January First: A Child's Descent Into Madness and Her Father's Struggle to Save Her

by Michael Schofield

  “Not intentionally,” I manage.

  “What do you mean, ‘not intentionally’?”

  “If she said I did that, then it must have been an accident while I was washing her, like that time I told you.”

  “Is there any other reason you can think of that would cause her to say something like that?”

  I feel hot. Blood is pounding through my body. “No,” I say forlornly. The fact that she believes I hurt her like that is worse than anything else.

  He looks up at me, then pauses as I wait for him to tell the deputy to arrest me, but instead he returns to his clipboard.

  “Well, she didn’t actually say that.”

  I stare at him.

  “What?” is all I can manage.

  He lowers the clipboard. “I’ve already been out to interview Janni. I did that before I came here. She didn’t corroborate the claim. She said exactly what you said …” He flips back in his notes. “ ‘Fifty percent of the time Mommy washes me and fifty percent of the time Daddy washes me.’ ”

  “She … She didn’t say … that?” I can’t bring myself to repeat it.

  Carlos shakes his head. “Nope.”

  “Then why … why did you say that?”

  “Because that was what the person who called in the report said she said.”

  “Who?”

  Carlos shakes his head. “I can’t tell you. Those who report child abuse are protected by confidentiality laws.”

  “So what happens now?” I ask.

  “Well, since she is not currently in the home, she is not in any immediate danger. All we ask is that you cooperate with our investigation and the hospital’s rules. They have asked that you not give Janni showers anymore while she is there. Not just you. Your wife as well.”

  He hands me a sheet on his clipboard. “This gives our office permission to have Janni sent to a forensic pathologist for examination. This is a pretty standard thing. It’s just something we have to do before we can close our investigation.”

  I slowly reach for the clipboard and pen he is holding out to me. “That’s it?”

  He nods. “That’s it.”

  I sign the document and Carlos extends his hand. “Thank you very much, Mr. Schofield, and sorry to bother you so late.” He moves to the door, forcing the hulking deputy to step aside.

  “We’re done?” the deputy asks, unfolding his arms, looking surprised.

  “We’re done,” Carlos replies. “Let’s go.”

  The deputy seems disappointed.

  “SHOULD I STILL visit Janni?” I ask Carlos. We’re all sitting around the kitchen table signing the necessary documents for the investigation to move forward.

  “I think you should keep doing what you’ve been doing,” he answers. “As long as you follow the guidelines of the hospital. Besides, I think she needs to see her father. If you don’t come, she isn’t going to understand why.”

  “So you don’t think I actually did this?” I ask him.

  He doesn’t answer right away, then says, “What I think doesn’t matter.”

  I nod, understanding.

  “But,” he suddenly adds, “for what it’s worth …” He looks me in the eye. “No, I don’t.”

  THE NEXT NIGHT at visiting hours, I come in with Susan and Bodhi. Nurse Ratched looks shocked to see me. I wonder if she was the one who called DCFS on me, but I decide to follow Carlos’s advice and let it go. Besides, Janni’s awake this time.

  “Hey, sweetie,” I call to her, unsure how she’ll react to me after all this investigation.

  But she doesn’t react differently at all. In fact, she’s calmer than usual.

  “Did you bring food?” she asks, simply.

  “Ahhh,” I wince, preparing for her to scream or hit me.

  “We forgot.” Susan immediately apologizes. “But we’ll bring whatever you want tomorrow.”

  Janni thinks for a moment. “Del Taco,” she finally says.

  I am shocked. She didn’t blow up.

  “Have you had anything to eat today?” Susan asks.

  “I ate a grilled cheese,” Janni replies.

  Susan and I exchange looks.

  “So no PRNs today?” Susan asks.

  “I got a Thorazine injection,” she says as though she just got some candy.

  Susan and I look at each other again.

  “When?” I ask.

  Janni shrugs. “Sometime today.”

  “Why?” Susan asks.

