Continued from Part 1.
Put on mirtazepine my daughter deteriorated rapidly. The crisis intervention team descended. They started by counting pills. When they found the number correct, they assumed I had destroyed the pills. They seemed perplexed.
One of the team would take her out for some one–to-one. They would visit the local park, go to the café and drink some cocoa. This sounded kind.
An apparently caring community psychiatric nurse arrived. I gave my daughter a tender hug. After that day, she believed that I was an instigator in her further dreadful abuse, and all her trust in me was lost, perhaps for ever. To this day there has been no hug. She disappeared in the car with the woman from the crisis team. She did not come back.
She had been re-sectioned and incarcerated in a secret “half-way house”. It was several hours before they told me in a curt phone call. I couldn’t phone, they could not release the address. It was in the “interests of her own health and safety”. Safety? Health?
What madness was this? It appears that their analysis was she is with her father, she has gotten worse – therefore her father is the toxic commodity. Blind faith in, and abject ignorance of the toxicology of their drugs meant they missed the first question that any carer has a duty to ask themselves when confronted with rapid and serious deterioration after commencing new medication. Is this an adverse drug response?
Her experiences in this half-way-house of horrors are recorded by us, but are too agonizingly painful to re-visit.
After extended interrogation by an aggressive and confrontational social worker, my daughter was returned home. She had been further traumatized by this latest abduction, which had the additional cruelty of complete denial of access to family. Cumulative exposure to enforced chemical poisoning was exacerbated by institutionalized brutality, bullying, ritual disbelief, and contempt.
By now it appeared to us that the raison d’etre of psychiatric detention is to abuse and destroy. More of her personal belongings had been damaged or disappeared during this incarceration.
When she came home, the crisis team visits to count tablets continued, ensuring the akathisia intensified. Driven by a toxicity which is now mentioned in black-box warnings of induced suicidal ideation on the packet insert, she began to visit internet suicide websites and I eventually became aware that she was being encouraged to plan and complete suicide by a stranger.
Turn to a colleague
I had respected and trusted the G.P. and continued to do so. Overwhelmed with the guilt of betraying her, I revealed this situation to him. I believed we were going to talk to her psychiatrist when we arrived at the center the next morning. I was bustled into a small office.
They more emphatically bustled my daughter into a room full of professionals. A few minutes later a smiling spokesman came to tell me she was now sectioned again, but if I set off immediately, I would be allowed to drive her to their hospital myself. I disintegrated in uncontrollable tears and sobs of despair and despondency.
An ambulance was called and she was led away to her third medical kidnapping in five months.
They augmented her poisoning with quetiapine. She rapidly deteriorated. A couple of weeks later, I begged them to stop. My fear of yet more brain injury was overwhelming. But what I didn’t know was that withdrawal could exacerbate akathisia and other toxicity. She got worse and they arrogantly and triumphantly insisted this clearly proved that she needed quetiapine. It was re-introduced.
I began to feel additional guilt for having appealed for an antipsychotic armistice.
Their next idea was to ensure that she remained isolated from this difficult and questioning father and family. They had a bizarre fantasy of rehabilitation by placing her in some form of protected accommodation. More opportunity for the brutality and the inexorable bullying that had permeated the entire duration of this perverse process. These professionals delude themselves into believing that this constitutes some form of care.
Hidden behind such a grotesque and enormous power imbalance, they are beyond questioning let alone being called to account. My daughter needed love, care and sanctuary. She would have got this at her own home. We needed to provide a truly therapeutic environment in which she could be rehabilitated from all of their perversions masquerading as a therapeutic endeavor.
She escaped only because the section ran its course. No one on their side accepted the medicines had caused the problem and possibly induced brain injuries.
We arranged to move back to her original home as it was evident to all except these experts that she was even more injured and damaged by these latest kidnappers.
I was called to talk to a further consultant in her hospital. “We think she might be bipolar but I reserve the right to change that diagnosis at any time”. The idea that she might have had a view or I might was just a fantasy of mine. We need to get her stabilized” he fantasized further.
