TAKING A BREAK. THANK YOU FOR YOUR AMAZON REVIEWS by Dede Ranahan

Dear Sooner Than Tomorrow Readers and Writers:

I’m taking a break from my blog for the next 3 or 4 weeks. I must execute my mother’s small estate, attend to a celebration of her life, and reflect on her life and passing. I’ll also be speaking about Sooner Than Tomorrow at the NAMI Kentucky State Conference. I’m leaving you with some of the reviews readers have written on my Amazon book page. Thank you so much for these comments and recommendations. Reviews are among the best tools in a writer’s toolbox to garner more readers. I appreciate them more than you know.

Away from my blog but always thinking of you. You’re the most dedicated and courageous people on the planet. Have a good month.

P.S. If you’d like a copy of Grassroots 2020: A 5-Part Plan to Address Serious Mental Illness (SMI) to send to 2020 presidential candidates, and to local and state influencers, send me your email and I’ll forward the documents to you. You can also read the plan here in the archives on the right hand side: August 6, 2019, “Please Forward to Those in Your Sphere of Influence.” dede@soonerthantomorrow.com

SOONER THAN TOMORROW — A MOTHER’S DIARY ABOUT MENTAL ILLNESS, FAMILY, AND EVERYDAY LIFE

AMAZON REVIEWS

kayababy 5.0 out of 5 stars
Thank you for putting your experiences, into words
For so many of us, who have a child with these issues, our experiences have been similar, and we struggle to put them into words. I must say, this diary has been at times the "oh my God, I know exactly what she means" and a flood of tears, while other times a familiar feeling of smiles and happiness from that same place of recognition; it just helps to read it. I am so happy to have this book. It has a sort of sacredness about its story, especially with all of Pat's inputs, so that we get to hear from him, getting to know who he is as well through this excellent book his mother wrote. Thank you again Dede.

Christy B 5.0 out of 5 stars
Well written — heart felt — easy read — honest chronicle of a life ended too soon.
I don't know if "enjoyed" is the right word — very touched by this book. The writing is superb — the chapters short — easy to put down and pick up again. I was engrossed by the family dynamics — daughter, grandmother, mother, sister. The entries about the grandkids are delicious. Pat comes across as a highly intelligent, musically talented, funny guy. Loved his FB posts. A must read. Highly recommend.

Erin Eisner 5.0 out of 5 stars
So many reasons to read this great book!
I found this book interesting and important in so many ways! The author writes with an amazing sense of humor and compassionate insight about every thing from her 101 year old mom and grand-kids, to the ants invading her home. She brilliantly weaves in her late son’s poetry and Facebook posts, which gives true timely context, and reveals how she interpreted both monumental and mundane events she encountered in the year before her beloved son would unexpectedly and mysteriously pass away. While gut-wrenchingly tragic in the end, it has so many uplifting moments I found myself deeply engaged and inspired to learn more about many things. It made me want to read. It made me want to write. It made me want to live. It made me want to hold my two young babies a little tighter and pray they will be spared from mental illness, and if not that I will have the same patience, love and resolve the author had in doing all she could in a climate that makes nothing in this realm easy. To the author—thank you for sharing with the world your beautiful stories about your family and life in general, and thank you for your fight and efforts to improve mental health conditions and policies in this country, and for giving support to other families going through their own mental health challenges. I hope you have and will continue to write more not only for your own peace, but because your words and stories must continue to be shared and heard. You don’t have to have a close family member with mental illness to benefit and appreciate this book— if you are a human on this planet who can read English I highly recommend you read Sooner Than Tomorrow because it has much in it for everyone to ponder.

Paula Quertermous 5.0 out of 5 stars
Dede Ranahan shares a glimpse families endure while trying to get mental health help in time
This book has moved me deeply. Dede Ranahan captures the slippery chasm family members with serious mental illness try to navigate to have some quality of life — and in spite of lack of enough good services. Dede, your writing mesmerized me!! I can relate so much as the mother of an adult daughter with SMI. Every day can contain an element giving you a surge of motherly hope — or a crushing incident that spikes to fear for your child. The exhaustion from living in long term doubt requires support. This book is a gem of information!

