Saturday 26^th June

Joshua is so glad to be home. It’s as if he appreciates every tiny thing. His bed, his food, his possessions and his family. He slept very well last night, after being reunited with his brother and the sheer relief of being home. He also naps in the day. His girlfriend comes to visit and they chat in the garden and move sunbeds onto the lawn. He takes his medication. We speak about how things need to be, and I worry how he will react to the changes. Firstly his phone must be switched off by 9pm, so that he can begin to wind down, take his sleeping medication, and crash out. Secondly we forbid him to drive. His license and his car are his life, and he knows that he is not safe right now, or at least for a few weeks until the medication has settled in his body, and we speak to Steve.  We offer to ferry both him and his girlfriend around so that they can see each other, and he accepts that this is the way things are going to be for a while and hands his keys over.

I try to tempt him to eat something, and make things which he likes. He attempts to eat but is so tired he just wants to crash out. By 9pm the phone is handed over, and he is fast asleep in his bed.

Sunday 27^th June

It all feels quite weird all four if us being under the same roof. After being apart for three years it is strange. When I got up everyone was still asleep. But I love that time of the day, it was nice just to sit outside with a coffee while the dog had a mooch around. I look at the house, the lifestyle, of my ex. Our marriage ended nearly three years ago, I made the decision to leave. The last two years we had all been together as a family had been the worse time of my life up until now. In the peace of the morning I thought about the past and rewound to 1990.

We met when I was 20, and he was 22. Within three months we decided to live together, it felt right, we were wrapped up in each other. After a year and a half in our own place I became pregnant with Joshua. He was born on a Sunday morning in 1992. The whole experience of having him made me feel complete. When I held him for the first time, he opened his eyes, it gave me a rush of love and  happiness.

We had very little, both working in care, and struggled to make ends meet, but our little boy made our world perfect – we doted on him. We moved home when he was three, and got married. He looked adorable in his little suit and shiny shoes. Always well behaved, people often commented on his good manners.

He started school and made lots of friends. Joshua was the one that everyone wanted to have over after school for tea and playtime. He had such a caring nature and often would spend so much time making sure everyone else in the class had their pencils and books that by the time he sat down he had little time to do his own work.

 We hoped for another child, and although I fell pregnant, I miscarried three times – the first one being quite advanced into the pregnancy. I still think of those babies to this day. Feeling empty like my body had given up on me and it wasn’t to be, I was thankful that we had Joshua who was fit and healthy and a credit to us.

When I became pregnant for the last time I knew this had to be our final try. I thought if I didn’t speak about it, or get attached to the tiny child inside, that when I miscarried it wouldn’t be so hard. I was sure that things would go down the same path as before. I’d keep my thoughts and dreams inside and not share them with anyone, self preservation maybe. But I did grow, I became huge, and I did carry to term. Even in the late stages of pregnancy I felt this baby would be taken from me. I remember when I had not felt the baby kick for a short while and would poke my tummy to wake it, to get a sign that it was still alive. Once I’d had a reassuring kick then I would relax for a short time, an hour or so, then wait for the next one, and so on. This also continued throughout the night times. I refused to buy anything in case it would be bad luck.

Family and friends rallied round and came with the initial things we would need for a new baby, I couldn’t look or touch these things – I believed it wasn’t going to happen, and closed down. Until I could hold this child and see it breathing, then it would be a reality and I could keep it safe. Even in labour I panicked it could go wrong. 

Ethan was born safe and well. He looked just the same as Joshua when he was new born.  Joshua was a brilliant older brother, helping with feeding, nappy changes, my little helper. As Ethan grew he used to follow his big brother around everywhere, he absolutely doted on him, he still does.

As the boys grew Dave and I started our own business, we moved to a bigger home, and were happy. Some people call it soulmates – we did everything together – and loved it. Best friends, work mates, someone who you trusted implicitly, lovers. The years ticked by.

We sold the business as it was doing well, but was also infringing on our home life and it had become a juggling act to balance everything. As part of the business deal we had jobs with the new company. He was a manager, I did the books. With the job came more money, a comfortable lifestyle with luxurious holidays, new cars, and less stress. But it wasn’t for me. I’m sure many people would love that way of life, I preferred it when things were more simple, we often spoke about it.

