PrittPen said:After what seemed like an almost non-stop streak of progress—and I know "progress" is a loaded term in this tiny little bubble—during that seemingly idyllic first year of therapy, I honestly expected everything to eventually surface. Reading through your journal entries and trying to wrap my head around your situation (though I know it’s impossible to truly grasp what others endure), I have to admit I was terrified of when the breaking point would hit. I mean exactly what you wrote above: that moment where he finally cracks out of his shell and tears down all those walls he spent thirty years building around himself.
PrittPen, you have no idea how much I appreciate this post...
Even though I was bracing myself for a potential crisis, this really shook me up. 😢
It somehow feels a bit easier knowing that others see this as something that could actually end on a positive note.
Because when I look at him just being...😢
And then hearing that I am somehow to blame because I was the one who put him in that position...🙄
Kyle White2 said:Or maybe she just didn't have the time to watch because she was too busy trashing women who have "thick ankles" or "knees covered in cellulite."🙄
Basically: you don't just have small breasts, you have thick legs too.☕
Betty Hill82, I’ve already said a hundred times that I can't stand it when people claim they know exactly how to drop three pounds.
I'm not a fan.😕
My weight fluctuates by two or three pounds from morning to night depending on my digestion, my cycle, and all that stuff.
If only your dad Josh would actually listen—that would be great. 🙂
The doctor issued a direct order to the head nurse: nobody gets in to visit him without calling ahead first and having the attending physician clear his condition.
Betty Hill82 said:Did the psychiatrist at least say anything positive? Like, will things actually get better? 😢
I spoke with the psychiatrist even earlier, back when we were scheduling the session that my father would also attend... he told me that from a psychiatric standpoint—even if it sounds completely "insane" to us—what happened with Barb is actually a massive step forward.
The thing is, he NEVER used to speak the way he does now, where everything just pours out of him uncontrollably... before, he was basically a shell, just following some expected pattern of responding to questions using rehearsed phrases.
The real question is how much time he'll need to navigate this intense psychosis he's stuck in, what he'll be like once he emerges from the crisis, and how long it will take for him to slowly, gradually start putting the pieces back together. 😢
On top of everything else, the doctor told my dad that at this stage, it might be best if we cut back on visits for my father's sake... which my dad countered by saying he actually feels much calmer when I'm the one talking to him.
And the doctor just shot back—I wasn't even referring to you, 😎
When my father asked why his condition was actually getting worse despite being on Zyprexa—which is supposed to be the gold standard for antipsychotics—for eight months now, the answer he got was blunt: Zyprexa is highly effective, but it isn't a miracle cure.
Sure, it can produce incredible results, but typically for patients who are caught early in the cycle, not for someone who has been mismanaged for thirty years.... In my old man's case, it would be pure fantasy to expect him to never face another crisis just because he finally switched over to Zyprexa.
Thanks to everyone reading along and keeping us in your thoughts 🙂
After visiting him, I went to a scheduled meeting with his psychiatrist. My father finally agreed to sit down and face some of the medical team.
The doctor explained that this period of exacerbation—this relapse of his primary illness—didn't catch them off guard at all. Throughout this past year in the facility, he’s been doing everything in his power to "manage" his symptoms and reactions. Any progress he made regarding therapy was strictly superficial; it was just drops in the bucket.
Everything he was actually feeling and experiencing, he kept locked deep inside...
And now, he’s simply fallen apart. He’s fractured. Dissociated. All that suppressed trauma is spilling out in an uncontrolled mess. It’s not even just the catatonic state we saw before; now he's become psychomotorically hyperactive. There was a genuine risk of him falling or injuring himself because he refused to sit or lie down, staying on his feet constantly. That is why they had to use restraints.
He looked so small and helpless, lying there in some strange hospital gown, his head and hands twitching with those odd, rhythmic spasms... he even tried to muster a smile when he saw me. At least he still knows who I am.
Something was peeking out from under the blanket... I pulled it back just a bit to see three wide, white, padded restraint straps buckled across his torso...
I took his hand and sat down beside him... and then he just started talking. And talking. And talking. Just non-stop...
My roommate chimed in— "Looks like his grip failed!" —which actually made me crack a smile. 😢
The second I showed up at the door and the nurse—who’s been looking at me for a year now—told me she had to ask the attending physician if I was even allowed to visit him, I knew exactly what kind of place this was.
She saw me carrying a bag containing some warm cheese pastries and fruit tea... she told me not to get angry, but insisted I couldn't give them to him without her being there. She said I could stay for a quick minute and then she’d feed him later... and then she dropped the line that he isn't allowed to get out of bed under any circumstances. I was breaking out in a sweat. When I asked her what on earth was wrong with him, all I got was, "The doctor will explain everything," which was useless since I already had an appointment scheduled with him anyway...
His roommate was standing guard at the door, muttering to himself like a broken record, "He's restrained! He's restrained!" over and over again. Just mindless repetition. I didn't truly grasp the gravity of it until I actually laid eyes on him.