L. Turley 5.0 out of 5 stars
I highly recommend this book.
I read books these days in short spurts, often just a few pages at a time, especially when the material hits me in a way that I need to stop and process before continuing. This book is like that for me. It is both a daily journal of everyday events and yet, within those events there is a deep, insightful look at a life that is shared with us for a purpose. I had been waiting until I finished this book to write a review, but it may take me awhile to finish, as I sit and savor these snapshots glimpses into the lives of the individuals within. Dede shares her life and her innermost thoughts in a down-to-earth way as she allows us to walk with her through the journey of her son's mental illness, and reminds us that we are not alone, but we walk together. For those who share this journey and share her prayer for change to come "Sooner Than Tomorrow” and for those who are fortunate enough not to share the journey, but who wish to understand, I highly recommend this book.

I WANT TO HARNESS EVERY LITTLE PIECE OF HAPPINESS by Anonymous

I had a powerful phone conversation with my SMI son today. We spoke about a thousand things but, most importantly, he said, “Mom, I think you and I needed separation.”

Before his first episode, my son was functioning optimally and had a high paying position in San Francisco. Then everything crumbled. He had a serious injury that almost took his life and we were sent into a tail spin as a family. I had my heels dug in because I was losing the son I knew. I was riddled with grief. It was his radiance that I missed so much. He was known for his kindness and big hugs.

As time has moved along, we’ve endured some very scary and difficult experiences. We’re finally admitting that that the son we once had no longer exists. He doesn’t look like he used to. His eyes are no longer relaxed and kind. It’s weird how his looks have changed so drastically. People are mostly afraid of him.

Now, the one in my son’s place is someone we know and can love. He’s on his own in Denver and on a warrior path. I don’t always understand it, but I finally embrace it. I dread him being 50 and homeless when I’m gone, but I cherish that we can have connection in our new normal. The emotional separation has been healthy for me.

Today, I’m refocused on my younger son. He’s a doctor and has a son of his own whom I just took care of for eight days. We’re lucky that he’s a doctor who understands medications. He has a skill set that most of our family doesn’t have. I am so grateful.

Please don’t take my post as simplifying the gravity of our situations. We are all one episode away from devastation, but I want to harness every little piece of happiness and connection I can.

OUR SON'S PREVENTABLE DEATH by Pat Wood Sterling

On March 22, 2019, our son, Brian, took his own life. My husband and I believe that Brian’s suicide could have been prevented if the first group of medical responders and sheriff’s officers, who we called, had acted appropriately.

What follows is a reconstruction of events to the best of our recollection, and a question as to why officers, who responded to our 911 call, didn’t exercise their authority to use an Emergency Custody Order ( An ECO allows a person to be taken to a hospital against their will in Virginia) to assist our son who didn’t have the clarity of thought to act in his own interest.

As Brian became increasingly delusional and paranoid over a period of months, he called the Loudoun sheriff non-emergency number several times. Brian had called them when he lived in an apartment in Leesburg and continued to do so when he moved to our house in Sterling. Officers had come to our house in Sterling to investigate imagined break-ins and “suspicious people” loitering around the house several times in the few weeks prior to Brian’s suicide.

Deputy P. Brick (#3198) responded to these calls and became acquainted with Brian and his mental health status. Because Brian didn’t present himself as being a danger to himself or others during these calls, Deputy Brick told us, “I can’t take Brian in for a mental health evaluation.” We agreed with him at that time.

The last time Brian asked officers to come to the house, Deputy Brick suggested that we try to get an ECO ourselves from the magistrate on the grounds of “inability to care for self.” Please note, Brian had been hospitalized in Loudoun County several times over a 7 year period and had a history of being taken in by the sheriff’s office through ECOs issued on our behalf by the magistrate. He’d also been taken for mental health evaluations several times directly by the sheriff’s officers because of complaints by neighbors. In one case, because of a domestic assault. We’d asked, many times, for the Loudoun County Community Service Board to give Brian Assisted Outpatient Treatment (AOT). They always refused. The basis of their refusal was that Brian had private insurance which we were able to obtain for him through his father’s job with the State Department and because he’d become ill before the age of 22.

On March 22, we were occupied most of the day in supervising the upgrading of our home security system. Because of Brian’s paranoia, we thought it might help him feel more secure if we activated an old security system that already existed in the house when we purchased it. We had a technician from the security company in our house from 11:30 AM until 5:00 PM.

