Ferid is still determined to get better despite all the blunders, disappointments and the tepid therapeutic relationship. He’s “180 percent ready to change,” he tells the treatment team in a meeting. During the 34-day hospital stay, he’s gained some of his strength back but is still fragile. They’ve prescribed him Abilify, a brand-new antipsychotic. Ferid seems determined to keep taking it, despite the extrapyramidal symptoms (mainly anxiety, which they try treating with another drug).
He’ll be discharged soon. He’s developed a routine and friendships on the ward, but he’ll have to leave that all behind to take the next step. As per hospital protocol, he’ll spend two trial days at home first.
The first thing he wants to do on our way home is get a hamburger. We stop at McDonald’s. Adam’s waiting at home, and Ferid thinks to buy him a meal too. I can breathe easier now that Ferid is no longer inside those sad hospital walls. When I look at him, I feel hopeful.
It’s a rocky first night. The next day Ferid isn’t feeling well and wants to go back to the ward. He isn’t ready to come home. “But how come?” He won’t talk to me about it. Maybe he can speak with someone from his treatment team? Along with this not knowing comes mounting guilt. Four days later, Ferid is released from the hospital for good and referred to the day hospital for follow-up. Just looking at him, it’s clear how vulnerable he’s feeling.
Ferid has always been reserved and proud. It’s part of his nature, not the illness. He’s living in our basement. He has his own bedroom, kitchenette, bathroom, living room and separate entrance, giving him his freedom and independence. (There are only two bedrooms upstairs: the very small one belongs to Adam and the other one is mine—which Ferid doesn’t want.) It’s dark downstairs, but he can come up for meals and spend evenings with us.
The week Ferid came home from the hospital is a blur. I can recall only a few details. One thing is certain: on Sunday, April 14, 2013, my son woke up before me and came into my room. He felt depressed, and his entire body hurt. He wanted to go back to the hospital; so we went.