By SUSAN DOWD STONE
Featured Blogger
U.S. Senator Robert Menendez, D-N.J., has reintroduced postpartum depression legislation in Senate.
Today, I had the joy of participating in a conference call with the office of Senator Menendez and the other organizational sponsors of The Melanie Blocker Stokes MOTHERS Act where we received the heads up that U.S. Senator Robert Menendez was hoping to reintroduce the bill today. And as of this afternoon, that is exactly what he has done!! For hundreds of thousands of American mothers and families, this renews the hope that 2009 will indeed be the year when Congress acknowledges our nation's mothers by addressing the full spectrum of maternal experience and finally passing this legislation.
The statistics we have on the numbers of women suffering from perinatal mood disorders (which range from 12 to 22 percent in the research) easily exceed the incidence associated with a public health crisis. And remember, these statistics, do NOT include the suffering of women who miscarry, endure stillbirths, give up babies for adoption or terminate pregnancies, all of whom are also susceptible to these devastating disorders and whose circumstances are included in the furthering of research and support being sought.
It is not too soon to begin contacting the senators in your state to let them know you support this long overdue legislation!! And while you are at it, feel free to express your support to U.S. Senator Robert Menendez for whose steadfast determination we are so very grateful.Thank you to Senator Robert Menendez and the bill's other leading cosponsors, Senators Richard Durbin, D-Ill., and Olympia Snowe, R-Me.
If your organization would like to become a sponsor of this crucial bill, please contact Emma Palmer in Senator Menendez's office at 202-224-4744.
Please visit again soon for the link to an online petition which will be available across the country.
The latest copy of the The Melanie Blocker Stokes MOTHERS Act, follows the official press release below!
COMBATING POSTPARTUM DEPRESSION: SEN. MENENDEZ BEGINS PUSH IN 111TH CONGRESS
MOTHERS Act reintroduced in Senate, was close to passage last year
WASHINGTON – U.S. Senator Robert Menendez, D-N.J. on Jan. 26 officially kicked off his efforts to secure an increased federal commitment to combating postpartum depression by reintroducing the Melanie Blocker Stokes MOTHERS Act in the Senate. The legislation, which is co-sponsored by Sens. Richard Durbin, D-Ill. and Olympia Snowe, R-Me., has support from Senate leadership. It was nearing passage last year, despite being blocked from a vote on the Senate floor by Senator Tom Coburn, R-Okla., who has objected to this and other bills targeting specific diseases on ideological grounds.
“We gained significant support for this effort to combat postpartum depression over the last two years, which makes me optimistic that we will be able to deliver this gift to new mothers,” said Senator Menendez. “Increasingly, my colleagues in the Senate are learning about the vicious, debilitating nature of postpartum depression and how it affects families, and they understand why this initiative is so important. We have to attack postpartum depression on all fronts – with education, support, and research – so that new moms can feel supported and safe rather than scared and alone.”
Postpartum depression is a serious and disabling condition affecting hundreds of thousands of new mothers each year. The new legislation would increase federal efforts to combat postpartum depression by:
* Encouraging Health and Human Services (HHS) to coordinate and continue research to expand the understanding of the causes of, and find treatments for, postpartum conditions.
* Encouraging a National Public Awareness Campaign, to be administered by HHS, to increase awareness and knowledge of postpartum depression and psychosis.
* Requiring the Secretary of HHS to conduct a study on the benefits of screening for postpartum depression and postpartum psychosis.
* Creating a grant program to public or nonprofit private entities to deliver or enhance outpatient, inpatient and home-based health and support services, including case management and comprehensive treatment services for individuals with or at risk for postpartum conditions. Activities may also include providing education about postpartum conditions to new mothers and their families, including symptoms, methods of coping with the illness, and treatment resources, in order to promote earlier diagnosis and treatment.
It is estimated that postpartum depression (PPD) affects from 10 to 20 percent of new mothers. In the United States, there may be as many as 800,000 new cases of postpartum conditions each year. The cause of PPD isn’t known but changes in hormone levels, a difficult pregnancy or birth, and a family history of depression are considered possible factors.
The Melanie Blocker Stokes MOTHERS Act, sponsored by Senator Menendez and Representative Rush, will help provide support services to women suffering from postpartum depression and psychosis and will also help educate mothers and their families about these conditions. In addition, it will support research into the causes, diagnoses and treatments for postpartum depression and psychosis.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Postpartum depression treatment gets a second chance
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Being of sound mind means being free of illness
To me, having a mental health issue means something more than dealing with a diagnosable illness.
