from silence to finding a voice again

i recently discussed my daughter with someone and they recommended a book to read, "Dante's Cure: a journey out of madness". My daughter reminded them of the person in the book, a young woman who at age 19 had been cast aside as a "mute schizophrenic hearing voices" when in fact, she had suffered a deep trauma. over time her psychiatrist and author of the book Daniel Dorman, worked with her without medications to come back, voice and all. the book is a true story, of triumph.

Quote from the inside cover of the book:

Alone in a Dark Wood

i went astray
from the straight road and woke to find myself
alone in a dark wood. How shall i say
what wood that was! i never saw so drear,
so rank, so arduous a wilderness!

-Dante Alighieri, The Inferno

~
i've never given up hope for my daughter. i never did, even when doctors did, even when the last one said out loud "no hope". you just don't say that about a 19 year old. (or anyone, ever) i have firmly believed that when children's hospital sent my daughter on her 18th birthday to an adult (snake pit/hell hole) and i fought and negotiated for her to return to childrens on an exception, which i won and she went back there by ambulance in snoopy pajamas--and mute--that something happened in that adult ward, something awful. to her. i've been in enough of these places with her that i've seen some things that traumatized me too. i never could get one doctor to listen about getting a therapist brought in to find out why this rambunctious, lively chatty girl stopping talking. why wouldn't they want to know too? that was in january 2006.
~
from the book, an excerpt: page 15

"in August the southern california sea breeze withers and gives way to a stagnant brown haze before the september santa ana desert winds broil the air and ignite the land.one early september evening, catherine sat in her room staring out her window at the sunset.she heard a whisper, then another whisper or was it a word? "who...?" she listened, straining. silence. then she heard it again. shivering, she dropped to her knees and clasped her hands in prayer."
-
excerpt from the book, page 31:

"Christmas came around once more. Florence went about making cookies and decorating the tree. She prepared Christmas dinner. Ham and sweet potatoes again. joe's favorite. the family sat around the candlelit table. a sprig of mistletoe hung in the doorway to the kitchen.
Suddenly, catherine stood up."i can't stand it!" she screamed. she ran to the bathroom and reemerged clutching the bottle of Thorazine. she poured the entire contents into her hand and put her hand up to her mouth. "cathy!" florence shouted jumping from her chair. Catherine hurled the Thorazine to the floor, where the capsules bounced and then rolled to a stop. joe left the room.
" i won't take any more of them", catherine announced. "they're not helping, I feel worse than ever! I'm crazy! I'm a goner!" she turned and fled the room."
~
during my daughter's high school years she would often jump up and run out of rooms yelling "stop it! leave me alone!" i never knew what was wrong. she was on depakote, lithobid and zyprexa(antipsychotic). when she was at children's when she was 17 for 2 weeks--then 6 weeks when she was 18--i mentioned that to a staff that was assigned to her there. he was a kind man, who sang her songs he wrote about our dog digging holes in the backyard. anything he could think of playing his guitar, drawing with her and for her lots of drawings of our husky. she remained mute. he was sad like we were as he worked with her the 2 weeks before the hospital sent her to the adult ward. "what happened there?" he would ask me. after 17 days she said one word. "raspberry". because i had said i was going downstairs to get her an italian soda. as i was walking toward the unit double metal doors, i heard a voice behind me say, "raspberry". he said she was hearing voices when she would run out of the room screaming "stop it, leave me alone!"
~
i saw my daughter today. it was raining so an ice cream and a drive was the outing of the day. we ended up at a place for a hot dog, and mine splatted mustard all down my jeans on my leg. my friend said, "you just can't take some people anywhere", laughing. and my daughter lit up and smiled. she was smiling at mom spilling mustard on her jeans. it was a gloriously funny moment.

there's hope, lots and lots of hope. laughter is such a healing power. the memories of the last decade are harsh, raw and sad. but days and moments like the 'mustard incident' that bring a smile back to my daughter's face, can only make me think of one thing. don't give up, not ever.

you just can't take me anywhere. :)