Jane and Graham are greeted by an interesting patient as they leave the hospital. Dan finds out that he will have to relinquish his part in the Shakespeare project then he asks to watch Em’s school presentation with the rest of the family. To access previous chapters, visit Jane Read’s Author Page.

 

Chapter 21

 JANE

 

 

“If you think anyone is sane, you just don’t know enough about him.”

Christopher Moore

 

 

After delivering Dan back and saying our goodnights, we make our way towards the hospital exit. As we are leaving, we are greeted warmly by one of the patients on Dan’s ward. It is Reggie the smart, elderly, well-spoken gentleman who Dan has apparently bonded with and turned to for advice. He is wearing his characteristic, coloured shirt, jaunty bow tie and red braces. His hair is sticking upright like a covering of grey fluff on the head of a newly hatched baby bird. He marches over to shake our hands.

‘You must be the mother and father of young Daniel. I must congratulate you on raising such a fine young gentleman, a remarkably intelligent boy. You have clearly brought him up to be a Christian which is just splendid!  I have been telling him not to try and run too far ahead of the Lord, but to let go to let God take control.’

There is a kindly twinkle in his eye as he speaks. He appears to be a man of faith himself. Cynics might interpret his words as evidence of a similar religious delusion to Dan’s. Whatever his history, he is clearly fond of my son, and that’s all that matters to me right now. I can’t help feeling a secret glow of pride as he speaks about him in this complimentary way. His words are uplifting and I am grateful to hear them and to think of them as a small glimmer of light in the midst of the darkness. I find myself wondering why Reggie is in this psychiatric hospital at all. He seems so wise and so, well… ‘normal!’

We request meetings with the various consultants over the course of Dan’s hospital stay, always arming ourselves with long lists of questions that we need answers to. Dan is required to agree to these meetings, because of the confidentiality ruling and the doctors also say he has to agree to any increases in his medication. It is a minefield of uncertainty as so much can go wrong. He can usually be persuaded however, not because he thinks he needs more meds, but because he wants to be allowed out and is beginning to realise that this the only way. He is starting to grow frustrated with hospital life and is convinced that he can get back on track more quickly at home.

‘I really want to get back to rehearsing my part in the show as soon as possible.’

I ask if he means the Shakespeare. (The project he’d had to abandon when he became unwell)

‘Yes, I was given quite a good part in ‘Much ado’.

Dan clearly holds little idea of time scales while he is confined in this hospital ward.

‘The director will have probably had to put someone else into your role by now, I think Dan,’ I say as gently as I can. He looks dismayed and a bit shocked. Our hearts ache for him as we share in his sadness. These are the moments of stark realisation of the full implications of such a disruptive mental illness but this is just one of a huge number of losses ahead of us.

It dawns on me that a psychotic episode is the mental equivalent of a nuclear explosion in the brain. We can’t possibly predict its total fallout, but we can be sure it will still be dominating our lives for months or even years to come. It’s impossible to protect Dan from the consequences of what has happened, no matter how hard we try, but we can do our best to remain positive and maybe soften each blow as it occurs.

The following week, Dan is on another visit home when Rob and Lou phone up to say that they are on their way over for Em’s presentation. Dan overhears us talking and asks very politely and if he might come and see it too. I am thrown into something of a dilemma by this request, because Em had specifically asked for him not to be there, fearing that he might say something ‘weird’ in front of her friends. The plan is for Rob to stay at home with him to make music and maybe do some recordings, while the rest of us are out.

What to do for the best? It’s an uncomfortable struggle for me to decide where my priorities lie. Dan seems calm and controlled this afternoon and I think it’s doubtful that he will speak to anyone inappropriately. It may even be good for him to meet some of the staff from his school days. They’ll be pleased to see him, knowing he’s been so ill. Besides he will be living with us full-time quite soon and we can’t expect to keep him hidden away for ever. But I also need to respect Em’s feelings and I want her to know she is listened to. It is understandable that she sees this as her evening after her special, life-changing trip to Romania. She wants her family to share it with her, to pay attention, exclusively to her for once. She has heard us talk about little else apart from Dan and psychosis, for several weeks.

Em stays behind after school that afternoon to get things ready for the presentation. I decide to phone her and present the issue, to sound her out, to see how she would feel about us bringing Dan along after all.

‘It’s alright, Mum. I don’t mind if he wants to come and I would like Rob to be there too, if I’m honest. Can you stay behind for a bit afterwards, so that I can introduce you to the leaders of the project?’

The evening is a good one. The presentation and slides are moving and informative. The students produce cakes for the visitors, and serve drinks after their talk, so there is plenty of time to mingle. Teachers approach Dan and greet him warmly and he seems very like his old self. Everyone is trying to keep things positive and light-hearted. Teasing remarks are made about Graham’s attempt at some ‘sad dad’ jokes and Rob and Lou are laughing loudly when Dan says,

‘I reckon I’m the only sane one here!’ which adds considerably to the levity. Everyone makes a fuss of Em when she has finished the clearing away and comes over to join us.

No-one would have seen this as anything other than a ‘normal’ family night out. A promising step. Another sign of hope.