HAPPY PIC

New day on the river.

Christi Weeks just received a phone call. Ryan's been located and is safe.
Hope you have a good weekend everybody! 

HAPPENING NOW - PLEASE HELP FIND RYAN by Christi Weeks

Last night Christi wrote:

"I went to visit Ryan at St Luke's tonight at 6:30pm. and three staff members came out and informed me Ryan went AWOL from an off-unit activity that started at 3:15pm. Ryan wasn't discovered missing until 4:30pm. 

I have one missed call from St Luke's Hospital at 4:36 pm. No voicemail message. No other attempts to call me.

The staff didn't call the Community Bridges on-call case manager from Ryan's forensic act team. 

The police didn't respond to take a missing person report until 6:30pm. In fact, the police were leaving the hospital as I was just arriving to visit. I questioned the staff about the two-hour lag in contact with the police and was told this wasn't an emergency. 

Ryan is on court ordered treatment on Clozapine.  And this is not an emergency?

(Clozapine has a short 12-hour half life, meaning it is completely cleared from the brain within 12 hours, and can have a rapid onset of withdrawal if abruptly stopped.  Abrupt withdrawal of clozapine has been associated with symptoms of “cholinergic rebound,” including nausea, vomiting, hyper-salivation, diarrhea, diaphoresis, insomnia, and agitation, as well as rapid onset of psychosis. Clozapine is usually only prescribed for people who don't respond well to other antipsychotic drugs, and is prescribed with caution because of potentially dangerous side effects and acute withdrawal effects.)

Four staff members were supervising 9 patients on a 30-minute off-unit activity beginning at 3:15pm and didn't discover Ryan missing until 4:30pm. 

I will hold this hospital accountable. I can't believe this. 

Ryan is still missing. I contacted his team at Community Bridges and they are outreaching to try to find him tonight. 

Please keep Ryan in your prayers."

This morning Christi posted this flyer:

Please help find my son who went missing from St. Luke's Hospital yesterday 1/03/2017 around 3:15 pm. Ryan is in need of urgent medical care and medication. Without this medication and medical care Ryan's health and safety is at immediate risk.

WHY I'M MARCHING ON JAN 21, 2017 by Dede Ranahan

On January 21, 2017, I'll be participating in the Sacramento* sister march of the Women's March on Washington.  At 72, I'll attend a statement event like this one for the first time in my life. Guess you could say I'm concerned, more than that, frightened, by the way our world is spinning.

A friend asks me, "What's this march about?" 

According to the mission statement, this march is about inclusivity — "recognizing that our vibrant and diverse communities are the strength of our country."

There are some who want to turn this gathering into a bipartisan one. That's not the way I see it being presented. It's not — okay I'll say it — it's not an anti-Trump march. It's a grass roots effort to get us to speak up and move administrations (including Trump's) in the direction we want them to go. To remind them that "women's rights are human rights and that there is no true peace without justice and equity for all." I'd parse and add, "including justice and equity for the seriously mentally ill and their families."

My brother's joining my sister-in-law and me at the State Capitol Building in Sacramento. I hope many men will join us. My brother asks, "Are you carrying a sign at the march? What's it going to say?"

Ah! Good questions. Now I have to put my priorities where my feet are. I have to be clear about why I'm walking. Truth be told, if I were to make a sign that included all the reasons I'm marching, — reason #1: Mental Health Parity and Comprehensive, Integrated Care for those with Serious Mental Illness; #2: Reformed HIPAA regulations — it would measure at least six feet by six feet. It'd be ridiculously heavy. And from a marketing standpoint, it'd be ineffective. Less is more.

So what's my sign going to say? In the interest of full disclosure, there's anger in my motivation to march. I'm angered (and insulted) by the dumpsite language used in this recent election. The devil in me might embellish my sign with select four-letter words. But I'll suppress my less-than-honorable inclinations. I'll find my good angel. I'll set example I want our leaders to emulate.

I'm exercising due diligence and thinking, in a definitive way, about why I'm marching and what succinct message my sign should convey. I'll choose its words with care. Suggestions welcome.

 Note to self: Take the high road.

*As of today, 10,000 are expected to participate in the Sacramento March.