  Janni shrugs again. “I couldn’t stop hitting, so I asked for one so I wouldn’t hit.”

  I can’t believe what I am hearing.

  “You asked for it?” Susan repeats the question, clearly unable to believe it, either.

  Janni nods. “It helps me calm down.”

  I get up and go to the nurses’ station and call over Nurse Ratched. “Did Janni get a Thorazine injection today?”

  “I don’t think so,” she answers, clearly not wanting to talk to me. “Can you check the logbook?”

  She disappears. A few minutes later she returns. “I was wrong. She got two.”

  “Two?”

  “She got the first one because she was being abusive to staff. Then about two hours later she came up and said she needed another.”

  I turn away, stunned. Janni has had a double shot of Thorazine today and is still awake. Not only is she still awake, she is calmer than I can remember her being. Ever.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  April 5, 2008

  Every morning I walk from the parking lot to my classroom and begin the process of pushing all my emotions down. By the time I open the door and say good morning to my students, the process is almost complete. I sit down at the desk in front of the room and take out my materials. I only have fifty minutes of class time, but I can’t start immediately. I have to sit there for a few minutes, silent, because I am still thinking about what is happening to Janni and I can’t teach in that state of mind.

  I look down at the assignments they turned in last week that I haven’t responded to. I can’t look up at my students, not yet. I can’t because right now I despise them. I hate them because they have no idea what I’m going through. I hate them because even if I tried to explain it they wouldn’t understand. They’re eighteen years old. I was eighteen once. It wasn’t that long ago, but it may as well have been another life. But mostly I hate them because they are here out of hope. I don’t feel any hope anymore, and I envy them for that. And envy turns to hate.

  I hear my students clearing their throats, waiting for me. I get up and pace between the walls of the classroom. I stop in front of the class. The transformation is complete. I am no longer Janni’s father and Susan’s husband. I turn and look at them for the first time.

  “Okay,” I say, a smile on my face, ready to teach. Suddenly, I am animated and entertaining, cracking jokes to get my students engaged. And they never know.

  Once class is over, Professor Schofield has no one to perform for. Alone, in my office, Janni’s father begins to creep back in, chipping away at Professor Schofield. I fight him off. I still have work to do.

  My cell rings. It’s Susan. I open my phone, instantly shifting into the role of Susan’s husband. “Doe?” I answer, still using my pet name for her out of habit. I can hear the sound of windblast in the background. Susan is on the road.

  “I’m taking Janni to UCLA.”

  “What happened?” I ask, my voice flat. Susan’s husband doesn’t feel. He can’t afford to feel. I know something has happened, but it can’t be about Janni and Bodhi because Bodhi is still safely with Jeanne. Whatever has happened, Susan is just freaking out and now my job is to talk her down off the ledge.

  “She went crazy at the bagel place in Burbank this morning. We were going to the zoo for a playdate, but I had to cancel. She ran behind the counter and started pulling things out and throwing them on the floor. I had to get the employees there to help me get her out. I told them, ‘I’m sorry. My daughter has schizophrenia.’ �
��

  I sigh. “She doesn’t have schizophrenia.”

  “Then what is it!?” Susan shouts at me. “Huh? Do you know? It took all these employees to help me get Thorazine into her, and that was already her second dose of the day!”

  “She’s only been out of Alhambra for four days,” I reply calmly. I feel like Susan is giving up too quickly. “They said there would be an adjustment period.” In truth, I don’t want her to go back, even to UCLA. Not yet. When she came home from Alhambra, she came home to a new apartment, a two-bedroom in the same complex. We had moved while she was gone. I proudly presented her with her very own room, decorated in a rainbow theme just like she’d told us she wanted. My father had even come out to help me set it up.

  “I don’t care what Alhambra said,” Susan retorts. “She needs to go back to the hospital.”

  “How is she right now?” I ask.

  “She’s asleep. The Thorazine finally kicked in.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “Why don’t you just go home? I’ll leave now and meet you there.”

