January First: A Child's Descent Into Madness and Her Father's Struggle to Save Her (32 page)

She looks up at me, her face filled with worry. The number might not be real, but her emotions are.

I get out of the car. “Okay, bring the nine over here.”

I go over to the grass beside the road and sit down. I hold out my hands to Jani.

Jani looks at me, confused. “What are you going to do?”

“You want me to help the nine, right? Then you need to give it to me so I can treat it.”

Jani puts the hallucination in my hands. “It’s a girl nine.”

I lower my hands to the grass.

“Don’t hurt her!” Jani calls nervously.

“I’m not going to hurt her. First, we need to check her vital signs. How is her breathing?”

Jani kneels on the grass next to me. “Her name is Ninesly.”

“You need to focus on your patient, Jani. The first thing you always do is check for the patient’s breathing.”

“Okay,” she answers.

“Is she breathing? If not, we need to start pulmonary resuscitation.” Years ago, when I was trying to be a screenwriter, I bought a medical encyclopedia so I could write a spec of a medical show. That, plus the fact that I’ve spent a lot of time in hospitals lately, has taught me a lot.

Jani leans over the space in the grass between us, putting her hand on Ninesly’s invisible chest.

“She’s breathing.”

“Is the breathing fast, slow, or normal?”

Jani checks. She’s completely focused.

“A little bit fast.”

“That could be minor hyperventilation due to the stress of the attack. Next, check her heart rate. Is it fast, slow, or normal?”

Jani checks.

“It’s also a little fast.”

“Okay. Now take Ninesly’s blood pressure. If it is low, that could indicate internal bleeding.”

Jani pumps an invisible blood pressure cuff. “It’s normal.”

“Good. That means less likelihood of internal bleeding. Now take her pulse ox.”

Jani looks up at me.

“What should it be?”

“In most animals, ninety-five percent and higher is considered normal.”

Jani checks. “Ninety-eight.”

“That’s good. Now you need to take her temperature. A high temperature would indicate a possible infection.” I wait while Jani checks the temperature.

“It’s normal.”

“Okay, we’ve taken her vital signs. You always do that first before you treat any injuries. You have to make sure your patient is stable.”

“What does ‘stable’ mean?”

“Means she won’t die. Now that we’ve made sure Ninesly is stable, we can treat the leg. She needs to go to Radiology.”

Jani gets up and goes over to a tree. “This is Radiology,” she announces.

“Do an X-ray of her leg. Is it a single fracture or a compound fracture?”

“Compound.”

I breathe out. “Okay, we’re going to have to do surgery, then. Start an IV to put her under, plus I need three units of nine blood for Ninesly.”

Jani hands me the invisible bags of nine blood.

We go to work, opening Ninesly’s leg and inserting pins into the broken bones.

A car drives past. I wonder what the driver thinks. A man and a girl working feverishly over a patch of grass.

I smile. I don’t care. Jani is totally focused on the operation to save the leg of her hallucination.

Her world and my world are united.

EPILOGUE
July 2011

T
he band U2 released their song “Beautiful Day” two years before Jani was born. It’s been in heavy rotation ever since. Like Jani’s hallucinations, it’s still around despite two subsequent albums.

In many ways, “Beautiful Day” represents the duality of my feelings about Jani. In one sense I’ve both loved and hated this song. Of course, I love the soaring chords, just as I always love Jani. But I hate the chorus and the final refrain.

What you don’t have you don’t need it now
.

When I’d hear the song, I used to say bitterly to Susan, “Easy for Bono to say. He’s worth millions. It’s easy to tell people they don’t need what they don’t have when you yourself don’t actually need anything.” I resented the song, taking it as Bono’s celebration of his own glorious life.

By the time Jani went to UCLA, the song had become a slap in
my face.
It’s a beautiful day
seemed a brutal reminder of how ugly our life had become.

A lot has changed since then. Today, Jani is on three medications: clozapine, lithium, and Thorazine. This combination has been the most successful.

Are her hallucinations completely gone?

