Furious Seasons

April 02, 2008

What Do You Say To A Paranoid Schizophrenic Whose Mom Just Died?

Some of you may remember Mr. B., a friend of mine in the neighborhood, who's diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia and has been since the 1960s. He spent time in prison at one point for assault, has been in numerous state hospitals here and back in Maryland, and has been on the Haldol injectable for at least 20 years. He's 62 years old and, unlike a lot of people in his situation, he doesn't hide out in his apartment, but goes out and tries to be actively social. He's a remarkable human being, especially given that various lowlifes occasionally attack him near the dump of an apartment his social worker moved him to last year.

B. has known for several months that his mother, who lived in Florida, was dying. She was 85 years old. B. wasn't able to fly Back East to see her (he decided, he told me, that he was way too paranoid of planes and overly crowded situations for that), so he talked to her every week or so, as he has for years. Yesterday, his mother died.

Me and a local shop owner are pretty much the only people B. confides in and we both knew he was pretty shaky recently. We were both concerned that when his mother died, B. would become so depressed or paranoid--or both--and be unreachable and deteriorate. He's told both of us of his deep fear of being forced into a nursing home at some point and losing his freedom. There's no chance of him going off his meds, but we both worried about B. not eating and of getting so paranoid about someday ending up in a nursing home that he'd follow through on his oft-repated threat of buying a bus ticket and moving to Portland or Baltimore.

I ran into B. last evening where he usually hangs out. We talked. He seemed to be taking things as well as he could. "She was so old," he said. "It's better for her. I don't like old people."

His spirits were OK, so I just told him I was sorry about his mother. He's apparently going to get a small amount of money from his mother's estate and last night he asked me to help him buy a bond or something to squirrel it away. I old him to come talk to me or the shop owner if he was thinking off leaving town.

"Oh, I won't leave," he said. "I have to take care of my mouse."

B., you see, has a mouse in his apartment--not a pet, but a varmint he takes care of. He named it Mrs. Thomas, in honor, he once told me, of a nurse at a state hospital in Maryland in the 1960s who used to hit him with a broom.

He is a remarkable man.

Posted by Philip Dawdy at April 2, 2008 12:03 AM

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Comments

Thanks for that, Mr. B. sounds like good people, and a blessing of truth for the uninitiated. Here's wishing him safe journey wherever he roams.

Posted by: flawedplan at April 2, 2008 12:12 AM

What does it say about this particular person who was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia that he's gentle enough to take care of a creature that most "normal" people would try to kill without even thinking about it?

Posted by: Puckett at April 2, 2008 12:43 AM

Oh no! this is so sad to read. i've never cried reading this site before until now.i'm very glad Mr. B has you and the shop owner to watch out for him. thank you for watching over him

Posted by: Stephany at April 2, 2008 12:58 AM

It sounds like you and the shop owner are doing the best you can. Mr. B sounds like a sweet man. That is incredibly touching about the mouse.

Posted by: Cindy at April 2, 2008 05:26 AM

Dear Philip,
My information may be out of date as I haven't worked as a geriatric social worker for some time now, but for what it's worth:
1) it has traditionally been impossible to "commit" someone to a nursing home against their will
2) nursing homes are for-profit entities. They cherry pick as much as possible. Most of them won't touch anyone with a "mental illness" label with a barge pole. Being on Medicaid diminishes your chances of placement considerably. The two combined make placement very difficult at the best of times.

Having worked in nursing "homes" for years (who the hell ever came up with that Orwellian name, anyway?) I, too, greatly fear ending up in one. On the other hand, I do know that when you finally actually *do* get to the point of being unable to take care of yourself (not when *others* deem you're at that point) it often is a relief to get three hots and a cot.

I used to read hospital admission physicals all the time. The admitting doctor would say "of course, Mrs. X needs to be in a nursing home". Boy, that always got my dander up. How arrogant of some jerk who saw someone for fifteen minutes to take it upon themselves to make that sort of life changing decision for them. Fortunately, the docs don't have the say in that matter.

Sadly, it's hard for me to imagine anyone caring enough about Mr. B. to bother to try and sell him to a nursing home. You should check this out with a geriatric social worker in your area (most hospitals have someone who specializes in this) but my experience tells me his chances of remaining free are pretty good.

HTH.
Sherry (who spent years of her life explaining to adult children that, no, you cannot "commit" your mother to a nursing home.)

Posted by: Sherry at April 2, 2008 05:26 AM

Look into orthomolecular psychiatry!

Posted by: Jeremiah at April 2, 2008 07:17 AM

That's actually a touching story. Thank God for animals and bless you too Philip for reaching out to Mr. B. and being there for him. I don't know if anyone's ever seen the movie The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill but somehow this story reminded me of the pretty lonely guy in it who bonded with an old parrot that he rescued. Such experiences can be very healing and transforming, better than AAPs any day!

Posted by: Sara at April 2, 2008 08:06 AM

What do I say to a paranoid shizophrenic whose mother has just died? I say, "I'm sorry. That sucks. How are you holding up? Anything I can do for you?"

What YOU should say is "I'm sorry I see you as a diagnosis first and a human being second. And I'm going to write about in you on my blog so people can see what a sensitive, great guy I am, looking out for someone so lesser than I."

Posted by: Beatrice at April 2, 2008 02:48 PM

Irony just fell in a heap and sobbing hysterically and begging for air. Don't die, Irony, you deserve to live!

Posted by: flawedplan at April 2, 2008 04:45 PM

I wonder how 'Beatrice' would suggest I tell my SZ daughter her Grandfather was killed? or that her beloved 3 year old pet rat died while she was inpatient in a psych ward? the first full sentence she said in that hospital last summer,was 'i want to go home, watch tv and hold [pets name].' I hadn't the heart to tell her ironically the pet rat died the very day before.

She unravels so quickly due to loss, that it is imperative to watch over her when she has one, and just having her sisters move away to college for my daughter was so devastating she has hardly recovered. It sent her into a bad crash.

To imply this is a story being written in the way you describe probably represents the rest of the heartless people in society who do not care about chronic and severely ill people.

It is a rare thing to find anyone willing to love, care and support people like Mr. B, and in fact it hsa been difficult for me to watch friends, neighbors and relatives shy away from being around my daughter, to the point we are in fact alone.

To understand Mr.B, is to know someone like him. Maybe it's a good thing you appear not to be one of those people, "beatrice".

Posted by: Stephany at April 3, 2008 07:59 AM

Yep, Beatrice's hypothetical rapport amounts to a total erasure of the man's reality, all in the name of identity politics. Irony upon irony.

Posted by: flawedplan at April 3, 2008 11:28 AM