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.

 

 

22.                                                  JANE.

 

“Insanity doesn’t run in my family. Rather it strolls through, taking its time and gets to know everyone personally.’

                                                               Darynda Jones

 

By the following weekend Dan is to spend his first overnight stay at home. I am keen to set off to fetch him early on Saturday morning, imagining his frustration building if he is kept waiting. But Graham seems intent on getting some of the routine jobs out of the way before we set off. It is as if he believes we won’t be able to do any chores at all once Dan is at home, so I point out,

‘Once he’s back here full time we will have to carry on with our own lives too you know.’

I offer to go alone to collect him if Graham is determined to finish the cleaning, but he says,

‘No, no, we’ll go together. It’s better if we go together.’

I am already feeling pretty down, having just phoned the Riverside Studios to cancel the tickets we’d booked for ‘Much Ado,’ (the Shakespeare that Dan should have been performing in.) I grow irritated with Graham, for this unnecessary delay. I get the impression that he is actively trying to minimise our time with Dan.

No-one is where they are meant to be any more. Dan is in hospital instead of training in London. We are stuck at home preparing to be his carers, cancelling every plan and every treat ahead for the foreseeable future. My frustration spills over. We argue as we set off and I end up in tears. I try to explain to Graham how I feel as we drive into town. Graham apologises for dragging his heels, admitting that he sometimes does have to force himself to go back to the hospital, to face everything again.

Em reluctantly agrees to help decorate the Christmas tree once Dan is home with us for the full weekend. She is very quiet. I get the impression that she would have preferred to set about this task on her own, or just with me. We are struggling to untangle the long strings of lights. This will at least enable Graham to carry on with some of the more pressing household jobs and admin tasks without any distractions. He has been complaining all morning about the extra washing Dan is creating. As we hang the little figurines on the tree, Dan asks me what I know about angels.

‘Because I don’t think they are beings with wings like this,’ he adds, dangling one from its ribbon. ‘I think they are probably people, more like us.’

I wonder if Dan’s thinking has changed and he might be starting to identify as another type of celestial being. How long I wonder, will his mind remain tangled in this mix of theological thoughts, as complex as the knotted strings of fairy lights I hold in my hands. What will it take to fully untangle him and to help him to focus on other things?

Em heads out with friends that evening and Dan reminds us again that he is planning to make contact with drama school soon, because he doesn’t want to miss out on the next project. He mentions again about the importance of emailing the agents. The last thing I want to do is discourage him.

When Dan puts pressure on me in this way, I always feel compelled to act on his behalf, and then I tend to transmit this pressure across to Graham. I know I am still clinging too tightly to the dream that Dan will still make it as an actor one day. I can’t let go of that hope just yet. I want so much to keep his prospects open and prevent him from being written off by anyone.

Graham and Rob get the full impact of my concerns, when I bring the matter up a few days later.

‘Now you’re all here, we could get our heads together to decide how we can help Dan contact the agents who’ve shown interest in him. I promised him I’d do this. He keeps asking about it and he’s quite worried that if he leaves it for too long, they will forget all about him.’

‘Well in my opinion, it’s still too soon for anything like that’. Graham says outright, demonstrating his usual caution and characteristic negativity.

‘What do you think Rob? Maybe you could help me find the contacts on Dan’s laptop and we might word some emails to agents?

Rob is visibly exhausted after travelling to client meetings in London, then coming over to support us and to be with his sister each evening. It is the wrong time to ask anything extra of him. He shows willingness everywhere he goes, always positive and generous-hearted, but sometimes he does end up promising more than he can realistically deliver.

‘I don’t know if I can and I’m not sure that it will be worth it mum. We need to face the fact that Dan may never be well enough to go back to acting. It might be just too big a risk for him. He could have this bipolar thing hanging over him for ever?’

(But this is not what I’m wanting to hear at all.)

‘Anyway, I’m the worst one to rely on in these situations. I’m useless. I get far too emotional,’ he goes on. I try to interrupt and say how much he has already helped us by all his support over recent weeks, but he is not listening.