UPDATE: Over 20,000 attended that Sacramento March.

TELL YOUR STORY HERE IN 2017 - A CALL TO ACTION by Dede Ranahan

Consider this a personal invitation to write your story and share it on this blog in 2017.  We need to tell our stories about serious mental illness in our families outside the protections of closed support groups, online and off.  How else can we expect the general public to relate to our needs or to endorse our advocacy efforts?  I think we've been silent long enough.  Don't you?

The following is an excerpt from my book, Sooner Than Tomorrow - A Mother's Memoir:

In her book, How the Light Gets In, Pat Schneider talks about writing as a calling.

I think about Pat's words and sit here at my computer because, if I don’t, I may miss something.  Who knows, it could be something funny, sad or even brilliant.  When I write, words appear on the page and show me things I wouldn’t otherwise realize or reflect upon.

How do I get my muse to wake up?  To begin writing, Pat suggests to take whatever comes.  Whatever image.  Whatever words.  Whatever first flashes into your mind.  “It’s a gift from the unconscious.”

Another reason to write sometimes seems like a treasure hunt where the treasure seeker has only part of the treasure map.  Through reading and writing, slowly but surely, other parts of the map are uncovered and pieced together, and lead to the buried gold: voice.

Each of us has a unique voice.  There never was and never will be another one the same as mine.  Or the same as yours.  We need to find our voices and put them to work.

In a nutshell: I write so I might think and act with both mindfulness and exuberance, and to tell the stories that are mine to tell.

As I write, I remember Pat Schneider’s poem, “Blessing for a Writer,” and sprinkle her words on myself like holy water.

". . .lost though you may be in the forest,
drop your own words on the path like pebbles
and write your way home.”

Hope to see your story here.  Can be a couple of paragraphs — a remembrance, an incident, what's working, what's not working. Read other stories on the blog. They're all different and honest and in each writer's voice. Our stories have power. Let's tell them.

"We realize the importance of our voices only when we are silenced."
Malala Yousafzai

HAPPY PIC

Wishing you serenity at Christmastime.

Art Credit: GG Burns
mixed media artist  *  brain health advocate * blogger
GG's Functional Art, "Art you can use"
See more at: http://gg-burns.pixels.com/  
TWITTER: https://twitter.com/advocateky

TIME TO REPLENISH MY SPIRIT by Dede Ranahan

First, huge thank-you's to Mary Barksdale, Ronni Blumenthal, Kendra Burgos, GG Burns, May Enos, Deborah Fabos, Heidi Frank, Mike Gaeta, Val Greenoak, Janet Hays, Gloria Hill, Sherry Hunter, Linda Olivia, Teresa Pasquini, Karen Riches, Joann Strunk, Lynne Warberg, and Craig Willers.

Thank you for sharing your stories on my blog in 2016. I know some of you will have on-going stories here. I appreciate your voices and your trust. Your/Our stories have power.

And special thanks to my daughters. Kerry Joiner - for your technical support. Without you I would never have gotten this blog up and running. Marisa Farnsworth - for your beautiful photos that I use for Happy Pics. And Megan Mace, my long distance daughter who seems to read everything I post. The three of you mean the world to me.

As we approach Christmas and Hanukkah, I hope and pray that all my readers and writers and family will have calm, peaceful holidays. We can be cautiously optimistic with the historic passage of The Helping Families in Mental Health Crisis Act that was signed yesterday. At the same time, we must remain vigilant that it doesn't get decimated with poor implementation and the potential, looming repeal of the Affordable Care Act. Our journey has always been perilous and parts of it remain so going forward.

I'm taking a short holiday break from my routine postings here. Your stories both inspire me and weigh heavily. I need to attend to replenishing my spirit. I'll resume posting in January. Meanwhile, being the techie I'm not, I'll be researching ways to make this blog better and connected to more social media. At 72, this is a learning curve I hadn't anticipated, but I can't stop now. I believe getting our stories out there to the uninformed, inexperienced public is paramount in sustaining and expanding understanding and support for serious mental illness.

I'll be checking my email inbox for more of your stories to publish in the new year. Meanwhile,
just so you know, you are my heroes. I send you love.

My kitty, The Jazz, in a contemplative pose.

