I’m so glad Maki chose to visit his dad the night he asked for him instead of waiting till the next day because Vernon wasn’t quite as alert on Thursday. In fact, it took a good half hour just to wake him up enough to go outside with me. I’m attributing his groggy state to the new antidepressant treatment that was only started that morning. As frail as he is, the side effects manifest very quickly. Hopefully, this will pass and his mood will be a little more stabilized. (I do get nervous adding any new medication, however.)
Anyway, the plan for Thursday was to get him painting again. When I’d suggested it the previous day, he seemed enthusiastic about it. This time, I brought the paints I like to use at home, which are easier to manipulate than the trays of watercolor he’d previously used. Just like before, he had seemed to want to draw his environment—the table, the courtyard. There were more sitting figures—an expression of himself perhaps? Or maybe it’s me.
He still is able to access his ability to draw. Though the paintings are primitive, they are clearly made by someone with a knowledge of space and perspective. This time I saw more confidence with the the brush and his ability to manipulate the paint.
I think this is the palate dish we were using. See the little wells? Beneath it, I can recognize the woven design of the patio table (and perhaps a shadow.)
This one is more intricate. The table shows up again in purple. It has two figures: one in purple in a chair (me) and the other in yellow, reclining. He covered that up with the green paint, which could possibly be the gate. He went on to draw the box of the courtyard around the figures, adding the trees popping over the wall and what looks to me like the palm tree by the entrance to the building.
In the one above, I see a bed next to a window with someone sitting on the end of it. I can imagine it’s a picture of his bedroom. Again, the perspective and themes are so interesting. This is his world so it’s what he is painting. I might set up a still life next time, but its fascinating to see what initially comes out of his mind.
He wasn’t talking at all for most of this time, but he was more committed to each page than I had seen him yet, so I took that as a good sign. Perhaps he was feeling the flow.He did take breaks, but he would still start up again with out giving up completely. When he first started painting with Julia in January, he was very specific about the colors and thoughtful about the placement of the brush. This time, I just kept giving him full brushes of paint as soon as one started to dry up. He wasn’t bothered about the colors and didn’t seem to take much time between brush strokes. I could see the artist reemerging. In fact, in the next videos, one might think these are works of an abstract artist who has been at it for years. Absolutely fascinating.
(if you don’t have much time, skip number one and move to two…)
Then, the font designer showed up again…as well as a rainbow.
On Tuesday, I sat with Vernon during dialysis and he was as chipper as he was the night before. At one point, the word Facebook came up.
“I heard some nurses discussing Facebook, ” he said. “And I wondered if it was still a thing?”
I assured him that it was indeed still a thing, then he asked if he could look at his page. I promised him I’d bring the iPad that a friend recently donated to him and he could Facebook himself.
Thankfully, I was able to retrieve his password so I opened it up for him today, first changing his profile picture to an old one that struck his interest. It seemed fitting.
I love the between-worlds-ness of it and that he is moving.
His old friend in Norway liked the picture. I asked Vernon if he wanted to send him a message. He said he would if I could type. So he left him this: How is it going? I’m having a bit of a holiday at the moment, letting my wife look after me whilst I play some ping pong. Goodbye. See you soon.
I was moved that he wanted to reach out. I asked if he’d like to leave a message for his sister. He said: Hi Vanessa. How’s it going? We are on a holiday at the beach for the time being, and it feels weird being away, but it’s kind of fun too. Goodbye. Hope to see you soon. All my love, Vernon
He went on to comment on a couple of other pictures that his old friends had posted. Then we looked at his old photos. He wanted to see pictures of himself. Funny thing, he always HATED having his picture taken, so there weren’t that many. But when he did see himself, he exclaimed: “I’m quite good looking there” and “I like my face there.” He went on: “I like who I am!” In that moment, I felt such a peace about him, so different from what we’ve experienced lately. What a blissful place to be: “I like who I am.”
We found old pictures of him and Justine. “Keep these for her,” he said. “They will be very important to her when she is older.” I promised I would.
When we came across pictures of Maki, he said: “We need to bring him in more. He hasn’t been coming around.” (Little did he know that I have been discussing this with Maki at home. I know he’s been avoiding contact with his dad, and though I want to honor this difficult space in him, I’ve been trying to coax discussions about his reasons. He’s been dealing with it, but that isn’t what I want to express here now.)
He went on: “Maki’s at an important age. He should be telling me about the details of his life. I want to know about it. We need to bring him in more.”