Rob escalates everything emotionally and reaches acute levels of distress when he is tired and stressed. He has a tendency to work himself up towards a dramatic crescendo during arguments. Lou, (also exhausted from her teaching term with a difficult class) desperately tries to stop the frantic scene from escalating. She is urging Rob to shut up, get himself out of the house and get into the car so that they can leave. I know she wants to stop him making things worse for us. But the yelling and crying and pacing around the kitchen goes on and on, Graham glaring menacingly at me the whole time, totally blaming, me, communicating clearly, that it is all my fault.  The image of Lou crouching on the floor, with her back against the wall and her head in her hands, fills me with guilt and regret. I determine, to never again add to the incessant pressure bearing down on everyone. It was a bad idea to bring it up at all.

Maybe they can see something that I am struggling to accept. Dan’s return to London, in the New Year, is doubtful.  I want to rewind, to the point in time, before this happened. I need to believe that this relentless nightmare will come to an end eventually. I have to hope that things will change.

It is as though I’ve lost my footing altogether at this stage of the climb and I am floundering, trying desperately to keep my grip, unprepared for the inevitable fall.

Graham is almost always able to look back at situations and reflect rationally and sensibly, once things have calmed down. We talk later that night and decide that if I can stop being impatient, always pushing for things to happen quickly (admittedly, a bad habit of mine) then Graham in turn, will try to check his unhelpful tendency to become irritated at the smallest of things, allowing them to annoy him disproportionately, under the weight of our much bigger crisis.

We often wake at three in the morning and lie there talking for an hour or two, reflecting on many things, planning Dan’s transfer to life at home and deciding how we will manage it. If one of us is feeling down and tempted to catastrophise, the other will try to step in to encourage them, listing all the recent steps of progress that have been made, the small wins and the moments of hope. We know that if we stay positive, and keep working together, always noticing when one of us is flagging, this journey might just be possible to endure.

Another good reason for this resolution is Dan’s obvious sensitivity to our moods and even our facial expressions. Thankfully he is still in the hospital when our kitchen melt-down occurs. We have read plenty of research which states that family support and a positive atmosphere of calm and encouragement are the most conducive elements to long-term recovery from mental illness.

Dan is our responsibility, not Rob’s, or Tom’s, or their partners’. Whereas we will always be deeply thankful for everything our family have done to help us through this crisis, the decisions about our son’s future and his day-to-day care, have to be made by the two of us from now on.

 

Chapter 23.

JANE

   

  “The thing I would dread most if I became mentally ill, would be your adopting a common-sense attitude, that you could take it for granted that I was deluded.”

Ludwig Wittgenstein

 

Dan swallows his small, white tablets and sleeps soundly in his own bed all night. It is a relief and one helpful aspect of the sedative effects of the anti-psychotics. Graham worried that Dan would be restless and disruptive, up and down and wandering the house at night, as he had during his first week in hospital. We are guessing that plenty of rest for an over-busy mind might be healing too.

I decide to make mince pies the following day and invite Dan to help me fill them and then to brush them with beaten egg, just as he used to when he was a little boy. I choose a Christmas Carols album to put on the CD player in the corner of the living room, turning it up to full volume so that I can hear it from where I’m working in the kitchen. Once Dan gets bored of helping me, he wanders away. (I seem to remember him doing exactly this as a child as well!) Graham follows him into the lounge and is shocked to find him rooted to the spot, standing directly in front of the CD player, with tears streaming down his face. ‘Away in a Manger’ is playing loudly. It’s the first carol Dan ever sung in public, a small, nervous boy standing alone, before a large congregation and being told that he had a truly angelic voice.

‘It’s alright, Dad,’ he says through his tears.  ‘Just the Holy Spirit.’

Graham turns right around and storms back into the kitchen.

‘We can’t have carols playing this Christmas if they are going to affect Dan like that! It’s on far too loud anyway’

I say ‘sorry’ and automatically and hurry into the lounge to turn the music down. Then I stop to reflect for a moment. What am I doing? I turn back to face Graham. ‘Actually, I put those carols on for me to listen to, not Dan. I don’t see how we can hope to avoid them at this time of the year. I thought we had agreed that we were going to try to be our normal selves around Dan and I always do my baking to a background of carols playing.’

Graham apologises. We are starting to realise that if we are constantly treading on eggshells around Dan and around each other, life will become unbearable. We resolve to try and do whatever we might routinely, to maintain some semblance of normality, whilst at the same time creating an atmosphere of calm. Dan, steps into the kitchen to see that we have both been crying. He assures us,

‘This is all fine, quite normal. It’s just the Holy Spirit breaking us down!’