  “No. I’m taking her to UCLA. You can pick up Bodhi and go home if you like. You don’t need to come. I did this on my own last time and I can do it again.”

  It is the forcefulness of the “no” that shocks me. Our marriage has always been one of equals. We’ve always talked and made sure we agreed. Now Susan is making decisions regarding Janni without any consideration of how I feel.

  “What if they don’t have any beds?” I reply, keeping my voice even. “She’s asleep. She’ll stay asleep until I get home. It’s over now. Just go home.”

  “No,” Susan says again, even more defiantly.

  “Why?” I cry.

  “Because you will go to work tomorrow and I will be left to deal with Janni on my own. I can’t do it. She needs UCLA. Like I said, you don’t have to come. Just pick up Bodhi.”

  The “you don’t have to come” makes my blood boil. It feels like she’s implying I’m not needed. I can check out.

  “I’m coming.”

  “You don’t have to,” she challenges me.

  “I will get Bodhi and come meet you.”

  I hang up the phone and stand, collecting my things. Something is wrong. The first time Susan took Janni to the hospital, I believed that I could have kept Janni out. I felt guilt and anger. But this time, I feel terror, because whatever is going on with Janni is beyond my ability to fix. Terror, however, is not a useful emotion for getting things done. Janni’s father gets things done. He takes care of problems. He has a job to do. He has to get his family through the day. That is his only goal.

  WHEN I GET to the UCLA ER, I discover Janni running down the corridor, completely naked, nurses trying to corral her back into the exam room. She took off her clothes and was trying to run out of the ER.

  Susan’s just sitting in a chair in the exam room, looking exhausted. I’m stunned by her lack of action.

  “She’s running naked in the hall!” I say to her.

  “I know. She spilled water on herself, freaked out, and took all of her clothes off. They offered her a gown, but she refuses to wear it.”

  “She can’t run naked in the hall!”

  “I know that,” Susan replies as if I am the biggest idiot in the world, “but she won’t listen to me and nobody will help.”

  “We need to at least get her into the room.”

  Susan shakes her head. “I’m done. I’m tired of doing this alone. Let her run naked through the halls. They need to see what we deal with every day. Then maybe they’ll get off their asses and get a psychiatrist down here.”

  “She still hasn’t gotten a psych consult?” I ask incredulously. They’ve already been here for four hours.

  “Nope,” Susan replies. “I guess they don’t take us seriously enough. I guess she has to run naked through the halls and mess up their computer systems before they take this seriously.”

  As angry as I am because a psychiatrist still hasn’t come, I’m even angrier with Susan. It’s like she’s giving up. I put Bodhi’s car seat down and run out of the room to chase down Janni. I am not going to let her get hurt. She is punching buttons on a heart monitor when I reach her, thankfully not attached to anyone.

  “Janni, you need to come back to the room.”

  She turns to me, smiles, then returns to punching the buttons. I grab her by her arm and start back to her assigned room. Janni goes to the floor, forcing me to pull her entire weight, which I’m not going to do to her naked over a hard surface.

  “Janni, you need to get up. Hospital floors are filthy. You don’t know what is on them.”

  Instead of getting up, she lifts her legs and bicycles them into my stomach, hard.

  A nurse comes up. “She can’t be out here. She needs to stay in her room.”

  I go down to the floor and scoop her entire body up in my arms, staggering to my feet under her weight.

  “What do you think I’m trying to do?” I grunt at the moronic nurse while Janni punches the sides of my head.

  I carry Janni back to her room and put her on the bed. “Janni, you need to put on clothes,” I gasp, already exhausted. As soon as I let her go, she bolts for the door again. I grab her, holding her back, while I’m being kicked in the shins and punched in my arms and stomach.

  “Let her go,” Susan orders me. “This is a hospital. They should be helping. I guess it has to get worse before they’ll do something.”

  I’ve had it with Susan. “You don’t get it, do you?”

  “I get it. They don’t.”

  I turn on Susan, still shielding myself from Janni while holding her at the same time.

