Chapter 2Chapter 2
Psychosis
We had been living in Portugal. It was a new start for us and we had bought an old farm with eleven and a half acres of land. The building was a ruin but we had dreams of doing it up and making this location our paradise on earth! The best laid plans! When we got there, we realised we would have to work, not only to pay for our dream but also to live. What little money we had left was disappearing like water in a desert.
Arron, our Son, was the first to get a job, washing up in an American theme bar. Before long, his talent as a chef was recognized and he was on his way up. One by one, we all got jobs and life became hectic. Different hours, different shifts, sleeping, drinking and going to the farm. Mixing with people on holiday is a constant buzz of fun and drinking. All food and drink were included in your wages so it was difficult to keep your head in a straight line. Not easy when you are in your teens. It was a circle of booze, clubs, crash-out and work, in that order, until there is no time to sleep and then it's burnout time! Arron had moved into a Villa with other young people from different parts of the world and he paired up with an Australian girl, called Jinny. She was very funny, loved children, hated mean people and we loved her. She was the one who could do Arron so much good. Everything was going well between them and then came fate! An English girl, Rebecca, came on the scene. Arron's head was turned like a robot and Jinny no longer existed. Rebecca was a user of people, stole from us and others but to tell Arron was of no use. He was totally obsessed by his beauty with the long blonde hair. He expressed undying love for this lady and she returned it as she used him to get the things she wanted. Life just isn't like that. To Arron, Rebecca was an Angel. To Rebecca, Arron was a meal ticket. Sure, she told him she loved him but before long she moved on, leaving Arron lonely and broken-hearted. He took to heavy dring and smoking as much cannabis as he could get his hands on. In Portugal, it's like falling into a vat of all the excesses. On no account could he be consoled and unrequited love had scarred him deep and sure. He was in a constant stupour and took to living in the open at the water park, lighting fires and listening to music on headphones that were never removed. Stray dogs followed him round and why not?, he fed them all. This could not continue. We called out an English G.P. who suggested we call out an English Psychiatrist, who suggested we take him to Hospital in Albufeira. We did, ending up outside A & E, Arron dressed only in a towel and sunglasses. The GNR, (Portuguese Police), telling him to get his clothes on. Unfortunately, they were telling him in Portuguese! All this was causing more trauma and we were told to go to Faro Hospital. When we got there he ended up digging out the paving slabs with his bare fingers. His feet were bleeding and to make matters worse, a large crowd of locals had gathered to give him advice on how to get the slabs out. Luckily, Arron didn't speak Portuguese. Eventually, we asked him if he wanted to go back to the U.K. A spark of recognition lit up his eyes as he said, 'Yes, if I can go to Rebecca's.' Rebecca was back in England at the time.
We waited at Faro Airport for the first available flight. During the time, we discovered that we would be on a split flight, fly to Lisbon and board another flight there for London. I accepted as I wanted to get Arron away from here and the language barrier was not helping. As we waited, Arron, now dressed as the Terminator, leathers, big boots and dark sunglasses, wandered down to the end of the Airport waiting area and went outside. We decided to leave him alone, knowing that he would not go far, with the promise of a flight to reunite with his true love, Rebecca. Anyway, he came in through the other end, peddling slowly on a pushbike down the centre of the waiting area. It looked like a scene frozen in time. Everybody still and staring as this strange young man slowly peddled his way through to the other end and out. Without any more events, we boarded the Lisbon flight but the problems hadn't finished! As soon as we were airborne, he walked down the aisle to the front and demanded a brandy. The female attendant was most put out and pushed him to make him sit down. Some chance! Arron was over six feet tall and very strong. She phoned the Captain who said he wouldn't be able to land the aircraft, so get him to sit down. Arron was not going to sit down. The Captain told his cabin crew to sit down and he landed the aircraft, with Arron standing up. As we left the aircraft, he lit a cigarette. A security team were waiting for him. They grappled him to the ground and took us to a waiting room. We were then told we could not fly on to London until he had seen a Doctor. Hours later, the Doctor arrived and gave Arron something to calm him down. He promised to behave on the flight to London. Thankfully, the flight was uneventful and we landed at Gatwick, with an address for Rebecca in Dorking, a place I'd never heard of and that was bad news as Arron had gone into reverse mode. At no smoking signs, he smoked. Do not cross, he crossed. We tried to find our way on the tube but Arron was laying down with a cigarette pushed out through a tiny hole in the door. Next, we tried a taxi. The driver couldn't find Dorking on his map but headed for there, anyway. A £58.00 taxi drive later, we arrived at Rebecca's door. We were taken to the back garden, where I talked to Rebecca and Arron cycled round the garden on a children's trike! She suggested we visit the local Hospital and said that she would stay with him. He readily agreed and we went to the Hospital, where they put us in a small room. A doctor came in and questioned Arron, probing to ascertain his mental state. He then asked him if he would have a little injection. He agreed. The Doctor said he was going to admit Arron to Nethern Hospital and we would have to wait for an ambulance. Arron then went to leave and was told that if he did, the Police would bring him back. This was Arron's introduction to the psychiatric system of the NHS.
It all began with a Nurse called, Jane Love. She was the first psychiatric nurse I'd met. I remember her saying, 'How long has your Son been psychotic?' I looked at her, dressed in her dungarees, Doc Martens and punk hair style. To tell the truth, I didn't have a clue what she meant by psychotic. What I did know is that I was locked in a psychiatric unit in the middle of nowhere! A female Doctor arrived and gave Arron an injection of a drug called Haloperidol. She gave too much! He got terrible side-effects and looked like he was having a stroke. His tongue was hanging out, his face twisted and he couldn't move. His whole body was stiffening up. The Doctor was kneeling in front of him, stroking him and telling him he would be o.k., as she injected him with more Haloperidol. She put her arm round him and said, 'I'm so sorry.' When the panic was subsiding, I was asked to leave so that he could get some rest.
The next time I saw my Son, he was so heavily drugged, he could not stand. Two people had to hold him as he staggered towards me. I cried as I sat holding his hand. He was sleeping now but what had they done to my Son? They explained to me that he had been placed on a section 2 and could be held for 72 hours. They asked me to leave, advising me not to visit for at least 24 hours, give him a chance to settle in. This was the most hurtful time I can remember in all my life. I had asked him to go to Hospital to get some help and now he was locked in and drugged up to the eyeballs and I could not even see him! The rest of my Family were still in Portugal. I was so alone and lost. the order was extended to section 3. They could now hold him for 28 days. All choice had been taken away and he was locked in, like it or not! People were telling me that maybe Arron was schizophrenic. So now we had a name for this strange behaviour. Little did we realise at the time that it was NHS induced but we were to discover all the truth as the time marched on.