We were aware that our son wasn’t feeling well and had been vomiting, but we didn’t really start paying attention to his condition until after the technician left at 5:00 PM. Our son had locked himself into an upstairs bathroom and had the water turned on. We assume he hoped the sound of water would camouflage the sound of vomiting. We were able to open the door with a screw driver and found our son crouched on the bathroom floor vomiting into the toilet. His eyes were glazed, and he could barely stand up to walk to the adjoining bedroom. He continued to vomit into a bucket as he sat on the bed.

When we saw his condition, we thought he’d perhaps taken a street drug or overdosed on one of his psychiatric medications. We asked him and he denied it. He said, “I have food poisoning. I’ll be fine.” We could tell it wasn’t food poisoning. Brian’s voice was high pitched and abnormal, and his eyes and the ability to walk weren’t normal. His vomit was black and looked as though it had blood in it.

We decided to call 911. When the responders to our 911 call arrived, it must have been about 5:45-6:00 PM. Two sheriff’s officers accompanied the medical responders. Our recollection is that there were 3 or 4 medical responders. We learned from one of the sheriff’s officers that Officer Brick was not available because he was sick that night. We were upstairs with my son so we didn’t see what kind of vehicle the medical responders arrived in. We don’t know if it was an ambulance or fire truck.

An older man seemed to be in charge of the medical personnel. He asked my son if he could take his vital signs and my son refused. He asked if they could take him to the emergency room and my son refused. The two sheriff’s officers noted to each other that my son had a red mark on his neck where he’d pulled off a chain that he always wore. The older medical person informed us that he could do nothing since my son was refusing treatment. He told me, “Try to persuade your son to be hospitalized.” I was also unsuccessful.

It was clear to me that my son was very ill and delusional. I don’t believe that the medical people ever examined the contents of the bucket my son continued to vomit into in their presence. Shortly thereafter, they all left. They were probably in the house about 15 minutes total.

To us, at least, it was obvious that Brian wasn’t in a mental state where he could make an informed decision about his own health. He was beyond understanding what anyone was saying to him or urging him to do. The question of whether he had taken some self-harming drug was never addressed. The officers certainly must have been aware of his mental health record from past visits. The red mark on his neck that indicated self-harming behavior was ignored.

We know that police and sheriff’s officers are trained to take people in distress into custody and we can’t understand why this was not, at least, considered. We pleaded with them, “Please take Brian to a hospital for medical treatment.” They didn’t exercise their authority to issue an ECO. With hindsight, we think our son was already well along the road to endeavoring to end his life.

Our questions are:
-Did the officers not understand their authority to act in a crisis?
-Had the officers completed the training that is required for this type of situation?
-Did they consider one or more of the three criteria (danger to self, danger to others, inability to care for self) that allows them to act without the consent of an adult?

After the medical responders and the officers left, my husband and I debated about what to do. My husband left the house about 6:30 PM to go to the magistrate in Leesburg to try to obtain an ECO . While my husband raced to Leesburg, my son stumbled down the stairs into our office where I was sitting. He sat down and, a few minutes later, had a convulsion. His body went rigid and his eyes rolled back. He’d never had a convulsion before.

I grabbed my cell phone and called 911 again. My son walked into the living room and fell onto the living room couch continuing to vomit into a bucket. He had another massive convulsion. He ended up with his head on the living room floor and his feet pointed at the ceiling. He had no control over his body. When he was able to sit up again. I was still on the phone with 911. I saw a knife poking out from one of his pants pockets. I asked him, “What is that knife was for?”

Brian started having another convulsion. As his arms and body began to get rigid again, he pulled the knife out of his pocket and slit his throat. I told the 911 person what had happened and begged her to get someone to the house quickly. She told me, “Get towels to try to compress the wound on his throat.” I ran to the kitchen to get towels but my son pushed me away when I returned to him. Running back to get more towels, I turned around and found Brian standing in the kitchen looking through the trash can. I can only guess that he was looking for the knife.

The 911 lady asked me, “Are there any weapons in the house?” I replied, “No, only kitchen knives.” When I said that, my son’s attention went to the drawer where we keep the kitchen knives and he started moving toward it. This whole time he was bleeding profusely from the wound in his neck. 