No, but as she will tell us, they are not bothering her. It’s like having the TV on in the background, volume turned down, while you’re doing something, and every so often you look up at the screen to see what 400 the Cat and other hallucinations are doing. They remain on Jani’s periphery, but she can still function in our common reality.

Is the violence gone?

Pretty much. By separating Bodhi and Jani into two apartments, we succeeded in what we set out to do, which was to lower Jani’s stress level and ensure that Bodhi would not be growing up afraid of his sister. And he isn’t. I love hearing the sound of Bodhi’s laughter while he and Jani roll around on the floor, playing together.

He calls her his “Si-Si.”

We no longer live in constant fear of her hurting him.

The rages are largely gone. I think I’ve only been hit twice now in the past year.

Is she still antisocial with other kids?

Yes and no. She doesn’t play with other kids too often, but in the past year I have seen her walk up to other girls and ask, “What’s your name? How old are you?” Every time I see this, it still brings tears to my eyes because there was a time when I thought Jani would never interact with flesh-and-blood people again. It’s hard for her because she still sees an entire world they can’t, but she no longer seems angry about it. She is trying.

Does she go to school?

Yes. Despite my initial frustrations with our local school district,
they’re now meeting Jani’s needs in a way I never thought possible. She goes to school after all the other kids have left, spending two hours a day receiving education, with periodic breaks as needed, along with additional time spent on occupational therapy, where she often does engage with other special needs kids. She’s learning how to type and how to tie her shoelaces. She wants more school but tells us she’s not ready to go back into a classroom.

Do we get any help?

Yes, but not from the Department of Mental Health, who to this day
still
wants to send her to an out-of-state residential facility. Actually, the government agency that has helped our family the most has nothing to do with mental illnesses. The help comes from the Los Angeles County Department of Animal Care and Control, specifically the officers and staff at the Castaic, California, Animal Shelter. I started taking Jani there in 2009, and we still go a few times a week. The officers and kennel attendants at the shelter know Jani and let her help take care of the animals. With me by her side, she feeds cats, changes their litter boxes, takes care of the rabbits, reptiles, and even the horses that show up there on occasion. When she was little, she wanted to become a veterinarian, and this hasn’t changed. When she’s with animals is the only time Jani is completely free of her hallucinations. Beyond Honey, who is thirteen years old now, we have some aquatic turtles (all adopted from the Castaic Animal Shelter) and two betta fish. They are her animal sanctuary and help her focus on something tangible, giving her a common language with which to relate to the rest of the world.

In addition to the shelter, we’ve gotten help from a place called Carousel Ranch in Agua Dulce, California. They provide equine therapy for physically and mentally disabled kids as well as autistic children. Every week we check in to the office so Jani can take care of “Office Kitty,” Carousel Ranch’s calico cat. Then it’s time for her
riding lesson. The wonderful staff teaches her “trick riding.” I’m always amazed when I see Jani stand up on the back of the horse and balance on one leg, or ride backward, with the staff supporting her all the way.

While she does this, I muck out the stalls and make sure the horses have water. I do this because Jani gets to ride at Carousel Ranch for free, on a scholarship. I don’t have to trade my labor for her lessons, but I want to feel like I’m contributing. I also enjoy it. I find peace in taking care of the horses.

Which brings me back to “Beautiful Day.”

There’s a twenty-seven-year-old woman, Lucy, who rides at Carousel Ranch at the same time as Jani. Lucy has cerebral palsy, another illness for which there is no cure. She can’t just get on the horses like Jani can. She lives most of her life in a wheelchair and has to ride with someone holding her upright, but her smile is always bright and happy when she’s up on the horse.

It’s a beautiful day, Don’t let it get away
.

Watching Jani and Lucy ride, I finally get it. The song’s not called “Beautiful Life.” It’s “Beautiful Day,” meaning at least this day, today, can be beautiful.

I don’t even hope for beautiful days. Every day, in some way, Jani’s illness reminds us that it is still there.

But every day there are also moments where I see her smile, moments when I have hope, moments when I feel at peace with our future, whatever might come our way.

