January First: A Child's Descent Into Madness and Her Father's Struggle to Save Her (22 page)

“Do you want me to get her?” Dave asks.

I wish I could hand Honey off to him, but there is no way. Maybe Janni won’t be violent with Dave.

“Okay, pick her up.”

Dave grabs Janni, and she immediately hits him on the head.

“Janni, stop!” I order her.

“It’s okay,” Dave replies calmly. “I’m used to it. This is nothing.”

I follow Dave back to our apartment, Janni hitting him and kicking him the entire way, Cameron walking next to his father, trying to coax her.

“Janni, calm down,” he says. “You want to go to Red Lobster. You want to get mac ’n’ cheese.” One mentally ill child consoling another, while Honey is still barking and lunging at them, forcing me to pull her back on her leash.

We get back upstairs to our apartment.

“What happened?” Susan asks, watching Dave go past with Janni beating his head.

“She started hitting Honey for no reason.” It’s hard to talk over Honey’s incessant barking at Dave and Cameron, whom she perceives as intruders.

“Where do you want her?” Dave asks. Janni is still whaling away at his head, knocking off his glasses.

“Susan, put Bodhi down so you can take Honey,” I direct.

I take Janni from Dave and immediately the blows come down on my head. I walk into her room and put her down.

“Okay, time-out. You have to stay here until you calm down.”

“I’m hungry!” she screams at me.

“We can’t go until you calm down.” I start to close the door, but Janni bolts for it. I stick out my hand and push her aside so I can lock the door. I know the time-outs don’t change her behavior, but I just need a place to stash her so I can take Honey out.

Immediately something smashes into the door, probably her chair again.

“What now?” Dave asks.

“Did you take Honey out?” Susan asks.

“I never got the chance. She wouldn’t go any farther than the parking lot. Honey still has to go.”

“I’ll take her out,” Susan offers.

Another crash comes from behind Janni’s door. I can’t listen to this.

“No, I’ll take Honey.”

I SLOWLY WALK Honey around the complex, not wanting to go back, even though Janni has probably calmed down by now. But I know it’s getting late, so I put Honey in the garage and head upstairs.

The first thing I see when I enter the apartment is Cameron at Janni’s open bedroom door. He turns to me, tears streaming down his face.

“She stopped throwing things, so I asked if I could go in, and Susan said yes, and I went in, and Janni was falling out of the window …”

I race past him into Janni’s bedroom. Susan is standing inside, holding Bodhi, crying. “Janni, please come back inside!” she begs.

Time slows down as I follow Susan’s gaze to Janni’s bedroom window.

It is open.

Dave’s body is pressed up against the part of the sliding window that doesn’t open, face red and perspiring, glasses retrieved but dangling from his face. He is straining to hold on to Janni’s feet, wedged between his body and his left arm.

“I need to get away,” I hear Janni screaming into the night through the open window. “Let me go! Let me go!”

My brain paralyzes.
Janni … is … trying … to … jump … out … the … window
. My daughter, my little girl, whom I used to shadow when she was a baby, protecting her from other kids, is trying to jump out the window, yet I can’t react. I don’t know how to react anymore.

“Janni!” I say weakly as Dave pulls her back through the window. His face red, he slams the window closed before sagging down the wall, spent.

“Janni, what were you doing?” I ask. Janni is trying to open the window. Dave struggles to his feet and holds it closed.

“I want to get away.”

“Janni, you could have fallen on your head and died.” My voice is so weak, like I am fading.

“I have to get away.”

“From what?”

Janni suddenly turns from the window. “I’m hungry. Can we go to Red Lobster?”

I know I should press her to find out what the hell she was doing, but I don’t. I’m afraid. I am afraid because she was trying to “get away.” And whatever she was trying to get away from in here, alone in her room, is worse than dropping from a second-floor window.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
December 29, 2008

I
am sitting on the couch in Dr. Howe’s office as Susan is describing how Janni tried to jump out the window.

I am thinking, but not about that. I can’t bring myself to think about that. If I do, I know I will fall apart. I am supposed to be Janni’s protector. I would give my life for her. Yet, when it happened, I was too numb to respond. But that numbness is the only thing that allows me to function.