I stood in front of the drawer. Brian was getting weak and couldn’t push me aside. An officer burst through the kitchen door from the garage and started wrestling with my son trying to handcuff him. My son struggled against being handcuffed and asked the officer, “Why are you doing this?" The officer saw the blood pouring from the gaping wound on my son’s neck. He replied, “I’m trying to save your life.”

After several minutes, the officer was able to handcuff Brian. He threw him down on the dining room floor. At that point, medical personnel came into the house. It was too late since my son had lost so much blood. Medical personnel worked on him for thirty minutes with no success. We believe he died on the dining room floor.

Brian was taken to Reston Hospital in an ambulance. My husband arrived back from Leesburg and we rushed to the hospital where we sat in a waiting room for 45 minutes. A doctor came out and told us, “We weren’t able to save Brian. He lost too much blood and we weren’t able to get a heart beat.”

We so wish that the first call to 911 had resulted in getting my son medical treatment and then mental health treatment. The medical examiner’s office stated on the death certificate that the “Immediate cause of death is pending.” We’ve asked for, but haven’t received, the results of any toxicology screening. With the constant vomiting and the convulsions, it’s possible that some drug or overdose of medication was involved.

We hope, in the future, the mental health of the ill person and his/her ability to make informed and rational decisions be taken into consideration by medical responders, and that they defer to sheriff’s officers regarding a possible ECO. The possibility of an attempt at suicide must also be taken into serious account when deciding whether or not to leave the scene. An opportunity to save my son’s life was missed and resulted, in our opinion, in a tragedy that could have been avoided. Our family is devastated by Brian’s loss. He was 38 years old.

We hope our story will prevent this kind of heart-breaking outcome for another family.

Brian’s mom and dad - Pat & Jerry

WE'RE THINKING INCORRECTLY ABOUT SERIOUS MENTAL ILLNESS by Mary Rossell

Eight-hundred-ninety-seven days. That’s how many days it’s been since my son Kevin died. I remember when I counted the number of days after his birth, then transitioned to months and then to years. Now, when asked by others about his death, I give the socially appropriate answer of nearly three years, but I still think 897 days.

Kevin suffered from a serious mental illness. I’m not certain which one as he was given at least two dozen diagnoses during the years of his treatment, often two to three diagnoses at the same time. Even while we cycled through different diagnoses, we assured ourselves that he had good odds to do well. We were pro-active with early intervention. How naive we were.

Through the years, we were often told to wait and watch. The child psychiatrist said, “He’s okay, just a bit anxious. A smaller school should help.” The prodromal psychiatric assessment clinic said his symptoms were “not clearly psychotic, although he seems to have some odd beliefs. His presentation is consistent with an autism spectrum disorder.”

At the later stage of his illness, one of his doctors candidly said to me, “Diagnosis is just a label and doesn’t really help. What we really do is treat symptoms.” From then on, I silently called his team of doctors the “Symptom Chasers.” With the absence of biological markers, all practitioners can do is interview, watch, and categorize based on what they observe. And so, we continued to wait as Kevin continued to be watched.

As months passed, Kevin didn’t respond to the usual treatment protocol of pharmacological combinations, behavioral therapy, and daily structure of activities. One day, when he didn’t want to go out for his daily routine, he asked me, “Would you make a person, with a compound leg fracture, run laps around a track field before you’d fix his leg? No, you wouldn’t. So why are you making me run laps when you haven’t yet treated my disease?” With tears in my eyes I said, “I’m sorry, this is all we have.”

We continued to search for treatment to help him. Over and over, we told ourselves the odds remained in our favor. We had access to the “best” medical care, and we had compliance from our child. We just hadn’t found the right treatment yet. We traveled to San Francisco, to New York City, and, finally, to Boston. In the end, all we really had to offer Kevin was medication, the effectiveness of which has not progressed since 1959, endless talk therapy, and mind-numbing structure.

After 333 days of intensive treatment with a psychiatric hospital in the Boston area, Kevin died in a residential home associated with the hospital. Kevin was 20 years old.

After Kevin’s death, one of his doctors compared his illness to that of end-stage cancer. Perhaps he said it to help make sense of what was otherwise a senseless illness and horrifying death. But he was wrong. Kevin’s illness and death were nothing like cancer. You can accurately diagnose cancer. You can see if treatment is making it better or worse. And you can explain how the patient died. None of this happened for Kevin.

