Toy Trains and healing

I'm making a toy train for my grandson, Jasper.  To one extent this is a funny exercise.  Were I to put in that extra time at the cabinet shop, working overtime, I'd earn enough to buy one very nice Lionel Train Set that runs, etc.  But that's not the same as a wooden toy set made by Opa.

It's the second set I've made, the first was for the son of a friend.  That first venture into toy making was significant from a therapeutic standpoint.  I had just gotten out of chemical dependency treatment, had time on my hands as the church wanted me to take some time off before resuming my duties, and the train set gave me something to do.  Choo choo.

Therapeutic it was.

Thinking back, I think one of the most therapeutic things about it is it gave me a vision of life in retirement, and most importantly that I could do meaningful things that were not part of a manic quest to save the world.  But as the print from Lutherhaven says, what mattered was that in one small way, I was important in the life of a child.

Grandiose visions.  Dreamer of Dreams.  One with an insatiable appetite to go where no man has ever gone before (or at least to make the effort!  Often I found that my quests to invent the wheel may have been successful, but that others had in fact done it before!)  This was the manic side of my life that gave me a purpose and meaning.

Jasper has been good therapy. 

That's Jasper signing "I love you."  Or if you look closely at the placement of his thumbs "You rock!".  I like both.  With my work schedule, Jasper is one of my few 'recreational activities' and I'm deeply grateful that each week I get to spend some time with him.

As I look forward to retirement, or at least winding down my professional career and the tempered expectations come from that, it is tempting to think that my greatest contributions to life have already been made.  There are no new Luther Parks on the horizon.  

But then there is this reminder, a very important reminder.  In the years ahead I have the opportunity to make a life transforming difference in the life of Jasper and whatever other grandchildren we might have.  One's life is never without a purpose.  Not as long as you are capable of loving and caring for those God has placed in your life.  

So choo choo.  Hard to measure the impact of a toy train versus a senior housing project.  One cost 15 million.  The other, priceless.

Catch 22, Chapter 2

Back in 2015 I wrote about the 'Catch 22' of seeking disability benefits:

""You mean there's a catch?"
"Sure there's a catch", Doc Daneeka replied.  "Catch-22.  Anyone who wants to get out of combat duty isn't really crazy."
There was only one catch and that was Catch-22, which specified that a concern for one's own safety in the face of dangers that were real and immediate was the process of a rational mind.  Orr was crazy and could be grounded.  All he had to do was ask; and as soon as he did, he would no longer be crazy and would have to fly more missions.  ("Catch-22 (logic), Wikipedia)

I love that.  Twisted logic.  It's fun until you are faced with it.

As I look at appealing the insurance carrier's denial of my disability benefits I was reminded of the "Catch-22" that is often at play.

If someone has a mental illness that results in a disability then they are entitled to disability benefits.  If denied, they have the right to appeal the decision.  However, if they are capable of appealing the decision they demonstrate that they are not disabled.  Catch-22.

Or to put it differently, appealing the decision of the insurance company to deny disability is an overwhelming task.  The more disabled, the more overwhelming the thought of formulating an appeal.  Hence, the least likely to be able to appeal the decision are the one's who most need it to be overturned.  Makes sense, doesn't it?"

There is another, more troubling Catch 22 -- or perhaps it would be Catch 23.  It relates to receiving treatment as a mentally ill person.

This is the thing.  Treatment is available to those who need it.  All one has to do is ask.  However, if one is psychotic and unable to maintain a firm grasp on reality and recognize one's need for mental health care, you won't ask.  Hence those who need mental health intervention don't receive it because they are not sane enough to recognize their need for it and request it or consent to it. 

The young person I've been concerned about has been in and out of the hospital this last week.  The psychotic behaviors continue, in fact appear to be escalating.  But the treatment offered was not desired.  The only diagnosis so far has been psychosis, which is a symptom, not a disease.  One hopes that additional help will be forthcoming, but its effectiveness will depend on the person's willingness to participate and ability to see the need. 