The day of discharge is brought forward. Either staff can see that we are coping with home visits well and re-integrating Dan successfully, or else they need the bed for someone else! (I am still able to be positive and to give mental health services the benefit of the doubt at this stage). Graham is slightly less confident about Dan’s return but soon accepts the altered plans. He sets about planning the weekday activities in a determined fashion, structuring his son’s day methodically, starting with a good walk, then some piano practice, and a swim or a gym session in the afternoon.

On the first morning walk, Dan confides more openly with his father;

‘I don’t think I was looking after myself very well at drama school you know. I hadn’t created proper balance in my life. I wasn’t eating properly or relaxing. I fell into the trap of comparing myself to everyone else and was starting to suspect I wasn’t good enough to be a professional actor. I lost my confidence.’

Graham reflects that this was similar to the experience of his brother Tom, whose lack of resilience and shaky self-belief had been crippling during his years of medical training and advising Dan to go a bit easier on himself in future, allowing time for other interests besides acting.

‘Finish your course if you possibly can, bearing in mind that you are allowed to change your mind about your future career at any point. You can study for more A’ levels if you like, or do a master’s degree, or take any route that you choose.’ (Maybe Graham is convinced that an alternative career might indeed be preferable after this.)

I compliment my husband’s conscientious efforts with Dan that day and the positive start he has made as I take over for the afternoon care shift. I am relieved that Dan now feels he can share things with his dad, as well as me.

There is a meeting at school that I needed to take Em to that evening. On my return, Graham reports that Dan had gone into a sort of strange trance-like state while they were sitting quietly together in the lounge. Dan claimed he needed to confess something and then admitted to accessing porn a few times on his laptop.  Relieved that it wasn’t anything more serious than this, Graham took him straight outside, for another brisk walk around the block.

Thursday arrives, and though he is extra tired this morning, Dan is keen to come with us to complete the discharge process. The consultant repeats his recommendation that he continue his medication for at least another year, and then he asks questions about his current beliefs. Dan replies that God is still important to him, but not in quite the same way as before.

He is hungry by the end of the morning, so we take him to a favourite local pub for lunch, to celebrate his homecoming. Over the meal, he quietly admits to us,

‘My beliefs are exactly what they were before and I need you two to know who I really am, but I just didn’t think it was a good idea to mention this at the discharge meeting, in case they stopped me from leaving.’

‘Well, it is good that you can be honest with us and we are not about to march you back to hospital in disgrace’ we joke, but inside we are growing weary from the persistence of these grandiose beliefs and wonder when, if ever, things might change.

Days later when Dan is nagging about wanting to get himself back to drama school, in time for the actors’ Showcase at the end of term, Graham shouts at him, saying he needs a ‘reality check’ (which doesn’t go down well at all). I quickly intervene, to stop things escalating and I suggest that Dan come outside to take a walk with me. It is dark and damp, with an absence of street lighting in our part of the village. Dan strides ahead, complaining about his dad always being a ‘negative energy’ and trying to hold him back. I am sprinting to try to catch up with my younger, fitter son.

‘Dad and I are both trying very hard to help you make the right decisions about your future and to keep your options open.’ I puff, ‘But at the same time, we do need to protect you.’

We walk a bit further up the hill and around the corner. A dog is barking repeatedly, in the distance. A single car approaches dazzling us in the full beam of its headlights, its tyres hissing on the wet road.

‘Even though I can’t agree with everything you have been saying, I still believe that God loves you and has a plan for your life. We all need to trust that good things are ahead of us Dan.’ I shout.

I speak these words boldly to try to convince myself as well as Dan, but I am acutely aware that my own faith, or what remains of it, has been seriously compromised by what has happened and is dwindling further, challenged by the nature of his illness. I feel that I can never again be black and white about anything.  The vulnerability of our impressionable human minds is now frighteningly clear to me and the nature and meaning of belief is being called into question as a result. I’m even wondering if faith in a personal, compassionate God, simply been a form of collective optimism or worse still, a universal delusion? Grave doubts are taking over the secure belief system I used to depend on and trust in for so many years. The very thing I always saw as a protective influence on my family, now appears to be disintegrating before me, just like the apparent fragmentation of our son’s mind.

Dan stops abruptly and spins round to face me.