It's all about maintaining the right quality of life, protecting yourself from disease and not having to fear that death is at your door.
If we were to expand the definition of mental illness in such a way, then the continent of Africa is suffering yet another epidemic - only this one is of the mind.
It's mental disease brought on by the scourge of AIDS that, despite medical advancements, is still killing hundreds of thousands of people each year.
At the same time, it's turning hundreds of thousands of children into orphans, as well as many others motherless and fatherless every day because of the deadly disease.
In the wake of their dead loved ones, many are suffering from witnessing the spectacle of people who once led robust lives only to be destroyed by a disease that took their life away long before they were dead.
Perhaps no book captures that struggle more - as well as the hope offered by those fighting to save Africa from the disaster - than There Is No Me Without You: One Woman's Odyssey to Rescue Africa's Children by Melissa Fay Greene.
The story revolves around Haregewoin Teferra, an Ethiopian woman who has welcomed people of all types - particularly youthful victims of AIDS, many of them orphaned - into her house to talk, eat and, usually, stay for a while until they seek stability, care and love.
In the opening scene, Haregewoin got a call about an abandoned child. She was inundated with children already. But the mother had AIDS and the dad, TB.
No, she said initially. But Haregewoin quickly changed her mind. Over and over again, Haregewoin's objections almost always disappear after some reflection. To Haregewoin, humanity always triumphs over convenience.
This is what happens in Ethiopia, where disease has forced a population that once lived in civility to lean on others - even if they're sick, too - for support. It was under colonial rule but broke free from the Italians in the 19th Century, largely because people felt proud about their country and their leadership.
She married a man named Worku and they had two children - not 20, like the family she came from. Haregewoin worked for a computer company and Worku was a high school principal, so they were educated, and they didn't want to go down the same path of living with a too-large family in a too-small house.
Haregewoin had a sudden back problem that she thought was cancer, so she went to Cairo to get it checked out. It turned out to be no big deal, but she liked Cairo and stayed - despite being far away from her family while it was falling apart.
Haregewoin started to worry when her daughter, in telephone conversations, complained about feeling tired. It turned out she was pregnant, but her complaints persisted. Hargewoin finally went to visit and found her somewhat emaciated, but she just thought it was because of the pregnancy.
Her daughter had the baby, and everybody celebrated. But the daughter became more of a recluse, and her husband put up a barrier between Haregewoin and her daughter that prevented Haregewoin from knowing too much.
Frustrated with the situation, Haregewoin eventually went to visit again, and found her daughter suffering from what appeared to be AIDS.
Haregewoin's son-in-law, Ashibr, took the baby away; Haregewoin cared for her daughter at a hospital and, later, at home, where she died in 1998.
Haregewoin was devastated. She went into seclusion, shunned people and thought about becoming a full-time mourner.
Only a religious group stood in her way, and asked her to take care of two teenage children. Haregewoin intially didn't think she could do it, but she did it - much to her friend's dismay - because she couldn't say no.
The children were rebellious - especially Abel, who was a drug addict. Those children were eventually taken away. But Haregewoin's willingness to take them in inspired religious groups to seek her help again. Other smaller children were dropped off, and the emptiness Haregewoin felt after losing her daughter quickly disappeared.
Virtually all the children had parents with AIDS or had died of AIDS. There were twins; there were even children with AIDS. One mother dropped off her baby, fell down and died just outside Haregewoin's door as she left. Even the police dropped off unnamed, abandoned children.
Haregewoin saw this as her calling - and even hung a picture in her house of her deceased daughter holding her newborn child with an inscription from a pop song: "There is no me without you."
The children, meanwhile, played in the yard and with each other, and then went to school and played soccer. One man dropped off his sick daughter just so she could socialize.
A group dropped off a young girl who hated being there, and wanted to prove it so badly that she repeatedly slammed Haregewoin's steel door, trying to get out. People on the other side of the door - the people who dropped her off - were crying. The author, who witnessed this scene, thought of offering the group money, but decided against it.
There were other troubles, too, that had nothing to do with disease.
