walls. We passed several units, but the one that had me almost in tears was the pediatric unit. I couldn't imagine what a child would have to be like to get locked up in a place like this.
Steve had told me that the patients aren't allowed to have snacks or gifts, but that they are allowed to have gum and hard candies because the medications make their mouths dry. He asked if I could bring gum and hard candies. He said the patients usually share so, could I bring a lot. He also said they have a vending machine, but he didn't have any money -- so could I bring some singles.
We got to the door of his unit. There was a buzzer thingy -- like they have in apartment buildings. Each patient is only allowed to have two visitors at a time, so several people were sitting on the floor outside the door. I pushed the button. A crackly voice came over the speaker, "Yeah? Who are you here to see?"
"Steve" I managed to croak out.
There was a long silence. Finally the voice came back, "Yeah, he's here." Then the door buzzed. I took a deep breath and pushed in.
We were met by another less scary guard. He checked my bags and purse again. I knew that Steve loved M&M candies and given that it was Thanksgiving I decided to try and bring in some for him. I thought the hard shell might be considered "hard candy." The man almost took away the M&Ms but then he used my "hard shell" reasoning and allowed me to bring them in.
Normally they don't allow children on the ward, but Steve had gotten written permission from his doctor. They took us to a private conference room -- the Fish Room -- so called because it had an aquarium. A few minutes later Steve shuffled into the room. He was on some heavy anti-psychotic drugs -- Risperdal among them. At first Elizabeth was a little shy, but she quickly recovered. All-in-all they had a good visit. She sat on his lap. She drew pictures for him. She read for him. She talked about her life.
The whole time I kept thinking about what her life would have been like if we stayed. It seems so unfair. Why does one life have to be sacrificed for another? But staying wouldn't have changed anything.
After awhile he mentioned that he had a present for Elizabeth. But the present was in his house -- the house we used to live in. He said the house was unlocked and I could go by and pick up the present. On Friday I went and got the guitar. The Thursday visit went so well that I decided to take her back on Saturday so she could show daddy playing her guitar.
I've got to tell you... it was so odd to be in that house. The sheets that I had left on the bed were now filthy black and crumpled on the floor next to the bed. He was sleeping on a disgustingly dirty bear mattress. The last bottle of shampoo I had opened in the house was still sitting on the shelf in the shower... in some ways the house was stuck in a time warp. But the house was also cluttered with empty beer and alcohol bottles. Worse, he had gone back to opium.
In case you don't know... there is a cheap and completely legal source of opium as close as your nearest craft store. Steve knows how to turn these craft supplies into opium. His opium addiction is what caused us to split the first time. He kicked the habit, but alas, there were signs of opium production.
Have you ever seen the movies A Beautiful Mind or Pollock? These are just two of many stories about brilliant men who are plagued by mental illness. I've always maintained that Steve is a genius. His medium is photography. He's been shown in major New York Galleries. His work has been sold internationally. His work is amazing. So why is it that some tormented geniuses make it to the big time and some don't? Why is it that some souls seem to be put on this earth simply to be sacraficed?
posted by Liz at 4:44 PM
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