Dan’s parents drive him back home while he is sedated. The family gather to help. To access previous chapters, visit Jane Read’s Author Page.

Chapter 11.                                                           

JANE

 

‘I doubt if a single individual could be found from the whole of mankind, free from some sort of  insanity.  The only difference is one of degree.’

                                                                           Desiderius Erasmus

            

 

‘It will be a few hours before anything more can be prescribed so if you want to take him back to York now, we will discharge him while he is still sedated.’

The two psychiatrists are business-like and not keen to section Dan in London which is a relief. We had been half-tempted to check into a local hotel because of our utter exhaustion, but we’d prefer to travel home with a more manageable Dan in the car. We bundle him semi-conscious onto the back seat, cover him with some coats and are ready to set off. I worry again about Graham doing another long drive, with no sleep, or food. But he orders extra shots in his coffee and is keen to get going right away,

‘I’ll manage Dan if he wakes up,’ I volunteer. ‘Maybe he’ll be more like his old self when he comes round’

I’m experiencing a familiar nervousness; one I used to feel when travelling anywhere with a newborn in the car. Long journeys with a baby required careful planning but Dan had always been one of my best travellers. This time, I can’t predict what will happen in the next few hours. What if Graham gets too tired to drive all the way home? What if the sedation wears off before we get there?

I glance out of the car window into the darkness as we pull away just in time to catch sight of a few remaining fireworks, popping and hissing, then fading silently away into the sulphurous fog of the night sky. I had totally forgotten that it was bonfire night.

While Dan sleeps, I try to formulate a plan. I text a few relatives to let them know what is happening and warn them to avoid phoning us just now, because of Dan’s aversion to ringing mobiles. By the time we reach the outskirts of York, the sedatives are noticeably beginning to wear off. He is sitting up, still groggy, slurring his words a little,

‘I sense you guys are worrying. God doesn’t want you to worry.’

His concern for us is touching, but it is clear that nothing has changed. While he remains quiet, we decide it might be a good idea to have a short visit home to regroup, before embarking once more into the unknown. Tom suggested that we might pay a visit our local GP first of all. They might make a referral to York hospital and get Dan admitted sooner.

We arrive home to discover that not only has Rob missed work that day, but Em has not been to school. After the disruption of the previous night, they both felt too tired and too emotional. Em assures us that Monday’s lessons are nearly always a waste of time.

Dan is calm as he makes his way slowly upstairs. I follow, suggesting that he take a quick shower. He does, but I’m not sure that he uses any soap or shampoo or even dries himself properly. He appears spaced out as he pads silently around the house with bare feet.  I slip him a drink of tea and a small snack, which he eats semi-consciously.

Lou’s father, a retired pastor, has travelled over with Rob and Lou to see if he can be of any help. He brings some of his wife’s homemade soup and a few other welcome provisions. Dan decides that Pastor Paul looks so lost and sad that he immediately sets about ministering to him.  I return to our kitchen a little later to find that he has the poor man backed up against the kitchen sink and is gently stroking his ear.

Tom catches the train as soon as his A & E shift at Blackpool hospital has ended and Graham meets him from the station. He is dressed in scrubs, doctor’s bag in hand, admitting as he steps in through our front door that despite all of his training, he is quite scared to face his own brother’s altered state.

‘Did the hospital carry out a general physical examination of Dan, to rule out any neurological cause of the psychosis?’  He asks. I didn’t think they had.

‘There can be hidden causes, such as something creating pressure on the brain, which it’s possible to miss.’

I can’t help feeling proud of his expertise and calm authority. I start to feel a little bit safer with Tom around. He goes upstairs with his younger brother, who allows him to carry out various checks. Tom talks to Dan in a gentle and reassuring way, tolerating his urgent attempts to convince him of his new identity. That day, Dan adopts a new nickname for his brother, ‘The Doubter,’ after the disciple, Thomas, in the Gospels accounts, the one who demanded to see the scarred hands, feet and to touch the side of Jesus before he would believe that he had risen from the dead.

Our own Tom, a reflective thinker, maintains a quiet but healthy scepticism about the Christian faith, refusing to simply join the status quo because it is expected of him, or to pretend to believe something that he isn’t completely sure about. He ignores emotional pressure from others and detects the hypocrisy of many believers. Tom’s wise and scientific approach to life is something we’ve always respected. He accepts the new label Dan has chosen for him with good humour.

‘We’ll let our Tom take the lead in any decision-making regarding Dan,’ Graham suggests. He too, seems reassured by Tom’s presence.

At the four pm GP appointment, Thomas goes in first to talk to the doctor, whilst Dan leans against me in the waiting room. We join them after a little while and Dan launches straight into his vehement preaching and pacing, the minute he has an audience, leaving no shadow of doubt in the GP’s mind about his psychotic state. We are shown to a private room while the referral is made. The window is slightly open, and we listen to the mournful hooting of a lone owl as we wait. Dan imitates its call, with the exact same pitch and tone.

This catastrophe has occurred at the very time we had been intending to focus on our daughter as she begins her exams. Her sixth form visits are also due to start in about a week’s time, and she will need to make her A’ level subject choices very shortly. Although Em has always been sensible and self-sufficient, I worry about how all this disruption might be affecting her. Suddenly we are so preoccupied with Dan, there is little time or emotional energy left for anything or anyone else.

‘While things are so difficult, we can travel over from Leeds after work, to spend time with Emily in the evenings.’ Rob suggests.

‘We can make tea for her and then drive her to her Sixth form open evenings.’ Lou offers. My eyes fill with tears at their generosity.

Rob and Louise proceed to take over almost all parental responsibility of our daughter for the next few months. Em accepts this willingly, commenting that it’s cool to have younger ‘parents’ to accompany her to the open evenings and to help her with her subject choices. She doesn’t make a fuss about anything, but I’m sure she must resent our absence at times.

Rob and Lou’s efforts help maintain some normality in her life. They spend time texting and chatting to her on the phone, even taking her out for some weekend shopping trips, while Graham and I are constantly distracted by day-to-day care of Dan and the step-by-step decisions we are having to make on his behalf. We are aware that our adult children and their partners, are watching us both closely and noticing how we operate in a crisis. This helps to strengthen our resolve and sustain our efforts. Some compensation for our suffering, is seeing the solidarity and strength of our family, the strong community we have built over the years, during the celebrations and good times, joining forces now to help us through this time of stress and uncertainty.