When some time had passed after Kevin’s death, I began engagement with the mental health advocacy community. Each time, I found myself with immense respect and admiration for the tireless commitment of the parents who care for their children with serious mental illness. But I was also disheartened by the fact that, as we enter the third decade of the twenty-first century, the prominent advocacy work for the seriously mentally ill is about treating this community as patients rather than inmates.

How sad that those, who are most vulnerable among us, cannot be treated with basic dignity by our society. While we fight to make progress in releasing people from prisons and placing them in hospitals, we cannot forget that many, if not most, will remain incarcerated within the confines of their serious mental illnesses until we make real progress in diagnosis, prognosis, and treatment.

In one of Kevin’s last emails to his doctors he said, “If you want to understand my experience better, start by thinking about the ways you are thinking incorrectly about it.” There remains a lot for which we are thinking incorrectly when it comes to serious mental illness.

I HATE THIS CRUEL ILLNESS by Anonymous

I spent seven hours at the courthouse. They placed my daughter second on the docket so I had to stay there all day with her agitated and psychotic. She has been in our state facility for 21 months. She is one of three very treatment-resistant patients at the hospital. I just sit idly by and watch her deteriorate. They’ve tried everything they can, within their formulary, so please do not suggest Clozapine as it is not in the formulary.

The only other options are voluntary community services — which she will not adhere to — and for-profit hospitals which are useless. Her condition is worsening before our eyes. We have legal guardianship, yet cannot make her well. I feel so helpless. Surrounding states seem worse.

This is like watching your child die a slow death. The judge granted another 90 days in the state facility, and for that we are grateful because of the alternatives. I just needed to vent as I sat there and listened to her testify, incoherently, and watched her walk out of her own hearing because it made her too anxious.

The reports in court of her behaviors were so distressing — for any mother to hear — that it will forever scar me. Drinking her urine, smearing menstrual blood on her face, writing on walls with her vomit, running in halls naked, dancing suggestively in front of men, smearing her feces, flushing personal items, flooding the bathroom, and then some. She told the judge that she is pregnant by a doctor. She gave a name but there’s never been a doctor in her facility by that name. She put wire from her bra hooks through an earhole that had closed up. Social workers and nurses testified to these things and more. I was unaware of most of it until court. It was painful.

The lawyer representing my daughter berated me to make his case against treatment. But, he offered no alternative. The state provides two attorneys — one arguing for treatment. One arguing against treatment. I live 90 days at a time between one court ruling and the next.

I got a notice in the mail about an incident since court. My daughter smeared her feces in her hair and on her body. The staff had to put her in a special sleep suit.

I feel so empty. If this resonates with anyone, it’s worth the post. There is no clear answer. I realize this. I hate this cruel illness.

HAPPY PIC & POEM

TWO HUMMINGBIRDS

Two baby Hummingbirds
I’ve named them Pert and Prim,
So tiny — there are no words,
But life force beats strong in them.

I’m humbled bearing witness
To fledglings hidden in my tree,
My kitchen window gives me access
To wonders with no need of me.

Mama flits in zig-zag thrusts
To her nest with babies crying,
To throw off eyes she doesn’t trust
Predators who might be prying.

One week young and old today
Welcome to our changing earth,
We must care for it they say,
As you remind us with your birth.

Dede Ranahan

Hope you have a good weekend everybody!

http://www.bit.ly/soonerthantomorrow

BEYOND MY UNDERSTANDING OF WHAT BEING HUMAN MEANS by CJ Hanson (PART TWO)

To my twin sister, Linda Rippee,

I just came on Facebook, after taking a nap. I could barely read through your post without tears flowing down my face like a stream from a mountain top. A stream that never ends. I didn't think I had this many tears left. I feel so helpless, with my own illnesses, that I am unable to help with a physical presence. The responsibility and the experience of actually interacting with Mark have fallen on your shoulders.

Is there such a thing as survivor's guilt without having actually lost someone? I can't describe the pain I feel any other way, so I’m at a loss. I’m at a loss at the pain and suffering he endures every day on the streets, knowing that we have no legal right to force him to live with the few of us left, nor is it even possible. Knowing that we have fought for 32 years trying to help him and make his life better, and knowing that he blames us for allowing him to live as the doctors didn't believe that he would. Knowing that the laws in this county, state, and nation are against families of loved ones who suffer from traumatic brain Injury and serious mental illness. Knowing that, no matter how hard we’ve fought every day to change minds, hearts, rules, and laws, so far we have failed. We have failed.