These are the moments I live for.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

T
he publication of this book is bittersweet. For obvious reasons, I wish I’d never had to write it. Jani’s story is bigger than I am, bigger than any one person, and thankfully there were plenty of people to help me.

I want to thank Stacey Cohen for sharing our story with Shari Roan of the
Los Angeles Times
. I will always be grateful to Shari for seeing the grace in Jani and for refusing to let her become a statistic. My deepest thanks also goes to Erica Wohlreich, Elissa Stohler, and Claire Weinraub, all of whom became part of our family while I was telling Jani’s story. Thank you to Oprah, who showed parents all over the world struggling with a mentally ill child that they are not alone.

Thank you to Steve Truitt, who has many titles, but I think “awesome dude” is the best. My attorney, Joshua Binder, and my agent, Byrd Leavell, have gone and continue to go beyond the call of duty in my aid. I hope you both know how lucky I feel to have you as my
representatives. If not for you, Byrd, this book never would have been published.

Although they are no longer there, I must thank Christine Pride and Diane Salvatore for their vision of what this story could be and for bringing me to Crown. I deeply thank my wonderful editor, Jenna Ciongoli, for her patience, wisdom, and for her continued faith that I could tell this story even in my darkest hours when I didn’t think I could. Thank you so much, Jenna, for hanging in there with me.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart to my friend John Gides. John came the night Jani went into UCLA and I would not have made it without him.

Thank you to my mentor, Jacqueline Mitchard, a far better writer than I will ever be, for challenging me to tell this story.

Thank you to Bethanne, Carl Goss, John Fetto, Dawn, Nancy, Angela, Kelly, Karen, Karlee, Cat, Falcon, Sharone, and all the rest of our “Facebook Family.” All of you helped to keep our family going through two difficult years, and I will never forget that. Likewise, thank you to the countless strangers who donated to our family out of the kindness of your hearts.

Thanks to Tony and Anthony. You know why. I owe you a debt I can never repay. A very heartfelt thanks to Jeanne and Lauren for providing Bodhi a safe and happy place during our family’s darkest hours.

Thanks to Greg, Ivy, Barry, Jennifer, and Tracy for continuing to be champions for Jani and those like her.

Thanks to Janine Francolini and the Flawless Foundation for turning inspiration into action on behalf of mentally ill kids.

Thank you to Dr. Todd Fine and his wonderful staff of teachers and aides at the Newhall School District. You helped saved Jani’s life. The same goes for Dr. W for always fighting to give Jani a better life. Also, my thanks to Dr. DeAntonio and his doctors and nursing staff
at the Resnick Neuropsychiatric Hospital. You became Jani’s second home and part of her extended family.

A huge thank you to Denise, Becky, Katie, Taylor, and everybody else at Carousel Ranch. You give Jani confidence and hope for the future. I’d say we are a lot better than “fifty/fifty” now.

A huge thank you to Dena, who has become part of our family, as well as Marla Rosenthal for everything she has done.

Thank you to my father for your understanding and never-ending support. By sticking with me during my struggles, you taught me what being a father is about.

Susan. My wife. You helped me so much with this book, your name should be on the cover as well. But more than that, I thank you for sticking by me. I don’t know what I did in a previous life to deserve you, but there is no one else I would have wanted by my side.

Thank you to Bodhi for the joy you bring to my life. You may not realize yet what you have done for your sister, but one day you will.

Finally, there is Jani. There are no words in our language to express what I feel for you. You’ve taken me to places emotionally I never thought I would survive, but seeing you grow despite your illness is the greatest joy of my life. Every day, you challenge me to be a better father and a better human being.

I love you always.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

M
ichael Schofield is a lecturer in English at California State University, Northridge. His family’s story has appeared in the
Los Angeles Times
and on
The Oprah Winfrey Show
, ABC’s
20/20
, and
Discovery Health
. He lives in the Los Angeles area with his family, now enjoying life together again under one roof. You can follow his family’s continuing story as well as contact him at
www.janisjourney.org
.