Perspectives - Vol. 5, No. 3 - Keeping the Family Together in the Midst of Suicidal DepressionMelissa Newman Updated: Jun 1st 2000 Monday, March 3, 1997. It was the day that my, then, 13-month-old daughter, Christine, took her first steps. Unfortunately, that isn't the reason this particular day is so vivid in my mind. I wish it were, for I missed watching Christine walk the very first time. My attention that morning was focused on keeping our family together. The sun was bright on this cool, crisp March morning. It was about 6:15 am. My husband, Jeff, was in the yard and I was loading Christine into the car to go to work. As I walked over to kiss Jeff goodbye, he began weeping. "Don't be angry with me, please." His weeping became uncontrollable sobbing. "Honey, what's wrong?" I asked reaching out to embrace him. "I know if I get into that car and head for work, I'm going to try to commit suicide. I'm going to drive the car into a tree, and that will be the end. I won't give it a second thought." My heart sank. My mind rushed back to the mid-1980's when my cousin, Tom, committed suicide. Tom tried to commit suicide in the past and was unsuccessful-until his last attempt. I saw him the evening before he was found dead in a local motel room. I was with a friend in a bar and I was drinking. I was 23 at the time and going through a rebellious period in my life. My cousin knew I was not raised to drink alcohol, and it has always bothered me that the last thing Tom saw me doing was drinking at a bar. There's no way I could have known Tom had planned to end his life that night. We merely exchanged greetings. If only I had taken the time to talk with him, I wonder if he would be alive today. He was 29. I had to take charge of the present situation with my husband. I couldn't let another opportunity slip way-another person slip out of my life. I said a silent prayer asking God for strength and guidance. "Do you want help?" I asked. "Yes, but we can't afford it." "Forget the finances. If you want help, we'll get it. Get into the car with Christine. I'll go into the house and report us off work, then I'll call the sitter and tell her something's come up and we're taking Christine to Grammy's house instead." "OK." He wept. I ran inside, called our respective employers and reported us off work. Then, I called my mother and told her what was going on and that we would be bringing Christine to her house. I didn't know how long it would be until we could get Jeff the help he needed, or how long it might take. I also called Jeff's mother. I told her I'd be in touch as soon as I knew something. I headed out to the car. As I drove to my mother's house, I held my husband's hand and tried to comfort him. At 8:00 am, when the doctor's office opened, I called and explained the situation. The nurse squeezed us in to see the doctor immediately. We were whisked back to the examination room. The doctor came in and examined Jeff. The doctor asked Jeff questions about how he was feeling in a caring, gentle manner. The doctor then asked if Jeff would consider admitting himself to the in-patient mental health unit at Geisinger Medical Center. Jeff indicated he would provided his insurance would cover the hospitalization and treatment. The doctor made several phone calls. He came back and instructed us to report to the in-patient mental health unit that afternoon. He also advised us that hospitalization and treatment were covered under our insurance plan for in-patient services. There would be follow-up outpatient treatment also, which required a co-pay. Jeff agreed to go for treatment. I called my mother-in-law and asked if she wanted to go along to the hospital. We picked her up, and, on the way, we discussed the events that occurred just a few months before. On the eve of the first day Buck season in December 1996, Jeff, an avid hunter, was not feeling well. He planned to hunt the next day while I worked and our daughter went to her sitter's. I suggested Jeff forego his planned hunting outing and go to the doctor. Jeff insisted he would be fine and that he would check his temperature through the night. If he still felt ill in the morning, he would contact the doctor. As Jeff planned to hunt near his mother's home, that evening we went our separate ways. My husband to his mother's for the night; Christine and I to my mother's for the night so that my mother could help with the Christine. Morning came and I dropped Christine off at her sitter's house on my way to work as usual. Jeff's temperature was normal in the morning and he was feeling better, so he proceeded to go hunting. A short time into the hunt, Jeff's condition worsened. He knew he had to get back to his mother's house. He safely returned