The thing about psychosis is it is very real to the person experiencing it.  Their reality is reality.  Perhaps the only one they know.  It's very hard to reason with a person that has lost their grip on reality.  And yet you know that anyone who is mentally ill, and subsequently treated to the point of becoming healthy, will be deeply grateful for having received the treatment.  Its just that when they need it they can't see it.

In the case of this individual that I'm concerned about, the primary criteria for involuntary treatment is that they must exhibit behaviors that put themselves or others at risk.  Simply being in another reality is not to be homicidal or suicidal.  They may have lost all contact with reality but-- they appear harmless, so the disease goes on untreated.

We've got a long way to go with mental health care.  One size doesn't fit all.  It is good to respect the rights of the mentally ill.  Yet it is necessary to get them the treatment they need.  Psychotic people are not competent to make that decision on their own. 

Their wellbeing might be dependent on the courts recognizing this.

In the meantime we hope and pray.

A Lament

Why, Oh Lord?  Why?

When one's life is already mostly lived a diagnosis of mental illness is not welcome, but at the same time, not so overwhelming. 

But for one whose life is still yet to come such a diagnosis is a burden that will be carried so long.  Why, Oh Lord?

Yet, there is also hope that rather than muddling through life without the help available, such a young person, armed with a diagnosis and empowered with a proper treatment plan will be able to reclaim the potential of their life.  The chemical malfunctions of psychiatric disorders can be addressed, and alleviated.  And yet, such a diagnosis early in life carries with it the burden of a lifetime adjustment, not to mention the expense of a lifetime on medications. 

The tragedy of such an early diagnosis is that at a stage in life when identity is being formed, a diagnosis will take center stage.  Bipolar, OCD, Schizophrenic, paranoid, depressed, whatever-- these are not the pillars around which one wants to establish their identity.  It's different when one has already established that identity and is firmly grounded.  Such a diagnosis later in life is difficult, but it is easier to maintain an identity independent of the disease.  When one is young and just coming to terms with the 'who' of who they are, such a label carries a louder voice.

It presents other challenges.  That quest to find a lifetime partner just became even more challenging.  "Hi, I'm Jane, an Aquarius, I love the beach, and dogs, and have a passion for music and dance.  I'm also a paranoid schizophrenic.  Would you like to hang out and have a cup of coffee?"  In selecting a mate, some will not have a problem with one who is mentally ill.  But if we are honest, many will have a problem with that.  It's like drug addiction.  Many marriages have survived chemical dependency and the subsequent treatment but, given the choice, would you prefer to be with one who will face those challenges or one who is healthy? 

Back to the matter of identity.  Establishing an identity, one's personhood, is such an integral part of adolescence and young adulthood..  Now there is the disease that is part of that.  But there is more.  Medication and its affects.  Is the person I am today really me?  To what extent are my experiences now attributed to a medication as opposed to my true self? 

Is a thought I have my own?  Or is it a symptom of a disease?  Or is it skewed by medication?  Have the medications resulted in my now reconnecting with my true being?  Or have they created an alternative reality with which I now must live?  Who am I?  Can I even claim my own thoughts?

Thief!  Demon!  Who gave you the right to take up residence in my soul?  Was it God?  Or heredity?  Or simply being the wrong place at the wrong time?  What opportunity did you seize Satan?  Be gone.  And whatever happened to the exorcists that we desperately need in the face of these demons?

And vocation.  Choices are now limited.  OCD in small doses makes for good doctors and nurses.  But when the paralysis rooted in fear prevents one from acting, not so much. 

Life goes on.  There is a lot of life left to live.  And with diligence, treatment can be successful.  Opportunities may open up again.  It is not over.  Don't punctuate the end of the sentence just yet.  Let the diagnosis be at best, a comma.  Not a period.

Why are they doing this to me, Oh God.  Why are you allowing this to happen?  Do you even exist?

A roomate, diagnosed with schizophrenia, once observed that there are a high proportion of schizophrenics that are atheist.  It's hard to believe in a God who simply flunked chemistry. 

Or we can believe and bring our lament to the Lord.  We can plead our case before the almighty and hope for grace in the time of our need.  And strain to see light at the end of the tunnel.

Such is the plight of the mentally ill, especially those who are so young.  God be with them.