Sarah, Helen, and Noam

I wanted a catchy photo to begin this blog post. Here is Sarah completing her last cooking class for inner city kids in a Crown Heights Brooklyn school. Read the story behind the picture right here.

Helen's Mall Talk ended today with not only a great turnout but real progress by one of our members. The noise level at the mall is excruciatingly loud and we can't hear each other so we're moving to the coffeeshop at the Willow Grove Giant Supermarket.

Our group has done extraordinary work at the Mall including assisting a mother with her daughter's pregnancy. The daughter, "Rhonda," was a teenage bride and married to a man who beat her. Caught in the web of abuse, she refused to leave him, even after making countless trips to the ER in the western PA suburb where she lived.

Everyone knew she was being abused. Her husband was even jailed for the abuse but she refused to leave him.

Finally, with our help, the mom brought Rhonda home. She had her baby in the low-cost ambulatory clinic at AMH and thankfully Rhonda agreed to give up the baby for adoption.

Today Noam showed up, he gave me permish to write about him, and for the first time since his BP diagnosis he's on decent meds. It took him about 7 yrs to find a good doctor who listened to him. We sent him to Collaborative Care in Abington. I asked Noam point-blank, Is it important to stay on your meds?

He said, Yes. I asked him to state the reasons to make sure he understands.

As we know, medicine does not work unless you take it as directed. You can't decide to take your Wellbutrin only when you feel like it cuz it won't friggin work!

Noam had been out/control with hypomania and took himself to the Abington Hospital ER. He got no help there.

Frankly, I've been to the ER with nearly half a dozen people and not a one was helped.

To wit: the worst case was a fellow I'll call Sam. Floridly psychotic. I drove him over one nite. They kept him in a little room by himself and wouldn't let me in. PLEASE, I begged them, do not let this man out of your sight.

Sure enough, Sam 'escaped.' Floridly psychotic, afraid of everything and everyone. The security guard and I glimpsed him hiding behind the bushes. Like a scared kitten. But we couldn't bring him in.

Sam walked home to his parent's house where they were out of town. He went into the bathroom and slit his throat. Somehow he managed to get help. And lived. This I blame on Abington Hospital.

Another time I drove desperately ill and suicidal Greg to the hospital. He didn't wait all that long in the waiting room, only about an hour, and then we had to frigging BEG the crisis worker to admit him to the upstairs hospital.

The crisis worker, altho he was a trained professional, had the manners of a bored bureaucrat and was not interested at all in helping Greg.

For godssakes, I said to the a'hole, can you give the boy a little hope?

He refused. So I sat and told Greg, for the umpteenth time, he would be all right. He is.

Noam will write a letter to the new CEO of the hospital. Will it do any good? Of course not but we'll do it anyway.

This is why we have New Directions. To make up for the often abysmal treatment in this American society for people with mental illness. We speak our mind. We speak the truth. We're not afraid anymore.