I have such a hard time believing that we’ve failed, but we have. It matters not that we have fought every day. Every single day for 32 years. Yes, for a while he was able to live a somewhat normal life until the mental illness set in. The doctors said it would happen eventually, but what has happened to him since? The apathy of people with the power to change policies, rules, and laws is a clear indication that, not only have our efforts failed, but the lawmakers have failed. How many potential bills have failed over and over as the lawmakers insist there is more legislation now for the seriously mentally ill than ever before. That may be true, but they keep failing. Failing the sufferers. Failing the families. Failing society. No human being should have to live without options like our brother. I am having difficulty understanding anything anymore about this travesty.

Facing my own mortality only makes me feel more like a failure. I still have in my mind that 12-year-old boy who tracked me down at a friend’s house after I had moved away from home at 18, and clung to me begging me to move back home. I still have in my mind seeing Mark that day of the accident, barbecuing at Mom and Dad's house and telling us how he wasn't going to keep that motorcycle but was putting it up for sale. I still have in my mind that he was on his way to my home, in Fairfield, that night to see me when the accident happened.

Did I fail him, Linda? Did I fail him by making the decision to let the doctors try to save him? Was I wrong to want him to live? I thought I was making the right choices while I actually had power of attorney back then. I'm not so sure, now. What are we to do now? Lawmakers and officials have tired of our continued efforts and have turned their own blind eyes away from the situation. No one, who has any power to give families back their rights, or to change the laws preventing us from helping him, cares. Not really.

I have no faith in lawmakers’ motivations anymore. Not one has proven that they care enough about the families of the seriously mentally ill to truly push through what needs to be done to make a real difference. I can't stop crying — for Mark, and how he lives and suffers; for you, being the last one in our family to be able to go out and find him; for myself, for being so helpless in my own infirm condition and disability; for Mom, who will leave this earth knowing her youngest child will most likely die on the streets; for all the ignorant and uninformed people who find such joy in blaming our family; for those in the community who do care and have tried to help Mark and us for so long; for our society; for this very world.

My despair and tears are beyond my ability to explain anymore. Beyond my understanding of what being human means.

See Linda’s story yesterday, June 26, 2019. “Rewind and Erase.”

Mark

REWIND AND ERASE by Linda Rippee (PART ONE)

Today, I went and found my brother, Mark. He was lying on the sidewalk at a busy entrance to a shopping center. Cars were whizzing by. Another man was sitting there with him and, as I approached them, I could see that Mark was giving him money and asking him to count it. I was immediately suspicious. I asked my daughter to remain in the car.

I walked up quickly and called Mark’s name as I always holler his name before approaching him so not to startle him. I waited until he recognized my voice before I began conversation. Mark pulled another dollar bill from his pocket and asked me what denomination it was. I was concerned that maybe he was buying street drugs. No, that wasn’t it. Here sat another homeless person who had talked my blind brother into giving him all his money to buy a gold pocket watch. He laid out $14.00 which was all that he had. Unless that watch could verbally tell time, what on earth would a blind, gravely disabled man need with a pocket watch?

Good thing I had brought him food, water, and clothing. Mark was shirtless, but had a very heavy coat on. Today, the temperature is supposed to reach 98 degrees. I begged him to take off the coat. He refused saying the coat would be stolen. He was extremely sunburned already. The wounds on his face and around his empty eye sockets were still badly infected from two different beatings several weeks ago when he was robbed. Today, all he had with him was a small blanket. His clothing was disintegrating as he wore the same pair of pants all through the winter and spring. He didn’t have a cane to guide him. He has had 11 different canes this past year.  

I sat down next to Mark and, within seconds, it was obvious that he was delusional. He grabbed my hands and slapped them down, hard, on his leg that has a metal rod from crotch to ankle. He held both my hands down with his hands. His hands looked like leather and were cracked and bleeding. Regardless, he continued to hold my hands tightly. His entire body was trembling. He said, “We have to go back and erase each year that has passed since June 21, 1987 (the date of his motorcycle accident). Rewind and erase.”