and contacted the doctor for an appointment. Upon examination, Jeff was diagnosed with Influenza A and prescribed medication. My mother-in-law rode along to the doctor with him. As Jeff was too ill to wait for a prescription to be filled at the pharmacy, he returned to our apartment with his mother. My mother-in-law called me at work and told me I needed to get the prescription filled. I said I would stop by and pick something up for us to eat on my way home, then I would take the prescription to the pharmacy. Upon my arrival home, Jeff was sleeping. My mother-in-law, daughter, and I ate, then I checked on Jeff. His fever had reached 104.7 degrees Fahrenheit. His eyes were glazed and he was non-responsive. I called our landlady, Audrey, who happened to be a retired nurse, and asked her to come over. Audrey took one look at Jeff and instructed me to call an ambulance. The ambulance crew arrived and could not get my husband to respond either. Believing Jeff was probably just dehydrated, I instructed the ambulance staff to take him to Muncy Valley Hospital, just a few miles away. Meanwhile, I arranged for my husband's brother, Wayne, to come to our apartment and take his mother home and stay with her until we were sure of Jeff's condition. I also arranged for my mother and my sister, Lynda, to come care for Christine. Audrey and her husband, Paul, waited with my mother-in-law until Wayne arrived, then Audrey and Paul locked the apartment.  The emergency room staff worked on Jeff and I tried to be patient. Several phone calls were made to Geisinger Medical Center, 45 minutes away, for consultation. Meanwhile, I was on the phone calling everyone whose phone number I could think of asking them to pray. After some time, I signed papers authorizing a spinal tap. The doctor was concerned that Jeff may have either meningitis or encephalitis. I continued to pray. As it was getting late, I took my mother and Christine back to our apartment where they would be more comfortable and returned within 15 minutes to the hospital. Upon entering the emergency room, Lynda greeted me with "they're going to life-flight Jeff to Geisinger." About this same time, the minister arrived. He followed Lynda and I to the Geisinger and prayed with us, then he took Lynda back to the apartment to help my mother with Christine. A close friend lives near Geisinger. I called her and she came and sat with me until midnight. Several doctors, including a neurologist, asked me questions about Jeff's medical history and the events that lead up to his being in the emergency room. I recounted the events several times for several different doctors. When I was allowed to see Jeff, it was after midnight. I was exhausted, worried, and frustrated. I was paged for a phone call. Wearily, I went to the phone. By the time I arrived, the caller hung up. The receptionist told me that my brother-in-law called and he would call back. I just stared at her with a dazed look on my face. "I have 9 brothers-in-law?! Which one?" The receptionist said, "Charles." I thanked her and returned to Jeff's side. About 2:00 am, Jeff started to come around. He knew who he was and where he was, and he remembered being ill. He remained in the hospital for 2 days. His diagnosis was Influenza A combined with pneumonia and the high fever. The neurologist told us that, if he were a betting man, I would have been planning Jeff's funeral. Jeff's blood pressure dropped dangerously low during the crisis period of his illness, and the combination of symptoms was cause for concern. After his discharge, Jeff remained home recuperating the rest of the week. With Christine at the sitter's and me at work, Jeff's self-esteem began its downward spiral. He felt guilty. He longed to be taking care of me and Christine. I am accustomed to being very independent and self-sufficient. My father died when I was 12 years old, and I had to grow up quickly-learn how to make decisions and act on them. I was a survivor. In retrospect, maybe my "survivor" skills are a contributing factor to why Jeff began sinking into depression. Prior to this battle with illness, Jeff was never sick much and rarely missed work. Following his hospitalization, he seemed to be sick every few weeks and missed several days of work. This also enhanced Jeff's depressed state. As the days progressed, we would retire for the night and Jeff would begin to weep. I embraced him as we lie in bed and tried to offer comfort, safety, and stability. He never said much, and kept mostly to himself. I kept on loving him. When Jeff did talk, he expressed feelings of inferiority, inadequacy, and inability. I tried to reassure him by telling him he is a wonderful father and husband, a dedicated worker, and a