 Born and raised in Reading, I lived at my Grandmothers home with my parents until I was three. A council house, at the end of a tiny cul de sac. The neighbours all knew each other well, as well as each others business. There was a muffin man, a rag and bone man - I loved horses as a child and watched intently as they came down the street. Cars were a luxury still so not every family had one. My Dad had a green Mini Traveller. It had the wooden decorative bits on the sides, I used to run my little fingers along them from the back to the front of the car. He did have a new sports car when he met mum, but when she became pregnant with me he had to trade it in so that he could get a pram in the boot. 

My parents were offered their own council house on a new estate in 1973.  My brother was born when I was four, I remember it very clearly. Coley Park was a great place to grow up. We lived on Wensley Road which went in a big loop. Houses were built along both sides of the road went round, and in the centre were three blocks of flats. They were fourteen storeys high, had about ninety flats in each, one block could see into our garden. In the Summer when Dad put up the paddling pool I would bring my friends home who lived in the flats to play. My Mum always embraced anyone who came into our home and spoilt them. Numbers never fazed her, everyone was welcome. I was a young age but felt bad they didn’t have a garden to play in. We would often make camps in the woods, cause havoc at the park, and walk to the shops and to school.

At home we were taught real values and morals, I will always thank my parents for that – it stayed with me. My dad was a painter and decorator, mum worked as a cleaner in the evenings and as a school dinner lady in the day, they were always around for us both. They saved all year for holidays – we went on a plane to Malta in the early 80’s which was unheard of amongst my peers. I started senior school in 1981, left in 1986 with a handful of CSE’s and trained to be a hairdresser, something I had wanted to do since I was eleven years old. I loved it but the pay was poor so I left after completing my training and drifted for a bit. I worked but had no direction.

A friend at the time did discos on a Sunday for a bit of extra cash at a home for disabled adults. My brother used to help him. One week they coaxed me along to help, I was so scared by them.....but intrigued. I met Dave that night, he worked there as a warden. As we packed up to leave he chatted and asked for my phone number. As he drove off home at the end of his shift, I knew I would see him again, and it went from there really.

Thursday 24th June continued....

Ethan comes into my bed, and after some time he falls asleep, it’s 1am and he has school tomorrow. At 1:30am my phone rings, it’s Joshua sounding very upset and spiralling. He is so scared, I can hear it in his voice. He is reaching out, he is so frightened of what may happen next. I have no idea how to make things better, the call ends with us both in tears, both devastated. The phone goes again at 2:30am, and it’s Dave. He describes the hospital, it sounds terrible. His voice is breaking up on the phone, he said he can’t believe he has left Joshua there. It’s a secure unit, staff everywhere, bright lights, everything locked down, personal possessions taken away, even his phone, his lifeline.  No sleep for us tonight.

Friday 25^th June

I take Ethan to school and then head straight for Dave’s house. We call the hospital just after 9am to see how Joshua was last night, and how he is managing this morning. He was in a group session and then had to see doctors for more assessments even though they did this last night on his arrival. We ask if we can come to see him today and bring some things for him. When we are told we need to book an appointment, and a meeting room to see our son, it fells horribly wrong. They ‘fit us in’ for 2pm that day. We ask that they tell Joshua we called first thing to ask how he is, and let him know we will be there this afternoon. To keep busy I go to the supermarket and buy his favourite snacks and some magazines.

As we drive to the hospital we dread what awaits us. As we pull up outside, the high walls and barbed wire look very intimidating. In the reception we hand over keys, phones, and my handbag, and the bags of things we bought for Joshua are checked for contrabanned items. It feels like a prison. The staff wear radios, carry bunches of keys. We go through several doors, each one opened with a swipe card and number combination, then through a brightly lit tunnel which feels to me like we are underground, then ushered into a room with three chairs and a small coffee table. We wait for Joshua, they go to get him.