I was shocked that he still knew that date. Yes, it was Father’s Day, but he still remembered the actual date. He proceeded to say each year backwards to 1987. With each year, he said, “Rewind & Erase!” He shook, violently, until he reached 1987. Then he grabbed and hugged me and said,” Now, don’t you feel better?”

I told him, “Yes, and I hope you do too.” He began to argue with the voices in his head, screaming that the police were implanting and growing people inside of people and controlling them. I tried to calm him and get him to eat the food I had brought him. He would take a bite, chew tiny bites, and then spit it out.

He brought up my twin. Mark doesn’t always comprehend what I tell him, but I continue to tell him the truth. CJ, my twin sister, had gotten bad news about a medical diagnosis. I shared her condition with him. He began yelling at the voices he hears and blaming those voices for all the pain and suffering of those he loves. The intent of his body language was to beat himself up. I hugged him, and once again reminded him that I love him — as I do on every visit. He didn’t want to let go and held on tight for a while. As I was saying goodby, he began crying. He said, “Someone disconnected me from my mother. They’re cutting out pieces of me.”

I slowly walked away, feeling sick to my stomach. If only I could “rewind and erase” all the horrible memories, delusions, pain, and suffering he’s had for the last three decades. Yes, Mark, I would feel better.

Linda adds: Every letter/email I’ve sent out has also been sent to the County Board of Supervisors. I’ve sent out over 1200 emails and my twin, CJ, has sent as many. Each time, we copy agencies and politicians. We’ve saturated them. We’ve sent out thousands of private messages all over the state, and made thousands of posts and comments in over 100 social media groups all over California. CJ authored the petition for AB1971* and we collected 56,000 signatures that went to the full assembly and senate. I’ve made 30 speeches speaking at public meetings. I’ve testified twice at the capitol in support of AB1971.* I’ve gone to the capitol and told my brother's story to support several other bills. There have been 12 news articles and TV interviews. Mark’s story has been published in three national blogs and used at medical conferences. We’ve friended, and are in contact with, several well-known national mental health advocates — Ron Powers, Teresa Pasquini, Leslie Carpenter, Dede Moon Ranahan, and DJ Jaffe to name a few. The Board of Supervisors are ground zero. They are aware of all that we’ve done. They stay silent and do not converse with our family. The next project we are working on is a documentary. I have many, many videos of my visits on the streets with Mark. We will make the videos available to politicians and to the public. They are undeniable. When they are shown, Solano County should hang its head in shame.

Note: Solano County has declared Mark to be competent.

*AB1971. This bill would, until January 1, 2024, expand the definition of “gravely disabled” for these purposes, as implemented in the County of Los Angeles, to also include a condition in which a person, as a result of a mental health disorder, is unable to provide for his or her basic personal needs for medical treatment, if the failure to receive medical treatment, as defined, results in a deteriorating physical condition that a medical professional, in his or her best medical judgment, attests in writing, will more likely than not, lead to death within 6 months, as specified.

See Linda’s story, “I’m Past Anger. I’m in Complete Despair.” June 6, 2019, in the archives.

Mark

HAPPY PIC

Walk in Tasmania.

Hope you have a good weekend everybody!

'WE DON'T HELP PEOPLE HERE." by Angela McCandless

My son, Dillon McCandless, is 29 years old. He was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia in 2014 after we had him involuntarily committed to the state hospital here in Idaho. When he was released, we thought that medication was all that he needed.

Dillon saw a psychiatrist twice after his release. He did well for about a year-and-a-half and he thought he was cured and went off the medication. It wasn't long and his symptoms returned. We got him back on the medication but it never really worked well the second time around, and he began to use drugs and alcohol to cope. This made everything worse. We tried to get him back into the hospital but we were unsuccessful in our attempts. We went to the prosecutor over mental health and he said, “If he isn't a danger to himself or other's, it won't happen.” We tried the state hospital and our local mental health office.

Five weeks later, while having a psychotic episode, our son robbed a casino that was on the Indian reservation making this a federal crime. We told his lawyer of his illness and asked him if there was something he could do to get him some help. He said, "We don't help people here." We didn't like his answer so we met with the federal prosecutor and Dillon’s lawyer together. Instead of getting him help, they sent him to San Diego for a competency evaluation to see if he was competent to stand trial.  