An uncle Oscar who was involved in the life of a pair of twins came around, and Haregewoin blocked the door. Before this encounter, Oscar once pulled down the pants of one girl, and tried to rape her. He was caught, and he took off the hills. But he tried to re-enter their lives, and Haregewoin wouldn't allow it.
Overall, Haregewoin enjoyed the experience. But eventually, it took its toll. People in the area shunned Haregewoin and her children. They didn't want to come into contact with people who have had some association - even remotely - with AIDS.
Money was tight, and Haregewoin began taking donations. She told people she couldn't take any more children, but she did anyway, because she couldn't say no.
Children like Minty held out hope their parents were still alive. Minty, for instance, was hording rolls that he wanted to give to his father - even as they grew moldy and disgusting. He still wanted to give them to his dad, Eskender.
But Eskender, Haregewoin soon found out, died.
Haregewoin eventually grew weary. She saw her numbers grow from two dozen to three dozen children. She told people, "No more," but they came anyway.
Suddenly and hopefully, adoption groups approached Haregewoin. It was just the right time, because Haregewoin couldn't be the mother she was when she had fewer children.
She also needed a doctor - and she found one, an American who gave up his life for this cause. He examined a baby who was literally "dropped" at Haregewoin's house, and whom everybody thought had AIDS. The doctor discovered he actually had a milk allergy. He was given soy milk and became a normal, everyday child.
Adoption agencies eventually came out of nowhere, taking away babies left and right. Haregewoin grew attached to some of the children and didn't want to give them up. But she relented, realizing that others could provide a better life.
Haregewoin found a place for the older kids, too - the Americans, who had set up a local agency that found parents for the children.
A rich woman had a birthday party at Haregewoin's compound. She wanted her pampered child to see poverty. For a day, everybody - including Haregewoin - felt like they were in the middle of a fairy tale.
Haregewoin eventually developed something of a celebrity status in Ethiopia. She won an award that earned her a trip to the United States, the same country that provided shelter to companies who refused to allow generic anti-AIDSs drugs to be developed and cheaply sold and used in Africa, Greene noted
For Haregewoin, however, success didn't come without new struggles.
People started to resent her, and believed that she was getting rich off her good work. They started to snipe at her. An agency was upset with the way she handled the adoption of a girl who was presented by a 17-year-old mother. When the 17-year-old took the child back after much wrangling, the government investigated Haregewoin for child trafficking.
An investigation into a possible rape at Haregewoin's compound lingered for months as rumors began to spread about mistreatment and child-trafficking. Donations and adoptions stopped coming. The children were getting smaller meals.
Ultimately, Haregewoin was arrested and locked away, like she was a political prisoner. Her surviving daughter and friends tried to spring her loose, but Haregewoin viewed her time away as an opportunity. It gave her some moments to reflect, as though God led her here.
In early 2006, Haregowein was back home. The Ministry of Justice took over control of her orphanage, and also cleared Haregewoin of any wrongdoing.
She also reacquainted herself with her grandson, then 7. Ashibr relented after prodding from Haregewoin's surviving daughter. They developed a regular relationship, all while Haregewoin continued taking kids in.
But it was her time in jail that gave her the moment to realize her work was her gift to life.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Some men wallow in misery; others rise from depression and create change
As America prepares to swear-in its first African-American president, seminal figures whose names don't trigger instant recognition the same way as Barack Obama or Martin Luther King Jr. do - but are heroes to many, nonetheless - come to mind.
There was Richard Wright, who captured the struggle of racial oppression in the prison system nearly two decades before the civil rights movement with his 1940 novel, "Native Son." There was Don Haskins, the coach of Texas-Western who started an all-African-American team against the racially exclusive University of Kentucky basketball team in the 1966 NCAA championship, and won.
Others may say, "Dig deeper, and you'll find more." I'm reading books that capture the civil-rights spirit of people who I've struggled to find on Google search lists (why is that, anyway?). But some argue they've done more for their neighborhood, their community and even their country than many of the today's civil rights leaders who seem to consider appearances on television news programs and talk shows to be a greater priority than the cause.
Few men learned the art of coping, and successfully converting tragedy into hope than Orlando Gober, a former Black Panther and deceased former principal of Rice Catholic High School in Harlem.
Orlando is the central figure of a new book, "The Street Stops Here:A Year at a Catholic High School in Harlem." The pages speak of a man who harnessed the energy of depression and loss into a mission of saving African-American children not only from the streets, but also from themselves.