loyal friend. He possesses traditional values, morals, and ethics, which I admire. He knows a lot about hunting, fishing, animal behavior, plants, home repair, etc. that I don't know. (I wouldn't know poison ivy if I fell in it.) Despite my attempts to reassure him, emphasize his positive characteristics and traits, he continued to sink deeper into depression. Neither of us realized the severity of the situation until that March morning when he told me his plan to commit suicide. Upon our arrival at the hospital, our first stop was at the psychiatrist's office. The psychiatrist met with Jeff and I for quite some time. An assessment was made and medication prescribed. We were given a set of instructions and told to report to the in-patient unit. Jeff, his mother, and I walked into the in-patient mental health unit at Geisinger Medical Center. As we entered, I noticed Jeff "sizing-up" the other patients. We sat down, I put my arm around his shoulders, and looked into his eyes. "You have no shame in being here," were the next words out of my mouth. I believe it was my faith in God and God speaking through me that those words came out. In the past, I would have felt apprehensive and uncomfortable being a visitor in a psychiatric unit. My eyes were opened for the very first time-psychiatric patients are just people with an illness, like anyone else. Only, it is their mind that is sick instead of their body. A member of the nursing staff gave us a tour and explained the schedule, rules, and regulations to be followed by patients and visitors. While my mother-in-law and I waited in the visiting area, a nurse met with Jeff individually in a separate room. When they were finished, we hugged and kissed, then my mother-in-law and I left. The door closing behind us locking him in sent a cold chill up my spine. On one hand, I felt I was turning my back on Jeff. On the other, I knew he had to be there to get help. We were able to talk on the phone, but we couldn't see each other for a few days. I visited as often as I could. It was Saturday before I could take Christine to see her Daddy, as children are only allowed to visit on the weekends. Jeff had a difficult time not seeing Christine for several days; when he saw her that Saturday, it was a joyous occasion. Meanwhile, life goes on. I had to work, care for Christine, visit Jeff, pay bills, and, maintain my sanity. I was like a juggler, keeping all the balls in the air constantly, with no end in sight. I needed an "out"; a coping mechanism. I needed to talk about it-about Jeff's hospitalization, his mental health, his treatment, and our situation. I needed to keep living. I talked with the nursing faculty I work with. I talked with friends. I talked with anyone who would listen. I also talked with Jeff's supervisor at work. Jeff would be out of work for some time and I needed to tell his supervisor something-and I needed to be truthful. Jeff spent a total of 8 days on the unit as a patient. He would have been discharged a few days later; however, I told Jeff that I needed to cope and I needed to be honest with him, too. I informed him of those whom I had discussed this situation with. Jeff felt I violated his trust, especially in talking with his supervisor, and it set him back a few days. He discussed with the other patients in his group sessions what I had done. Through his group sessions, he began to understand my position and what I was dealing with. It took time for him to understand, to accept, and to forgive. I waited. His outpatient therapy sessions lasted for 3 weeks. Jeff's employer welcomed him back July 1. It's now 3 years later. Our lives have changed. We aren't the same people we were before. Things still aren't perfect, but we've come along way. Our communication and our relationship have improved, and continue to improve. Without paid sick leave, the absence of Jeff's income for a month crippled us. We were forced to move in with Jeff's mother. We are still working toward financial recovery. We will make it-we will survive! We are committed to each other and to our daughter. We have shared our story with others. Our faith in God has made us strong. We believe that God will use us in a way to reach others, like us, in despair. Our experience demonstrates what the power of faith in Christ can do. I'm proud of my husband. In September 2000, he will be 4 years tobacco (chewing) free. He recently began a diet and exercise program (his cholesterol was high). He's lost over 17.5 pounds and is continuing to lose. He's a great dad and a devoted husband who loves his family. We've rediscovered the joy of living! Reference
Rice, Ralph (2000). Downstream: A Parable for Schizophrenia. [Online]. Perspectives. [2000, July 1]. | 