They introduced a combination of risperidone and valproate. At one visit, my daughter managed to smile at this doctor. His response was both punitive and vindictive. “I think we will increase the evening dose of valproate – you’re a bit too happy”.
We diligently ensured compliance with this poisoning for a condition diagnosed provisionally and incorrectly. A slight and slender young woman became a swollen faced, breasts-bursting whale with antipsychotic induced pseudo-acne covering her back, breasts and face. Huge lesions even erupted on her swollen and bleeding lips. She cried out with the pain and disfigurement.
Her mother and I at this point had both read “Dear Luise”. We photographed this catastrophe and tried to endure our fears and terror that they might re-incarcerated her for injections of these poisons if I dared to reduce and cease the treatment.
Each new psychiatrist only sees the damaged person produced by the previous psychiatrist. Their imposed injuries are thus falsely interpreted as features of mental illness. The history is assumed to be as recorded, differential diagnosis is never revisited. An adverse drug reaction history is, as we were told, irrelevant.
We were astonished when her next psychiatrist observed her dreadful appearance, listened to us and showed concern. He guided us through a tapered withdrawal over several months. Even more astonishing to all of us, he asked our daughter what she would like to happen. Despite her dreadful condition she managed to mouth the words: -“I have never had a mental illness and I’d like to come off these. They’re not doing me any good”.
At last she became free of her poisons.
But months, even years, after risperidone and valproate ceased, new drug induced pathologies are presenting and old ones are getting worse. As the diffuse and widespread neurological injuries pursued a tortuously prolonged course, it became more apparent to our daughter that her life and health had been utterly devastated.
Destroyed by people I had been deceived into believing were professional colleagues. I was overwhelmed with guilt and feelings of my own professional failure for being unable to save her.
An extra contractual referral enabled us to get another opinion. She had now been almost a year with no medication. I had succeeded in teaching her to walk again. Proper steps had replaced her neuroleptic shuffle. She was terrified at having to meet anyone.
The report we got confirmed that adverse drug reactions were the underlying cause of her presentation. There had been a generalized psycholeptic malignant syndrome with no underlying psychiatric condition.
No doctor has ever apologized to her or even discussed this report with us. No one has commented on the professor’s follow-up report one year after that again recording that her trajectory had been as predicted and that her unfolding drug free recovery endorsed his initial interpretation.
Where is their professional Duty of Candor?
We still live in daily fear of kidnapping and further persecution. We have no peace and never will have. Her exile from mainstream humanity caused so callously by mainstream psychiatry produces changes which could self-evidently be misinterpreted as features of mental illness in just the same way they deluded themselves that drug toxicities were psychiatric conditions. Then the enforced poisoning would begin again and there would be no stopping them.
She no longer has the privilege of knowing that should she develop a physical illness, a doctor will help her. She will never trust any doctor again, even though two doctors helped her. She will never trust me again as she believes I was a party to her kidnapping. She will probably never hug me again. We have to continue daily in our amateur attempts to rehabilitate her without input from health care professionals.
My daughter fights on with great courage but is wearied by the enormity of her losses. She has been labeled, stigmatized, brutalized and lived in constant fear through vital irreplaceable years.
We bought her a collie pup and watched her innate skills of puppy rearing and training re-emerge. We toil every day and night to devise, construct and deliver meaningful and effective forms of rehabilitation. Overall, the trajectory remains favorable but we realize and struggle to accept that complete recovery is no longer a realistic expectation. The injuries are simply too extensive for full recovery.
Five years will soon have passed from her original misdiagnosis and the first of her series of kidnappings. For her and her family, this has been an incredibly prolonged, very isolated and soul destroying experience. It has taken over our whole lives. There is, there can be nothing else.
Who is mad when there is a repeated misdiagnosis of drug induced problems as newly emerging psychiatric illness, which supposedly demands treatment with further combination psychotropics?
We still struggle with our disbelief that such long term, extreme, disabling, debilitating and multi-systems injuries can so easily arise from lack of prescriber awareness and the inability and reluctance of prescribers to recognize life-threatening medication toxicities.
“It doesn’t happen on olanzapine”!
How mad is it when the people who cause the problem get to determine who is and who is not mad!