He seemed a bit better before... or maybe he just wasn't talking as much. 🙄
Kazhe says he ate, and I double-checked with the nurse; she confirmed it. 👍
I went to the hospital with my father... I'm at a loss for what to do. Even the nurse mentioned that he seems to decline every single time my dad visits him. I asked her for advice, if I should stop them from being alone together... she said she isn't qualified to give me a directive, but she thinks it might be better until this crisis passes.
We got into a massive, blood-boiling argument on the way back... he told me that Barb needs to get out of there immediately because he feels worse when she's around than when he's by himself.
Doctor's report excerpt:
...the illness follows a chronic, progressive, and irreversible course, characterized by dominant symptoms and lesions within the emotional, volitional, and impulsive layers of the personality...
Clinical presentation includes psychomotor inhibition, being overwhelmed, anxious, terrified, abulic, hypomimic, and hypodynamic; verbal communication requires assistance, lacking spontaneity...
Delusional paranoid ideas which the patient attempts to dissimulate, alongside auditory hallucinations of a distressing nature...
I'm devastated... reading this report for the third time now...
Dreams. From the weekend. From life. From everything.
His sister warned me not to be shocked since he's on an IV drip... he hasn't eaten a single thing in two days. She said she’d bring something over, hoping I could somehow talk him into eating while I was there.
When I walked into the room, seeing him lying there in that bed looking so small and helpless... it just broke my heart.😢
Teshko is talking, but it's mostly unintelligible and incredibly quiet.
I asked him how he was doing, and he just told me he feels a bit sick. I tried to offer some comfort, talking about how spring is here, how maybe he just overexerted himself or got worn out, and how none of us really handle these seasonal shifts very well...
And then it just started... this torrent of disconnected sentences, concepts, thoughts, and ideas. It was a complete mess of time and space—a chaotic blur of actual events mixed with his own delusions. He kept bringing up people I've never heard of, long-dead figures, the founding of the United States, bits of Asterix comics, plastic cowboys and Indians, proceedings in Congress, even a man on the Moon...
I honestly thought my head was going to explode... and what on earth is happening inside his mind? It's absolutely devastating...
His sister disconnected the IV and brought in a plate with some warm bread and Nutella.
He just kept talking and talking and talking, barely even realizing he had eaten two slices of bread that I was feeding him piece by piece... well, at least it's something.
At one point, his roommate actually stood up from his bed and told him not to be mad, but that he had to leave because he couldn't listen to it anymore...
To those who sent kind words of comfort following the sudden decline—I was ready for this. It stung a bit how abruptly everything took a turn without warning, but I wasn't caught off guard.
The moment I decided to take responsibility for this man's care, I committed to understanding every facet of his illness: the progression, the fluctuations, the treatment protocols.
At least twice a month, I meet face-to-face with his attending psychiatrist, and I make it a point to call the on-call physician every few days.
It is infuriating that my family—specifically my parents—feel entitled to judge the effectiveness of his treatment when, over the last year, they have shown up to a single consultation with his psychiatrist, and even then, only after I practically forced them.
They are completely ignorant of the reality of his condition. When my parents visit him at the hospital, my mother will "tidy up" his wardrobe, which triggers a crisis two days later because he becomes convinced someone stole his belongings. They see him sitting there, head bowed and rigid, and they have the audacity to casually ask, "Are you still hearing those voices?" while they're walking out the door.
Honestly, I’ve been on the verge of banning them from visiting ten times already.😈
You know, when I started that first thread and kept posting, people claimed I was just doing it for attention... and I'm sure this topic will face the same criticism . But honestly, it’s tough, and reading even a single word of support makes things easier, because in my real life, I have absolutely nobody to turn to.
And trust me, you have no idea what kind of obstacles you run into when you actually try to help someone like this.
I’m convinced things will take a turn for the better 🙂
The past year alone has proven that even in the most severe cases, significant progress can actually be made 👍
But, of course... my people are losing their patience... they're thinking, "We've kept this man in a psychiatric facility for a full year, burning through massive amounts of money every single month, and now he's right back where he started" 🙄
The next morning, he called me three times, sounding absolutely frantic. He was claiming someone at work stole his watch—even though he doesn't even own a watch while staying at the hospital, let alone on a Sunday when he isn't even helping out in the washroom—and insisting I had to rush over immediately because he wasn't sure if he'd still be alive by the time I arrived. He started rambling about some hit squad arriving...
Then, I overheard someone pick up the receiver and speak to him in this calm, soothing tone. Shortly after, the attending physician came to see me. She explained that, unfortunately, there was a sudden exacerbation that simply couldn't have been predicted or prevented, and they had to sedate him for the time being. 😢
I asked if I should come down, but she told me there was no point; it would just be hard on me, and he wouldn't even be aware of my presence.
I found out this morning that things have improved slightly. They switched him over to injectable Haloperidol, but he’s still very much "out of it."😢