Instead, I find myself thinking about when I was a kid. My dad had his private pilot’s license, and he used to take me flying with him. He always made me feel like I was a real copilot by involving me in the process, and one of the most important jobs of the copilot is to read the various checklists to the PIC (pilot in command). It’s a way of making sure the pilot has done everything he or she is supposed to do.

I remember reading the checklist to him. Everything I read, he would repeat, double-checking that the procedure had been done.

Fuel set to center?

Fuel set to center
.

Mixture rich?

Mixture rich
.

Engine cowls open?

Engine cowls open
.

Master switch on?

Master switch on
.

I think about my questioning of Janni, trying to get her to see the connection between her actions and the consequences.

What did you do?

I hit Bodhi
.

No. What did you do?

I screamed
.

No
.

It’s like she’s guessing at the answer.…

Oh, my God.

“She’s guessing,” I suddenly say out loud.

“What?” Dr. Howe and Susan say simultaneously.

I stare at the floor. “Every time I put her in for a time-out, I tell her she can’t come out until she takes responsibility and admits what she did that got her there in the first place, but she guesses at the answer and never gets it right. She always starts with ‘I hit Bodhi,’ then she’ll say, ‘I screamed,’ and she keeps running down a checklist of everything she might have done until she gets the right answer.”

I rub my eyes. “I always assumed she was playing a game, but now I realize she really doesn’t know.” I look Dr. Howe straight in the eye. “She’s not playing. She really doesn’t remember.”

Dr. Howe appears lost in thought for a moment. She glances up at us, and I get the sense she is struggling with whether to tell us something.

“She doesn’t remember,” she finally says, “because she’s disassociating.”

Disassociating
. Doctor-speak. Part of their unique “language.” I remember first learning this term in college psychology. Like most psychiatric terms, it doesn’t sound particularly threatening. That’s because Dr. Howe left off the rest of the sentence:
from reality
.

A person “disassociating” is a person who slides back and forth between two realities: ours and theirs.

“What does that mean?” Susan asks. I can hear the fear in her voice.

Dr. Howe looks over at Janni. “I think I might have been wrong about the mood disorder,” she finally says. “I used to believe her psychosis was a product of her mood.” She looks back at us. “Now I am starting to think it is the other way around. Her mood is the product of her psychosis.”

“I don’t get it,” Susan says, darting her eyes between Dr. Howe and me.

“It’s too soon to tell,” Dr. Howe answers. “I really wish we could get her into UCLA, where they could observe her over a long period of time.”
Observe her for what exactly?
She doesn’t explain.

“What are you saying?” Susan knows something bad has been realized, just not what. I look over at Janni, at my little girl.

“Could be any number of things,” Dr. Howe answers. “That’s why she needs to be in UCLA.”

Susan looks to me. She knows I know.

I sigh. “The first is bipolar with psychotic features. The second is schizophrenia.”

Susan stares at me for a moment. I look down, unable to meet her eyes.

“So she does have schizophrenia,” Susan says quietly, as if it is fact.

Dr. Howe, writing a prescription, shakes her head. “I didn’t say that.”

“Then what else could it be?”

Dr. Howe turns to us. “Remember what I told you when you first came in a year ago: The diagnosis is less important than the symptoms.”

She tears a prescription off her pad and hands it to me. “I would like to try a low dose of Haldol.”

Haldol. I know about Haldol. I’ve read about Haldol. In the movies where you see patients sitting in the corner, drooling, staring into space? That’s Haldol.

“Haldol is used to treat schizophrenia,” I say.

“It’s a general treatment for psychosis,” Dr. Howe answers, refusing to look at me.

“I’ve read about it. It’s used only in the most extreme cases of schizophrenia where the patient has failed to respond to all other medications.”

Susan turns to Dr. Howe, alarmed. “You mentioned Geodon before,” she says, almost babbling with fear. “We haven’t tried that yet.”

Dr. Howe’s face is impassive. “I don’t think it would work. Risperdal had no effect on Janni, and Geodon is chemically very similar to Risperdal.”