Orlando was a young up-and-comer in 1985 whose young career as a high school principal was almost cut short when an asthmatic child who accompanied him on a field trip - and tested herself by embarking on a long-distance hike - died in his arms. Gober survived weeks of depression and declined physically, becoming a diabetic.
But he stayed at the New York City private school, St. Mark's, until he moved to Rice High School, where he became dean of students in the early 1990s. In 1999, at 46, he became a principal at Rice, one of the few African-Americans at the time to head a Catholic High School in the country.
While there, he left a mark that few other people could, inspiring hundreds of African-Americans with the force of his personality and his presence. When Gober spoke, everybody did more than listen. They were empowered.
And the 1999-00 school year would be the year that Gober made his biggest impact, before more tragedy would bookend a career full of ups and downs. That year, instill promise and hope in the minds of hundreds of African-Americans by imploring the importance of his mission: Getting an education.
Orlando was a big man who was no-nonsense talker and leader. He demanded that people not use his school as a babysitter, as so many parents do. He wanted them to show up for admission interviews with the principal with the idea that, when they were to leave Rice, they would have more than just a piece of paper in their hand. They would be better, smarter and mature young adults. Most who showed up for the interviews accepted his mission; those who didn't were shown the door.
Most of his staff accepted this mission, too, even as some butted heads with Gober continuously, and viewed his strong-willed character as stubbornness that seemed to trump fairness. Those who stayed around, however, believed Gober's positives greatly outweighed his negatives.
One who stuck around was a man known as Brother Walderman, who had been at Rice long before Gober's arrival. He was a more liberal elder of the Catholic order, a product of Vatican II. He constantly reminded people that his school was about providing a religious education but, more importantly, producing results. He frequently rolled off the list of successful people who graduated from Rice, including bank executives, basketball player Rod Strickland and a prominent member of Run DMC.
Even with all this support, however, going to the next level was always a struggle for many of the kids. Many dropped out; graduation class sizes were small - usually around 100 or less. The students always had to balance the demands of their neighborhood with what was good for them. When some students were former or active drug pushers, it was hard for the staff - and for the students themselves - to steer to the right path.
But Orlando was a powerful leader, and people knew that - particularly parents, and enrollment increased when he was put in charge. Slogans from him were everywhere, either frequently repeated by the students as they sat in class, or posted on the walls of the hallways. Kids entering this place understood that they were going to be disciplined if they crossed the line - and they had to leave the street behind them, slipping on uniforms and slipping off other clothing wear that the school viewed as troublesome.
Orlando, who saw race in virtually all things, employed his brother as a teacher, but his closest bond is with Chris Abbasse, a former partier who reformed himself and advocated in discipline. The two butted heads frequently when Gober first arrived at Rice. But Abbasse learned how to work with Gober and, together, they were an inseperable and powerful force.
Orlando, meanwhile, had run-ins with teachers who were as strong-willed as he is. One, in particular, was a science teacher who refused to do lab because, in his view, the students were not up for it. Orlando replaced him before the 2000-01 year with somebody more inferior, a teacher who ended up quitting after a few months. But the move was made for one reason: He didn't accept Gober's mission.
Other teachers were inexperienced. The math teacher was clueless, but math teachers were a dime a dozen, and Gober did his best to work with employees who were struggling but were considered necessary.
Many teachers left after only a year or two - and not just because of the pay. Orlando was overbearing, and some got an earful whenever they didn't see things Gober's way.
The students got an earful, too, but Orlando almost always mixed harsh words with compassion.
Gober always felt like a cloud was over his head: Losing people to the streets was like death. He didn't want to lose another one like he did in 1985.
Still, at the beginning of the 1999-00 school year, Orlando was not happy with freshman class. Early on, he chewed them out in classroom after classroom. Eventually, they caught on - and accepted his mission and purpose - just as they did at every school that employed Gober as an administrator.
Gober excelled in his first teaching job in the 1970s, but was taken aback when St. Mark's intiially treated him poorly. He went on to become a principal at another school but, ironically, went back to St. Mark's to become an administrator. The school at the time was afraid it was going to close; by the time he left, Gober doubled the enrollment.
Gober was married and then divorced, but he was more married to his work. He practically adopted some students, while he closely monitored others.
Some came in looking "gangsta," but he straightened them out through schooling and inspiration. Though he was diabetic, and despite having a poor diet and sometimes missing meals, Gober lived for these students and got them to work.