‘Maybe it is too early to go back to London. I think perhaps I’m not as ready as I thought.’

(A miracle?) I hug him tightly.

‘We can certainly delay it. This is a brave choice Dan, but I am sure it is the right one’.

A letter had already arrived that week, laying out his options and offering him the chance to restart his third year the following September. Dan also made several positive comments about the year group he would be joining.

‘It is just the idea of being stuck at home for a whole year that’s depressing me. I really want to be back with my friends at drama school and for everything to get back to normal.’

‘I understand. We want that too. But there are plenty of good things on the horizon. Your family will be coming and going from our house over the next few months. You will have a nephew in the New Year, which is something to look forward to, and there will be opportunities for some trips back to London to see your friends. I’m sure that Carl will come and visit you, once he is back in York for the Christmas break.’

I feel I need to try to stay positive for his sake and for Graham’s. Whether or not I can maintain my optimism for the whole year is more doubtful. We go back inside to tell his father about his decision.

Graham is both pleased and relieved.

‘If Dan is willing to opt for this new plan, it is definitely the best choice. Much better than rushing him back to London, too soon.’

‘It is the right thing!’ Dan repeats decisively. ‘God wants me to put my trust in you guys. You are my rock. Together we can be a real strength. I don’t need to go to London next week, nor in the New Year, not even for the showcase. There will be time for all that. If I have to wait until September, then so be it.’

We hug him, beginning to feel we are on track at last. For the time being, the pressures are lifted. We phone Thomas, who had been expressing grave doubts about the idea of Dan going back to London so soon, suspecting that we were all a bit deluded to even be considering it.  Graham promises to contact the drama school the following day to let them know Dan’s decision. Restarting his final year will have financial implications for us of course. We will have to look into re-letting his flat and getting something suitable for Dan later, in the summer, but we know in our hearts that Dan’s recovery and getting him back on track, helping him to graduate, will be worth the extra expense.

We can afford to pause, to take a breather on this stage of our climb. Feeling exhausted, we sit with Em in front of the fire to watch a light-hearted, sentimental, Christmas film together. We have been struggling to make time for her and let her know that she is important too. It has been all too easy to ignore our self-sufficient daughter because of our constant involvement with her brother.

The next day I sit down to write a few Christmas cards and begin a half-hearted draft of our annual newsletter. I know it is not going to be the usual, cheerful round-robin this year. But I believe in being honest about our misfortunes, as well as sharing happier times with our friends and relatives. If I choose a new pen and some nice stationary I might just feel marginally better about the task.

 

Chapter 24

DAN

                

            ‘I became insane with longer intervals of horrible sanity.’

                 Edgar Allan Poe

 

My key worker Leo knocks on the door at midday. I tell him that my beliefs haven’t changed but I’m feeling sluggish and sad all the time and my thinking isn’t as fast. He says that this is a good sign because it means that the medication is doing its job.

‘But I hate being like this. I know I felt much better before!’

He sits down to showing me diagrams describing some weird, complicated, psychological theory called; ‘the Stress Vulnerability Bucket.’ I’m trying to listen, but he keeps asking me too many searching questions which are making my head throb. Then my mobile starts to vibrate in my pocket. I answer and am told that it’s someone from the NHS now, who immediately launches into asking me another long list of difficult questions about the standard of care during my hospital stay ! I can’t think about how to answer them right now. I’m starting to feel as though my brain will explode. My vulnerability bucket is definitely going to overflow with all this stress. I decide to switch my phone off altogether. Leo sees how exhausted I am, so he ends our meeting early. I go upstairs to lie down for a while.

Dad has left for work, but Mum comes back from school complaining of tiredness as well.

‘Don’t worry about the hospital feedback. You don’t have to do that right away. Perhaps a swim might help us both relax. We could go into the Jacuzzi for a bit.’

Mum sits down in an armchair and promptly falls asleep. It feels too much to go to the gym on foot, so I play my guitar upstairs in my room for a while.  Eventually she wakes up but tells me she has remembered she needs to go to Blockbusters to return an overdue DVD. This frustrates me even more because I feel I’ve waited long enough. It’s four o’clock before we even get to the pool. A bunch of screaming kids are by now getting into the water to have their after-school swimming lesson. We are forced to wait again. The gym is empty, but my mood is worse than ever, and I demonstrate my frustration by screwing up all the activity leaflets Mum collected for me to look through. I chuck them away, then go upstairs to pound the fitness machines aggressively, only staying on each one for a very short time. Mum books a massage for me for the following week. I could really do with one today.

