I AM BROKEN. BEYOND REPAIR - An Anonymous Mother

I watched my son suffer a suicide attempt in January 2016. I sat by his side every day. At least he was treated well in Ohio. How I wish we could have stayed there.

In Florida, they Baker Acted (an emergency, involuntary psychiatric examination) him three times. Twice to Gracepoint where he was severely over-medicated. I visited him daily and watched him turn into a zombie. I was on the phone, constantly, advocating and seeking help. Using all my energy for him. His problems consumed my life. I reached out to everyone. In spite of losing myself entirely to try to help him, he’s only received harm and abuse in Florida.

My son was arrested in July 2016. It was a needless arrest that never would have happened had Gracepoint not destroyed his brain and injected him with 400 mg Abilify upon discharge. For two weeks after the injection, he suffered insomnia, severe akathisia, anxiety, paranoia, and hallucinations. He hardly ate or talked and paced the floors day and night.

After his arrest, I went to bed. No longer able to live my life. No longer part of my family’s life. No longer in my granddaughters’ lives. No longer able to function. Because my son suffered, I suffered. I lost everything. I spent the only energy I had advocating and visiting him in jail, or talking with him daily on the phone.  

He’s in worse shape, today, due to all the trauma he’s suffered by the hands of those who call themselves healers. Why are they even in the business? It’s pure corruption here in Florida.

Now, it’s Boley housing and St. Anthony’s Hospital. No parent should have to watch his/her son suffer at the hands or such tormentors. How can they call themselves healthcare professionals or even doctors? All they did was harm him. From 7/26/18 to 8/8/18 he was living in pure hell — a torture chamber. It was completely unnecessary. Didn’t need to happen. Again, I had to exhume some sort of strength to try to advocate and be there every day. It was futile. I couldn’t stop the abuse. 

The week of 7/20/18, my son was cut off 500 mg Clozapine. Cold turkey. Boley did nothing to help him. Boley Baker Acted him on 7/26/18 and the hospital cut off the 225 mg Effexor. Cold turkey. The same day, he was given a forced injection of Geodon/Ativan. On 7/27 he was given a forced injection of Haldol/Ativan. On 7/28 he was given a forced injection of Zyprexa/Ativan and left alone in isolation to suffer seizures all day long. The nurse said he was just attempting to choke himself. She said he was spitting on the med techs. No, he was trying to talk. White foam flew out of his mouth as he tried to speak but only could groan. This is inhumane.

At 5:30 P.M., my husband, Vince, and I arrived for visitation at the psych unit. An RN sat with us to explain that our son was “in crisis” and she couldn’t bring him out to the cafeteria in his condition for a visitation. She mentioned she’d considered a private room for our visitation but didn’t think I’d be able to handle it. I said, “I can handle it.”

She asked, “Do you hear that person screaming?”

I responded, “I don’t hear screaming, I hear someone groaning.”

She stated that our son was groaning, that he’d been in isolation, and needed to remain there. I insisted we see him. When we walked into the TV room, our son was seated in a chair surrounded by med techs. His body was rigid, his jaw clenched, his back arched, his head thrown back with eyes rolling back in his head, and white foam was pouring out of his mouth. Every time he struggled to breathe, I heard gurgling sounds. I touched his hand and he grabbed mine. He tried to turn towards me and speak. His lips moved with his jaw clenched tightly shut. Only groaning noises were coming out along with a lot of white foam. 

One med tech had to stand in front of him with a towel, constantly wiping up the white foam. The white of his right eye started bleeding in 2 areas, filling his eye with blood. I asked what was happening. Everyone stood there wide-eyed. Then the RN told me I had to leave. I said, “No! My son needs immediate medical attention!” I feared for his life. She told me she would get an ICU nurse to assess him. She returned with the ICU nurse and we had to leave. Our son was immediately transported to the CV-ICU unit. I was thinking that the saliva he’d been producing since early morning was actually seizure activity and was concerned about brain damage. 

Around 6:00 P.M., in the CV-ICU, a Bi-pap machine was applied to help our son breathe. He was sedated with an IV drip of Precedex and PRN Ativan. The next day he was transferred back to 6th floor medical unit. Vince and I stayed with him all day.  He couldn’t open his eyes, talk, or feed himself. Nurses began administering oral insulin. They asked us, “Has your son always had diabetes?” We answered, “No, never.”

None of us would escape all that unscathed, but my son had to endure 11 more days of suffering — time in restraints and more drugging — even Thorazine. All he needed was his Clozapine. This is all harm to the patient. Oh, but wait, he’s not a patient. He’s a consumer. Oh, so that’s how they get away from the Hippocratic oath. He’s just a consumer — not a patient — not even a person with the right to “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”

People continue to turn their heads in apathy and indifference while there is an American holocaust going on. No one will speak up. I’m not a doctor. I’m not an attorney. I’m a nobody. Despite all my efforts, my son keeps receiving abuse from the mental harm system. It’s not healthcare.

I am broken. Beyond repair.

Photo credit: josef.stuefer/flickr

Photo credit: josef.stuefer/flickr