Listening to Parents

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October 19, 2012 | 5 Comments

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  1. A powerful story that rings a bell for many of us who struggle with the psychiatric system and it’s parent health institution.

    I think that doctors have also become disempowered but don’t realise it yet, as they struggle to hold on to the power they once had (when Dr Finlay’s Casebook and Dr Kildare reigned supreme). We are all becoming more and more aware that science is not truth giving. That it’s more about power than relationship.

    Some have described it as ‘opening Pandora’s box’ while others are frantically trying to keep the lid down, saying that everything is still under control. Still others think we are almost past the tipping point. Ringside seats as the chaos unfolds.

  2. I think establishing a prize for a work of art (book/play/documentary?) that speaks of how families “go on” following a serious or fatal adverse event with a family member is a terrific idea.

    Please let me know how I can contribute.

    As for me, after the death of my son from Zyprexa, going on was not something I really wanted to do. But, over time, I’ve figured out strategies to find some joy in life again…one can never “get over it”, as unhelpful friends often urge, but it is possible to “get used to it”. The anger will never go away, but it is tempered now, by truly accepting that life goes on. The joys are simple things, such as sunsets, and the best things – friendships and love.

  3. Dear Anonymous. Thank you for taking the time to communicate here at Rxisk, and for your idea for a prize. Three years after the prozac suicide in April 1998 of my daughter Caitlin aged 19, I founded a charity scholarship in her memory [see website above]. Funds are raised by our local community here in Shropshire. Since its inception Caitlin’s Kickstart Award has granted over £25,000 to deserving students going on to higher education.
    Then I wrote a book for parents who have lost a child for any reason. It is still in print and I hope I am not immodest in saying that it has ‘helped’ many people like you and me, to develop strategies for carrying on in the way that our lost children would want us to be able to continue our lives—I think ‘better not bitter’ is a truism perhaps? The book is called Losing a Child: Explorations in Grief, published by Sheldon Press and available I believe, on amazon.co.uk
    I think your idea of a prize is wonderful. Like you I don’t have the funds to be the philanthropic catalyst for such an inspired idea, but I am sure there are people who will get in touch, and who will help launch your prize. Perhaps named in your son’s memory? Not very original but a legacy which I for one hope would fetch a smile from your son—for some reason I imagine that your son had a brilliant smile.

  4. The children who died from drugs and their magnificence.

    What about the child who almost lost her mother to these horrific drugs.

    I would award a prize to my child, aged 9, whose gp threatened to have her taken away, after weeks of withdrawal from Seroxat, and whose lazy and ignorant attitude nearly won, and who, then, had to undergo a situation where she went to school and told her friends that her mother had tried to kill herself, and then took herself to bed for two years, because she did not understand how her devoted mother could possibly have nearly left her.

    My child is awesome, she contained herself, went through agony, never told me, her loyalty was unflinching, and in the end, despite this, we came out of it.
    She is a superlatively, intelligent human being and although we never spoke of Seroxat and how it nearly saw me off, the best way I thought was not to make an issue of it, it was always there, but not there. I bought her a pony. From being friendless, school-less, isolated, that animal created a bond for her to get on with her life and despite, all odds against us ever having a normal relationship again, we healed and made friends. I thought the trust was gone forever, but somehow, despite all odds, she still appears to love me.
    Sometimes, I could hardly face her little face, querying, wondering, why her life had gone so wrong. Her education was ruined, her life was ruined and it was, of course, all my fault.
    I didn’t ask for Seroxat to nearly kill me, but the consequences were almost a write off for my darling girl and us.

  5. Understand your story, all too well, Annie.
    These poisons impact innocent family members, also.
    Despite, what we had to endure, they suffered (suffer) in silence, also.
    Don’t get me started with the system.
    When it happens to you, many don’t care.
    When it happens to someone prominent, God forbid how they would cope.
    Money buys their justice.
    The ‘poor common man’ is seen as just a ‘waste’ and ‘burden’ to the system.
    Reverse the situation.
    Let them, who have treated us poorly, be treated the way we have been treated and let us witness how they would cope.
    They could not withstand one day of maltreatment.

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