Tom and Cath arrive at our house for the weekend, and Rob is on his way over to join us for dinner. I cheer up a little and start to talk and joke with my brothers during the meal. Then I suddenly feel tired and overwhelmed by the noise and chatter and I start doing some of the deep breathing again. This exhausts me and everyone around me goes quiet. My eyes roll back in my head, so I rest my forehead on the tablecloth for a few seconds. Dad gets up and starts to massage my shoulders. Mum suggests that I might feel better if I leave the table and take a little break. But I know I can’t give up my urgent quest to convince them all of who I am and the importance of God’s approaching revolution. It is clear to me that my brother Tom is still full of doubt and scepticism.

I get hold of him from behind as he starts to walk slowly up the stairs. I grip him tightly by his shoulders, breathing hard and blowing the Holy Spirit over his head. I collapse in a heap, exhausted from the effort. I sit in the middle of the staircase with my head on Mum’s lap for a few seconds to regain my strength. Rob is watching me closely and although he is saying kind and encouraging things, he has a seriously scared expression on his face. My brothers gently help me onto my feet and on with my coat. They suggest a quick walk around the block to get some fresh air. I talk to them about my beliefs as we go, because I really need people to listen. My conversation is punctuated by some deep breathing and blowing out, audibly.  I feel more confused by this now. I am wondering if maybe it has become some sort of habit.

‘I don’t know why I do that’, I tell them, ‘But I think it’s the Holy Spirit.’

I’m starting to doubt, just a little bit, what is happening.

When we get back inside, Dad says that he thinks it will be better for us all to avoid too much stress and stimulation over the Christmas period. Everyone is nodding solemnly, but I tell them I don’t want anything to be different from any other Christmas. I say I am fine and enjoy being with the whole family.  Tom takes every opportunity he can, to sit and talk with me. I tell him that I hate people calling me ill and unwell all the time. He asks,

‘Have you ever thought that you might really have been ill?’

‘It shook me up when Mum suggested it, back in the hospital. I panicked just a bit then. But everyone has doubts sometimes, don’t they? They only let me out because I managed to convince the doctors that I’m OK. I will go back if necessary. Whatever it takes to get people to see the truth.’

Tom hugs me tightly.

‘I’m sure it won’t be necessary to go back to hospital Danny. We’re going to look after you at home from now on.’

The next day, I argue with Dad because I feel negative and tired from the moment I get up in the morning. I’ve got a sore throat. I’m sneezing. The house is freezing cold, as always. I know Dad is careful and likes to save on the heating bills, but this is ridiculous. We might as well be camping outside! He insists on getting me up early and dragging me out for our usual walk around the block, even though I tell him I feel ill and don’t want to move. I refuse to eat the breakfast he’s made, but I follow him out, dragging my heels, sighing and grumbling.

I stagger a bit on the way round, then I nearly collapse. That gets him worried. He thinks it’s probably because I skipped breakfast. We stop to rest on a bench, and he buys me a drink and a snack from the village shop. I tell him that I will definitely not be going to the gym today. I say some other hurtful things to him too. He ends up in tears and still seems upset by the time Mum gets back, but I don’t give a toss about anything. Dad says to Mum that he’s not sure he will cope if things are going to be this hard every day.  She says she is feeling ill as well and is wondering if we might all be going down with some sort of winter virus. So, Dad makes a log fire for us in the lounge and Mum and I both fall asleep, only waking later when the phone rings.

Mum always has her phone on speaker and the manager in the school office is loudly instructing her to take the whole day off tomorrow at the very least. I know that’s the right thing for her to do too and I tell her that God wants her to rest, because then she will have the strength to look after me.

‘I was awake half the night Dan, worrying about how things are going to be for us all at home and whether or not you are going to get on ok with Dad. It will make things very hard if you two are arguing every day.’