He comes in, wearing shorts and a t-shirt, and falls to his knees, and the tears fall. In absolute turmoil he begs to be taken home. He says his things have been locked away. He has nothing. How will taking his possessions away help him? He had to ask permission to have his toothbrush. In complete turmoil we get him off the floor to sit in a chair, the whole time a warden observing us just outside the door. Dave asks for the door to be closed so that we can have a private conversation with our son, but we are told no, it is hospital policy that the door stays open. The whole feel of the place, the smells, the lights, the lockdown un nerved me.  I looked at Joshua and held his hand while he explained that he was in a ward with kids who had done things like trying to cut their arms off with breadknives, had been doing hard drugs since a young age, and that they were completely crazy. He said he knew he was ill, but not that bad. I don’t know if I wholly agree. He is bad, but not extreme, but he is far from normal. Yes he needs help, much help.  At that point I knew that the a few  of the things he needed more than anything to get better was not in this place, but those things being the love and support of his family.

Yes we were all tired, but we had made it pretty much on our own up until last night. Of course we had Steve on the end of the phone when we needed him, and surely he would support us too? After a few seconds and making the decision that we could do this, I turned to Dave and said that I would not be leaving the building without our son, and he agreed, I promised Joshua we would not leave without him. We asked to see the ward manager who came down after a few minutes. We explained that we thought there had been some error of judgement regarding Joshua’s placement, but he was having none of it. So the next step was to get the unit consultant down. He took his time, and when he arrived he asked if Joshua could be removed from the room due to the sensitive nature of the discussion. He was in the next room, with the door open, so he heard every word anyway.

Things became very heated, very quickly. At one point I thought Dave might lunge towards the two doctors. It felt as if it was all melting away after about twenty minutes, with the doctor’s saying they could section Joshua under the mental health act. We did question this, as he had not harmed anyone since his admission, or for several days prior to his admission, in fact he had been calm and had behaved very well. He had not attempted to harm himself either. For him to be sectioned he would have had to have been a danger. He had been through three assessments during his stay of roughly 15 hours, and we were within our rights as his parents and legal guardians to remove him. After this statement, things changed. Apologies were made all round for any inappropriate behaviour, that the admission should not have happened in the dead of night considering Hoshua’s mood and manner at that time. I did make the point that we all want the same end result, for Joshua to be better. Joshua then came back into the room to join the discussion.

I found the knowledge of the consultant fascinating. Once we were all striving for the same outcome it was as if we all pulled together. So as the calm set in for roughly two hours, we talked through things that needed to be put into place to assist Joshua’s recovery. We were told that the symptoms had been there for two years so recovery would be slow. It is a long time to be dealing with the symptoms before diagnosis. The consultant also likened the voices to having several mobile phone conversations all at once, and Joshua said it was the perfect explanation for how it feels.

The medication will assist in making the voices subside, and to help the medication work properly convalescence is needed. He needs to rest in the day, and complete rest every night, sleeping pills will be prescribed short term to assist him with falling back into a sleep routine at night.  If the brain is rested fully then it helps the medication to work. Stress must be removed from his life. No distractions,continual calm is needed. A good diet and physical well being are a must. Dave’s house would be perfect. He lives on a farm, which is remote with no neighbours, and quiet.

We were told that patients are usually allowed a night at home after several weeks in the hospital. Again this is for children who have been sectioned under the mental health act. The consultant said that we could take Joshua home for the weekend and return him at 10am on Monday morning. He also said that if we could put a plan into place regarding his care over the weekend then we were to call him and let him know first thing on Monday. We were given enough medication for the weekend, and also some tablets to help him sleep – Promethazine.

We knew he was telling us, in a round about way, that this place was not right for our son.

So the warden went with Joshua to collect some of his things. He was a slight guy, thinning hair, and glasses and probably looked older than his years. I could see he liked Joshua. Even though he had only been there a short time, they already had become quite chatty and friendly. When he came back we thanked him. He passed the mobile phone and cigarettes back to Joshua and they shook hands. He did say that he saw many kids come through the doors of this place, and that this wasn’t the place for Joshua to be, and that he hoped, as much as he liked him, to never see him again.

To come out of there into the car park, as dreary as the surroundings were, and into the sun was a wonderful feeling. All three of us exhausted by the last 24 hours. We kept cuddling Joshua while we put his things in the car. He told us how much he loved us, that he wants to get better, and was very humble. On the journey back we discussed the weekend ahead. Although we live in separate houses, counties even, we came to the agreement that I would up sticks, and move over to Dave’s house for the weekend. So a quick divert on the way back to collect my overnight bag and the dog, and collect Ethan from my friend who had kindly looked after him when school had ended.