  “What do you think is going to happen if we let her run amok?”

  Susan leans forward as if I am too dense to understand her. “Why do they think we are here? Hello?”

  I grunt from the pain of being kicked. “Right now what it looks like to them is a mother who makes no effort to control her child.”

  “I can’t control her!” Susan fires back.

  “If we just let her go, you know what they’ll do? They’ll call the cops.”

  “So? Let them. Maybe then we’ll finally get some help.”

  I lean closer to her and snarl, “I’m being investigated for frickin’ molesting my daughter! If the cops get called and they come here and find her running naked and out of control, who are they going to blame?”

  “The hospital,” Susan replies.

  “Us! They will take her away from us! You don’t seem to realize that! They will take her into state care because obviously we are unfit to be parents.”

  “Then what are we supposed to do?”

  “Deal with it!”

  “I am tired of being hit and having things thrown at me all day long,” Susan fires back.

  I turn away, trying to control my anger, then back to her. “Just take Bodhi and go home. I will stay with her.”

  “No. I don’t trust you to stay here. You’ll leave and bring her home. Nothing will change.”

  I stare at her. She’s right. That is exactly what I will do.

  “Nothing is going to change anyway,” I finally say.

  • • •

  AFTER A COUPLE more hours Janni gets her psych consult and they tell us they’re going to admit her. My anger at Susan starts to abate. She was right. I didn’t have the courage to follow through, but we’ve finally gotten Janni into UCLA.

  Then the attending psychiatrist comes back to tell us they can’t admit her.

  I stare at her, already starting to lose it. Like Susan, I am tired of being jerked around.

  “There are two large teenage boys on the unit right now with anger issues,” the psychiatrist tells us. “We can’t admit her, because we wouldn’t be able to guarantee her safety. But don’t worry. In situations like this we arrange transport to the next-closest facility … which is BHC Alhambra.”

  “No!” Susan and I refuse in unison.

  “We’ve already been to Alham
bra,” Susan explains. “We had bad experiences there.”

  The psychiatrist nods.

  “I understand. We don’t want to send her somewhere you’re not comfortable with.” The only other psychiatric inpatient unit that accepts children Janni’s age and has a bed available is Loma Linda University Hospital, one hundred miles away, in Redlands, California.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  April 6, 2008

  It’s a hundred miles out to visit Janni and a hundred miles back. Visiting is from six to seven, so we make sure to leave by 2 P.M. so we’re on time and get the full hour. Loma Linda is run by the Seventh Day Adventists, and they’re much stricter than Alhambra. They don’t allow any outside food. We tried to tell them that Janni will only eat certain foods and we’re afraid she’ll lose weight, but Barb, the social worker, assures us Janni will be fine. Once again, there are no calls from any doctor. Nor can I get one on the phone.

  But at least Loma Linda has separate wings and programs for teens and kids. I can relax, knowing that Janni is safe here.

  When we arrive, we have to wait for Janni to be brought out to us in the visiting room, which has toys, books, and puzzles.

  Janni enters the room, Barb following. Susan and I stand up.

  “Hey, sweetie, how are you?” we both ask.

  “I’m fine,” Janni answers. “Bodhi!” she exclaims, spotting him in his car seat. I tense, ready to intercede, but she just goes down on her knees next to him. “Baby. I missed you.”

  She missed him? I am shocked.

  “How is she doing?” Susan asks Barb.

  “She’s doing fine,” Barb answers. “She’s definitely a strong-willed child. She only wants to do what she wants to do, and sometimes she has to go into the ‘time-out’ room.”

  “Is she getting Thorazine?” Susan asks.

  “We don’t use Thorazine here,” Barb replies. “I know some hospitals do, but we don’t.”

  “But it works really well for her,” Susan presses. “It helps with the violence.”

  Barb smiles. “We don’t believe in using Thorazine. We use Seroquel as a PRN.” Seroquel is another antipsychotic, what is called an “atypical,” one of the new classes of antipsychotics developed in the last few years.