TONY'S FINGER by Patrick Ranahan

My son, Pat, was a sensitive poet with a ready wit. In my memoir, I've divided the sections by the seasons — summer/fall/winter/spring.  I introduce each section with one of Pat's poems. The following is the poem for winter.

TONY'S FINGER

He called the boiler room and said,
"This is John up in the penthouse.
Come on up and crack the steam in."
So I took the cowhide gloves and walked
across the January parking lot
to the main building of the hospital,
stuck my key in the elevator and rode it
to the mechanical penthouse, third floor.
The door opened to show me the tradesmen
all caught up on a different pipe
like kids on the monkey bars.
I put the pipe wrench to the blue valve
and cracked it slow, remembering John's admonition:
"You've got a hundred'n twenty pounds of pressure
coming through there. Open it too fast
and it'll blow you through the fucking roof."
Steam sang through the pipes as the condensate
dripped from the new silver gaskets
onto the concrete floor, scribbling a lazy map.
A man lost his finger here on the original job
putting in the permanent air handlers,
and when I look up to check the steam gauge,
I see where his buddies drew a picture --
a severed digit with the brotherly words:
"Hey Tony, here's your finger."

Patrick
Remembering you at Christmas...

HAPPY PIC

Photo Credit: Marisa Farnsworth

Little Elf! Little Elf! You're not on a shelf!
How does your garden grow?
With love and with care and with rain in the air,
I've got three red mushrooms to show!

Hope you have a good weekend everybody!

A SYSTEM OF LUCK AND HEROICS, NOT A SYSTEM OF CARE by Teresa Pasquini

Juggling Balls: When I got the call from Danny yesterday that he was safely transferred, I could not believe the joy in his voice. My son is a sweet, joyful person but it has been a long time since I heard such a tone of jubilation from him. It was the tone of freedom. Freedom does indeed ring. 

From the time I left court on Thursday until 9:30 a.m. yesterday, I was holding my breath that everything would fall into place and the court order would be followed. There were so many balls being juggled by so many people in so many counties. If one dropped, Danny would have been stuck in a solitary cell for months waiting for #ABedInstead. 

The agreement had been in negotiation for weeks. So many people were trying to reach a settlement and get Danny to a therapeutic environment. The Public Defender was tenacious in her defense that Danny was not likely ever going to be restored to competency. The DA wasn't ready to concede that because the statute allows for more competency training. But, he had developed compassion and was no longer seeing things in black and white or prison orange. But, bureaucracy and rules kept getting in the way of logic and compassion and balls kept dropping. And, Danny sat in solitary waiting for a lucky break or the system to figure it out. He was suicidal. He was losing hope.

Last Monday, I received notice that there was a bed in place for Danny and it would be held until Thursday. We weren't due in court until Thursday morning. I asked if court could be moved up. It couldn't. But, everyone started juggling balls to make sure that this bed didn't slip away. There were heroics at play and a lot of luck. That has been our story for 15 years. My son's life has depended on a system of luck and heroics instead of a system of care. 

This is the bed dance that gets played all across our country while the human log jam waits. If one ball drops or if one system refuses to twist a rule or find another way, then human beings sit in solitary losing hope. Who can blame them for giving up? 

Danny was awoken yesterday in a solitary cell in the Napa County and transported to his new home in Merced County. A Sheriff Deputy from Napa County agreed to come in on his day off to transport Danny. Had he not agreed to do that, my son would have been behind bars by himself, waiting. And, he would have given up hope. Instead he is happy and experiencing joy. 

This nightmare started in November of 2011. Danny was hospitalized on Thanksgiving Eve. As we approach Thanksgiving 2016, my son is thankful for all who refused to settle and who never gave up on him. I am too. Our family needed this to go right and we are so thankful for all who supported us and our son. 

At times, we must all break the rules, question the rules and refuse to settle for the status quo. We need to get personal, get real, speak up and tell our stories. We have to become ball jugglers and partners with all who are fighting the good fight with us. If a ball drops, pick it up and keep going and never, ever give up. Our humanity depends on it. 

#MyDannyMatters #nevergiveup #ABedInstead #Right2Treatment#PassHR2646 in the Senate #now !!