I promised I would. In fact, as soon as I picked up Maki from his guitar lesson (Justine was at my mom’s) I told him I wanted to go back up to see his dad. He could go tonight or we could take the day off school and he could go with me then. He opted for tonight. I had already talked about the potential of death with him over the weekend, so I think he felt like I did: this is an opportunity, take it while you have the chance. Vernon isn’t necessarily going to be clear like this for awhile. This is a gift. This is nice.
Maki was brave and wonderful when we arrived at Mesa Verde. His dad was awake, moving around on his mattress, and most importantly, his eyes were clear. Vernon asked Maki about school and what he was doing. They just talked about basic things and interests, but Vernon, as squirmy as he was, clearly wanted to connect in conversation. As he rolled around, getting off the bed and onto the mat on the floor, Maki tried to help him. “No, I can do it. I’ll get there eventually,” he said. And he did. At one point Maki was able to help move him further onto the bed. “You are really good at that,” Vernon told his son.
He flipped and got angry and impatient a few times but was able to relax before we left. He hugged us each and told Maki: “We really should spend more time together.”
On the way home, I asked Maki: “Do you understand why I talk to you about such hard stuff? I know its not fair, but I’d rather you have the choice of being involved than have me hide these things from you. You can always tell me when it’s too much. I don’t want you to have regrets later. Anyway…are you glad you came?”
I’m experiencing some ’emotional whiplash,’ as my friend Nicole called it when I tried to explain my current state of mind. Let’s see if I can get some of it on paper.
Last night had to be one of the most surreal experiences I’ve experienced in a lifetime. I got a call in the afternoon that a social worker at Mesa Verde had questioned Vernon regarding his suicidal thoughts, that a doctor had prescribed to bump up his Depekote dosage, and that he’d be going to the hospital for a psychiatric evaluation. And could I be there soon in case he refused to go with the ambulance? I got up there about 5:00, wondering: is this it? Has he been hurting himself? Is this where it all ends? Or, more likely, is this just another medical extension?
He was remarkably calm and lucid, which was strange enough after my experiences with him lately. I was happy about that, but honestly confused. He was confused too, when I mentioned we’d be going to the hospital because a doctor said his sadness needed to be checked out. In fact, he was quickly angered: “I never said that! Why do they say I’m depressed? They are LYING!” So I talked him down, the first of many times over the long evening ahead.
I assume it is protocol to send a suicidal patient for an evaluation. But since he couldn’t remember his thoughts from previous days, he answered the ER doctor’s questions as if he was there to get an x-ray. Several people came in during that time. I told his story over and over again. He would still get angry when I mentioned depression.
I kept telling the questioners: “Yes, of course he is depressed. Look at him. He doesn’t have a life. All he can do is lie in bed all day.”
“And there is nothing to do!” Vernon chimed in.
“What’s that, Honey?”
“There is nothing to do. I’m bored to death.”
They’d ask about his psychiatric history before the accident. “Really? Does it matter now?”
They shrugged, hoping for some connective answer. I could tell they knew I had more answers than they did.
“My brain’s all scrambled,” piped Vernon. Well, he’s got that right. Progress?
There was a man in the room next door, talking loudly (to a phone? a phantom?) about his great love in life and that he’d prove it when he was sent to prison. He sounded violet and crazy and terribly interesting. I kept leaning against the doorway in my yellow paper gown (in which I’m not allowed to leave the room) trying to eavesdrop. He still made no sense, but when the big security guard pulled up a seat in the hallway by his door, I became even more curious. Sadly, I never found out…but he did add another element of the bizarre to the evening.
In the meantime, Vernon used his time for exercise, discovering the hospital bed rails could also be used as a jungle gym. For hours, he moved himself around on those things. I called for help three times to pull him back to the top of the bed. I told him I knew he was trying to escape. He agreed with me—he had to, being caught red handed.
Eventually, some blood was taken to access his medication levels. It was established he would not need to go to a psychiatric hospital as his nursing needs were even higher. We were told that since there was no actual psychiatrist in the ER, but that there was one on-call, Vernon would have a remote conversation via robot, Before I could get my head around that, I saw this hoover-like machine awkwardly sweeping down the hallway.
“Excuse me. Pardon me.”
I can only try to explain through video. There is an app for everything.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EEPZ95mejMU
Strange, right? A psychiatrist robot. Well, I never! Seriously, I never have seen anything like this. Truth is stranger than science fiction.
Didn’t phase Vernon though. Did you hear? He told me to pull myself together while I followed the robot out with my camera phone. The cheek!
In the end, nothing much was changed. Perhaps he does need anti depressants, but he wasn’t in the right state of mind to express it. I’ll check in with his doctor about this.