Her words are interrupted by a series of sneezes and a coughing fit. Her nose and eyes are starting to stream, and she says she has a headache too. Although I’m not that bothered about how anyone else is feeling, I promise to try harder. We relax for the rest of that day

The following afternoon we both feel slightly better after mum made some honey and lemon, so we take a short walk down the lane to post some of the Christmas cards she’s been writing. We have an interesting discussion on the way, about drugs, alcohol and sexual temptation. When we reach the tiny village post office, I am left sitting on the bench outside, minding the dog and Mum’s shopping bag while she goes in to buy some stamps. An elderly lady with a fur coat, felt hat and a bright yellow walking stick, makes her way slowly towards me.

‘A dog!… a bag!… and… a chap!’ she announces.

I think maybe she found it kind of unusual, a guy my age, sitting outside the post office on a weekday, with a dog and a flowery bag. I explain to her that I am in fact an actor and would normally be in drama school in London, but because I’ve been ill, I’m staying at home until I’ve recovered.

‘Oh,’ she says, ‘You’re an actor, are you? Do you know any speeches from Hamlet?’

I tell her I do but I’m hoping that she isn’t expecting me to start reciting them aloud there and then, on the street corner! Mum comes out apologising for being a long time because there was queue. The old lady turns to her to say,

‘This young man has been telling me that he is an actor and should be in London but that he has been ill.’

‘Oh yes, that’s true. He was in hospital for a while, but he is getting better now, thankfully.’

‘Oh dear,’ she croons softly, ‘Have they been working you too hard, dear?’

‘Yeah, something like that,’ I nod.

‘Well, I really don’t like to hear about people getting ill, especially lovely young chaps like yourself. I hope you get better very soon and can return to your acting.’

We both feel quite cheered up by her friendly words. Every meeting of this kind imparts hope and meaning and is always welcome encouragement for me and for Mum too.

The following evening, we go to the school Carol service which is held in York Minster. I am listening to Em playing her saxophone in the band. She’s good. But she looks mortified when her phone suddenly rings during the quietest part of the service. I have always regarded phones as overly loud and intrusive. This proves that they make too many demands on us, always interrupting our lives! On the way back I am reflecting and mention to my family that I think the Anglican liturgy is quite an outdated thing.

‘It doesn’t really speak to young people today.’ Mum agrees with me and I add,

‘I don’t really see why it is necessary to tell the same story in the same way, every year, over and over again. It needs a new, fresher approach.’

(I am thinking secretly that I will in fact be a crucial part of that fresh approach, but I avoid saying it out loud at this point.)

 

Chapter 25

JANE

         

                                     ‘Men have called me mad but the question is not yet settled

                                              whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence.’                                                        

        Edgar Allan Poe.

 

It astounds me how rational Dan can seem in some situations, like during his chat with the lady outside the post office. His words might suggest to anyone listening that he identifies as an actor and not the Messiah at all. He’s told her that the reason he left London is because he’s been ill. Does he really believe this? Or is he just repeating what he’s heard us say because he knows this is more acceptable? I can’t tell if it is true insight or just an adaptation of his beliefs, but I always take encouragement from any small changes I witness, because of my constant need for hope.

Despite the difficulties encountered early on, our daily routine proves helpful, anchoring us and helping us all feel a sense of purpose as we begin each day. Graham announces that he will be keeping the heating on continually, to encourage Dan to get out of bed in the morning and avoid further aggravation. Dan is generally at his lowest and most sedated when he gets up in the mornings and can be hard work for a couple of hours, needing plenty of encouragement to get going, He can pick up a little bit in the afternoons and improve mood-wise, towards evening. This means that Graham faces the worst of him every day and it can be a struggle for him to stay patient and positive. He takes over almost all of the household shopping and cooking during this time, creating menus of healthy meals for us all. I think his desire to keep things well planned and executed is born out of his anxiety and feelings of helplessness in the face of this frightening condition he is witnessing in his son. Providing healthy food for his family is something he feels he does have some control over.

Dan still needs prompting, reminding about most of the basics like remembering to take his meds and sometimes even to eat. He forgets things we have just said and appears unable to plan ahead at all. It is like a mild cognitive impairment, possibly caused by the trauma his brain has been through. Or maybe his thinking is further hindered by the medication, which we expect him to take each day. But by evening, usually after a good meal, he often becomes animated, and talkative, saying things like,

‘Everything is happening for a reason. I will definitely be signing with one of the big acting agencies, probably ‘Independent’. I will eventually be earning enough to pay you guys back for everything you have done for me!’