“It is schizophrenia, isn’t it?” Susan says, her eyes tearing up. “I knew it.”

“We can’t say that yet,” Dr. Howe replies.

But the dam has cracked. Dr. Howe can stick her finger in the crack all she wants, but there is no stopping the flood.

“Why not?” I ask. “What else is left?” Why can’t Dr. Howe just admit it? Why maintain this sense of false hope? Schizophrenia has always been the potential eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room, the worst-case scenario, but if she has it, just tell us. At least then we’ll know. I look over at Janni, playing with the dollhouse. Let us enjoy what we have left of her.

“You can’t just diagnose someone with schizophrenia,” Dr. Howe responds.

“Why not?” I ask again.

“Because you just can’t!” Dr. Howe snaps. I am taken aback, having never known her to be this flustered. “It takes a long period of observation to make that diagnosis, longer than a year.”

She regains her composure, resuming writing on the prescription pad. “You might want to call your pharmacy and make sure they carry Haldol. It’s not a commonly used antipsychotic anymore.”

“Have you ever prescribed it before?” Susan asks.

Dr. Howe stops writing on her pad.

“Not to a child this young,” she admits.

“Why?” I ask, even though I already can guess the answer.

Dr. Howe turns to me. “I’ve never had to.”

Dr. Howe starts walking us out. Susan is in front, pushing Bodhi’s stroller. Janni is next, followed by me, with Dr. Howe bringing up the rear.

“Give me a call in three days and let me know how the Haldol is doing,” she says.

I nod.

She draws closer to me and whispers. “And keep seeing what you can do to get her into UCLA.”

I stare at her and nod, still trying to process this.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
January 12, 2009

I
look across at Janni. It’s her first day back at school. She is very quiet this morning. No mention of 400 or any of the others from Calalini.

I turn into the lot. “We’re only five minutes late. If we hurry, you can get to class before Mrs. Parris does the absent list.” I pull up in front of the school and pop my seat belt off.

“I can go by myself,” Janni suddenly says, getting out of the car.

“Are you sure?” I ask, getting out and retrieving her roller bag from the backseat. I feel like I should go in with her, if for no other reason than to remind Mrs. Parris that I’m still here watching how she treats Janni.

“I’ll be fine.” Janni takes her backpack. She doesn’t look upset; in fact, she just looks like any other child her age going to school. It occurs to me that I’ve never actually seen this.

“Wait a minute,” I call to her.

She stops. I run up to her and give her a kiss on the top of the head. “I love you.”

She kisses me back. “Love you.” She turns and walks away, pulling her backpack behind her.

I get back in the car and call Susan.

“How was Janni when you dropped her off?” she asks.

“Fine. She didn’t even complain about going to school this morning.”

“Maybe the Haldol is working,” she says with cautious optimism.

“It’s too early to tell,” I reply, unwilling to let myself feel any hope. “But she’s never gone this long without talking about her imaginary friends.”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “If the Haldol has taken away her imaginary friends …”

“Then that means they were never imaginary,” Susan finishes my sentence.

When Janni told us at Loma Linda that the rats were afraid of Bodhi, she was telling the truth. They’re real to her because they’re hallucinations.

I AM WALKING into Walmart for cleaning supplies. My cell phone rings. I check the caller ID and it’s the school district’s main line.

I sigh. I just dropped her off twenty minutes ago.

“Hello, Mr. Schofield? It’s Nancey from Oak Hills School. Janni was just brought into the nurse’s office.”

Janni must have gotten bored and requested to go to the nurse’s office. I’m going to have to let Nancey in on the secret.

“I’m not worried. That’s what we told her to do if she was having a hard time in class. She’ll sit there a few minutes, get bored, and go back to class.”

“Well, I’m little worried, Mr. Schofield. She seems pretty sick. She’s also drooling.”

“That’s the medication,” I reply, growing annoyed. I know what they want. They want me to come and take her off their hands. “The medication she’s on increases saliva production,” I add. “No big deal.”

“She says she can’t walk.”

I’m getting angry. I don’t believe Janni can’t walk. She’s a smart girl. She knows what to say to get into the nurse’s office, just like she knew what to do to get back into Alhambra.