It was bizarre indeed. I’m still caught between great grieving and the hope that involuntarily comes when I see progress, or at least when I see something of the old Vernon coming through. I don’t know if I only have this for a day or two…until the next downswing. Ah! It’s so confusing…
I’m happy he was well-ish last night. My heart wants to believe in a wild miracle, but I can’t discount the deep places of letting go that I’ve touched in the past week. I can’t discount that.
Perhaps letting some things go has allowed the space to experience joy…with Vernon, while I have the chance.
Meantime, it’s a zero gravity emotional space. Things are bouncing left and right…but nothing is landing.
So this is how it is today. I told you it was surreal.
Oh…I almost forgot the weirdest part of all. Vernon kept working on the rails of his bed, trying to move himself around. He doesn’t have any rails in the care home anymore, as it is a danger to his person. Eventually, over the course of practice, he managed to sit himself on his bottom, without the balance of his hands. He hasn’t done that yet. Here’s the proof. Make of it what you will.
I met the ambulance at dialysis yesterday. Vernon was already in a bad state…he did NOT want to go. Even when we gave him his calming oil, which usually works in ten minutes or so, he resisted. I waited in the waiting room while they set him up with the machine, but I was called in shortly after. He wasn’t letting anyone access his port, let alone touch him, and could I convince him? I talked to him gently and gave him pieces of chocolate, but he still squirmed and resisted, telling me to leave. Usually, I can talk him down, but this time, I couldn’t. He started throwing things around the room, whatever he could find: his pillow, the plastic clips on his tray. The nurse looked at me helplessly. “Do we need to skip today?” I asked. The nurse nodded in relief. Fortunately the ambulance hadn’t left yet, so they packed him back up and took him home.
This is the first time he has resisted dialysis successfully. I assume they came make it up on Monday, but it is a concern. Maybe it will be his kidneys that kill him.
I recognize less of him in there than ever. Last week, I thought maybe he was 10% percent of who he used to be. Now I’d say less. It’s only his body and his voice that I recognize. I think he is fading, and rather quickly. Now he can come back, just as it always is…a step forward, a step back. He still has better days and worse days. But his quality of life is so low, I can understand why he’s over it all. (Joe tells me Vernon often speaks of wanting to die.) His is not a good life, what is left of it.
But here we are. Things can change. But in my heart, these days, I think he is slowly dying. And I am ready to let him go.
What a week. Not a whirlwind of activity, but a slowing-down. Time and intention seemed to change for me these days. I barely saw Vernon, thanks both to the women who patiently sat with him during dialysis and to Justine, who’s fever kept me home with her. I did manage to file my taxes on Wednesday…so that stressy obstacle was crossed. But new anxieties over Covered California have arisen since then. I’ve been concerned that Vernon’s insurance may have to change in the middle of this. (I’m writing this boring stuff down as a memory-marker, by the way…I won’t go on about that anymore tonight.)
I’ve been working through the blues, but I think I’m on the gentle upswing again, getting some momentum back. Many years ago, when I was first being diagnosed for Depression, I remember answering questions and questionnaires —the defining factor seemed to be if one was suffering from certain listed symptoms over the course of two weeks. So when I reached the two week point recently, I got nervous. What if this is THAT THING again, what if this doesn’t go away? It’s quite scary, worried that things are out of control, especially with my long-term partnership with the illness. I’m not debilitated yet, but my emotions had certainly become sluggish and heavy. I’ve had to remind myself that this isn’t necessarily chemical/clinical, but due to the circumstances, highly normal, if not expected.
Now, like I said, I can feel the energy coming back. The two weeks didn’t beat me. (Actually, I just looked back tonight and realized that I only scored 13 out of 27 on the test above.) But it feels important to FEEL things.
Someone told me recently that feeling pain in your heart is good…they make you feel alive…they make life seem more real. And the tears, I believe, are detoxing. Sometimes you just have to let it take its time to get out.
I meant to share a whole bunch of other things: significant things that occurred this week and today’s Vernon update. But I couldn’t write those without first writing this.
No picture today. Just a big exhale.
PS I’ve always thought that this season with Vernon was probably easier for me because I’d gone through such a struggle with Depression in the past. I’d gained the tools, steadfastly working though that (with counsellors and medication) over many years. Those tools never left me and I believe they helped me a lot over the past couple of years, especially. If you struggle with Depression, please don’t feel ashamed. (That’s the first thing it will tell you…with debilitating thoughts. Symptom #1.) The TRUTH is: you aren’t alone and as hard as it is, you will get better…just take a step and tell someone you trust. It feels like a big thing. But you can do this.
“What saves a man is to take a step. Then another step.”
—Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
A special cover of Vernon's fav song 'Waterloo Sunset' by friend and singer/song-writer Ian McGlynn. All proceeds support Vernon's recovery! Donate what you can and download a beautiful song in return.
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