Dillon was gone almost three months and, when he returned, he had lost 45 pounds. He was moved six times before making his way back to Idaho. The report stated he was competent to stand trial. At his competency hearing, the judge could see he was having problems. The judge ordered the prosecutor and our son's attorney to get a psychiatrist to see him on a regular basis and adjust his medications if needed. This never happened. (We have the audio recording of this order.) Dillon was in a county jail here in Idaho (A federal hold jail).

The physicians assistant prescribing didn't know what she was doing. She let Dillon prescribe his own medications but didn't know how to dose him. At times, the jail didn't medicate him at all and let him go cold turkey. He began to self-destruct and broke his foot. At the time of his change of plea hearing, he was unmedicated and walking on a broken foot. Later, he broke his hand. His lawyer did nothing for him. He told us the reason no psychiatrist saw our son was because the US marshal refused to pay for one, but we found out the request wasn't made. The prosecutor who was ordered to get the psychiatrist said, "Well, you don't get Cadillac care in jail."

Our son got worse and punched a guard, and the guard broke Dillon’s shoulder. Inmates called us and told us they knew Dillon was going downhill. They were requesting medications for him. He wasn't able to even get ibuprofen. We called his lawyer, county mental health, the jail, and the judge. Dillon's cellmate told us that Dillon was building a fort under his bed and hiding in it. Even the guards weren't helping him. It took the jail 60 days to X-ray Dillon’s broken foot, several weeks to X-ray his hand, and a week to X-ray his shoulder.  

After the altercation with the guard, Dillon was tased and put in isolation and tried to kill himself. He was taken, by ambulance, to the local hospital to have his wrists glued shut. After the suicide attempt, the county tried to get him into the state hospital. We made a personal visit to the county prosecutor. He was getting paperwork filled out but the US marshal refused to let him go to a hospital. The prosecutor was shocked by this.

Instead of getting him help, the authorities moved Dillon to another county jail and moved up his sentencing date. Inaccurate information about medication compliance was used against him in the pre-sentencing report. He was given nine years — two years for the robbery and seven years for use of a firearm. Pretty harsh for a first offense.

Dillon was moved from Idaho to Victorville, California. While he was there, a Dr. Doman said, “I have no idea why he was sent here. He is too sick for us to take care of him.” She moved him to the Federal Medical Center in Rochester, Minnesota. We were hoping that they would help him but nothing happened. Instead, he was in the SHU (the hole) for most of four months.

Dillon was refusing to take medication. He was given a shot of thorazine when he first arrived and he hated it. They wouldn't give him the anti-anxiety medication he wanted so he refused anti-psychotics. To insure he didn't cause any problems unmedicated, they put him in the hole. They said, “We can't help him if he won't take medication.” In the federal system, they don't have to medicate you if you choose not to be medicated. I believe it’s the same for the state.

Last month, Dillon was moved to Sheridan, Oregon. We saw him two weeks ago and he looks terrible. He’s very thin and still unmedicated. Our visit didn't go well because he struggled to answer our questions. He said "what " all the time.

None of Dillon's injuries have been fixed. They’ve healed incorrectly and cause him pain. He’s declining. The federal system is a nightmare for the mentally ill. They were right when they said, "We don't help people here."

I just wanted to tell my son’s story. We all need to speak up or things won't change. I know this is a long read and I’ve left out so much. We’re still trying to get Dillon the help he needs. We have a lawyer who is trying to make sure he is getting care in Oregon, but he can't get Dillon's medical records, and we have guardianship. They say, “Dillon has to sign for them.” We keep reminding him but his memory is poor. Dillon recently had his commissary privileges taken away. He missed a roll call and pushed a wrong button. He can't think straight without medication. The mentally ill are usually in trouble.

A few days ago, KPVI had an article about Lance Quick. He lost his life after six days in prison. He went without food, water, and his medication. How incredibly sad.

There’s nothing criminal about being diagnosed with a mental illness, but it's criminal how we treat individuals with mental illness. Our system is broken. We must get involved in advocating for change for our mentally ill.

Read Our Brother’s Keeper - a blog written by Dillon’s siblings. Click here.

http://www.bit.ly/soonerthantomorrow