I want to believe him, of course I do. It is as though, when re-energised by his intake of food, Dan’s expansive thinking is boosted once again. Either that, or this is the point in the day when the previous evening’s dose of meds is starting to wear off. But we are only guessing. No-one has really told us what to expect.

Graham is taking boxes outside and packing the car with cleaning equipment. We’ve arranged to collect the rest of Dan’s stuff and to give his London flat a thorough clean so that it will be in a fit state to let out to another tenant next term. We are still tied into a rental contract for the whole year and will be obliged to pay Dan’s share if we don’t find someone else to move into his room.  We asked Rob and Lou to come over to stay with Dan and his sister for the weekend, so that Em doesn’t feel solely responsible for him. We are planning to set off early, before Dan is even out of bed. We know only too well, the length of the journey ahead of us. It feels depressing to be going back to clear out his flat, too much like a sad ending to something which had begun in such an exciting and promising way. But we know this is just another job we need to tackle, to tick off our list.

The state of the flat is even more disappointing. We see immediately that it will take more than a little time and effort to make it presentable. Carl had collected Dan’s clothes and belongings together, as requested, but dumped them in a heap outside his bedroom door. On entering the flat, we are met with the pungent smell of damp and musty laundry. It is obvious that neither of them have been doing much cleaning at all. No wonder they have mice! I am astounded by their lack of consideration in leaving the problem to someone else and not even bothering to empty the fridge or the waste bins. I understand that they have been busy drama students heading into their final year, with lines to learn for shows and rehearsals to attend, but nevertheless …

We set to and sweep and scrub the whole place from top to bottom. We even go as far as whitewashing the walls in the bedroom and the grease-spattered kitchen. Like a team of ‘dirt-busters’ battling determinedly against the odds, we don’t stop to rest.

Rob phones to tell us that Dan is in good spirits, so that is something. He is apparently playing his guitar, joking around with his brothers, and going to the gym, whilst we get down on our hands and knees to scrub floors and clean carpets. Rob and Lou attempted to take him into town to start a bit of Christmas shopping, but once again he found the crowds, and the sights and sounds overwhelming, so they’d cut the trip short. They took him to the cinema the following day, to see a new James Bond film.

Graham has booked us into a hotel room for the night, which we know will be a welcome relief after such an exhausting day. The thought of a hot meal and a comfy bed, keeps us going when we are starting to flag. The following morning, we take photos of every room in the flat, so that we have proof for the landlord of the condition we’ve left it in.

It is about five pm when we get back to York. Rob, Lou and Dan help us to carry the keyboard and all of Dan’s books and equipment upstairs. They need to leave right away. Lou has preparation to do for her school week, and Rob needs to get straight back to the studio. Em will be setting off to Austria for her school skiing trip in the morning. I am relieved that she’ll be escaping the heavy atmosphere at home and can enjoy some fun activity with her friends. Dan has enjoyed his weekend with Rob and Lou and seems sad to see them leave. He immediately goes quiet. I notice him giving Graham accusatory looks, glaring angrily out of the corner of his eye as he leaves the kitchen to sit wearily in the lounge.

‘What is the matter with Dad? He says to me.

‘He spreads negative energy wherever he goes. He makes me feel I’m doing something wrong just by being in the same room as him?’

I am alerted by these words, determined to forestall another attack at all costs.

‘Your Dad is exhausted, Dan. What you are seeing is not negativity towards you, but genuine tiredness after all the hard work he has just put in, cleaning your flat, as well as the long drive home from London. You MUST NOT give him a hard time tonight!’

‘What shall I do?’ Dan asks me.

‘Go into the lounge, give him a quick hug before he falls asleep, thank him for everything he’s done. Then leave him alone to relax for the rest of the evening.’

Amazingly, Dan does exactly as I instructed.

At bedtime, Graham is lying back against plumped up pillows, arms bent, hands behind his head. Through a prolonged yawn he says,

‘You know, I felt sure that Dan was going to have a go at me tonight because he had that look in his eyes again. I could see him fighting the urge. But d’you know what? He came in and thanked me for all my hard work! It’s an encouraging sign isn’t it. I think that he’s becoming a bit more aware of how others are feeling.’

‘It certainly is, darling, a really good sign.’ I smile to myself as I massage a generous helping of Nivea into my dry and work-worn, hands then climb into bed next to my husband. Graham sighs contentedly, turns onto his side, and begins to snore.