He also found time for fun. In 1999, Rice had its annual "Rice Jam," which went pretty well, save for a few flare ups. One student, named Larry, struck Orlando in the face. But, despite his reputation for toughness, he didn't expel him. Instead, Gober viewed it as youthful stupidity that wouldn't last.
Gober, in particular, had a good relationship with a student named Yusef, who didn't have a father and dealt drugs. While drugs exploded in the 1980s but tailed off in the 90s, Yusef tried to make a go of it as a way to support himself and his family. While at Rice, however, Yusef gave up the street life and bonded with Orlando better than anybody.
Other students bonded with the staff. One student, named Linwood, was smart but hyper. His dad was in jail, and he couldn't calm down. Linwood did well in school but not on his SATs. He bonded with the guidance counselor on his own volition, practically barging through the man's door whenever he wanted to see him. Others don't show that kind of initiative.
Ironically, few students from this school have gone to big places. Two boys made it to Columbia University once, but dropped out after their junior year. But graduation was viewed as the main, all-encompassing goal.
During the 1999-00 school year, teachers often complained about Orlando behind his back. They said they lost some of their best teachers because he forced them out. But Gober excelled at diffusing controversy by employing his skills as a showman.
During one gripe session, for instance, Gober burst into the middle of it and announced that Rice was a Vanguard school. The conversation was over; the celebration for the accomplishment began.
Gober believed that students - the poor ones, in particular - came first. He saw it as a connection to origins of Catholic schooling in the United States, when Irish made up the underclass for a long time.
Catholics wanted to lift the Irish up, so Catholic schools became the vehicle. To Gober and others, however, that mission got lost at Catholic schools began to cater to the suburbs. The enrollemnt of the city Catholic schools went on the decline after peaking in the 50s and 60s. Gober and Walderman hoped to reverse the trend.
All that didn't prevent Gober from being tough on students - even as they considered it tough love. During the 1999-00 school year, Yusef was suspected of dealing drugs, and he was accused of stealing a hat. Even though he was a Gober favorite, he had to go. He treated "Gobe" like a dad, often going to his office just to put his head on his shoulder. Even after his expulsion, however, Gober found a way to help Yusef, placing him in a Bronx school.
By the end of the year, the students improved, overall, and people like Linwood defied the odds and graduate. The basketball team won the championship, but they were also good students - a high priority in Orlando's eyes.
Many were inspired by Gober's speeches and his talks in class. The former Black Panther often equated the academic struggle with the civil rights struggle, and implored people to read the works of famous black figures.
Even though Orlando's diabetic symptoms got worse during the course of the year, his presence was dominant. He felt rejuvenated by the praise he received at a prayer breakfast at graduation. But his willingness to sacrifice his own health for the sake of the students became inspirational and legendary.
Despite recommendations against it, Gober taught during the summer of 2000 when he should have been getting a rest. But his health dramatically declined in August, when his brother noticed that he was developing Gangrene.
One day, the brother found Gober in a coma in his apartment. Orlando barely survived but his leg was amputated.
Later, despite feeling ashamed that he let the problem go as long as it did, he truly discovered the impact he had on people. He received an enormous amount of well-wishng through cards and calls. During the 2000-01 year, the school hung on even while he wasn't not there, doing work from his hospital bed. He made a triumphant return at the 2001 graduation, and he returned full-time as principal in September.
Physically, however, he was never the same. He became thinner and less mobile, and he was unable to impose his will in the same way. He was unable to connect with people as much. He was finally - and mercifully - dismissed in 2003, and then scouted around for jobs.
Then he suddenly died on the first day of school in 2005 - a month before the 20th anniversary of Samantha Brown's death, the girl who died in his arms.
But, as noted in The Street Stops Here, many now say they wouldn't have lived past their own struggles without Gober behind them, coaching them through times of trouble and triumph.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
A family that survives is a family that inspires
Recently, I've been reading book after book, trying to find one that parallels my own. When you embark on a project that documents your family's history of mental illness, finding a role model that deals with the ugly topic ain't easy.
At long last, I've found one that serves as an inspiration for dealing with turmoil that's sparked by fear, change, longing, depression and illness.
"The Man in the White Sharkskin Suit: My Family's Exodus from Old Cairo to the New World,"by Lucette Lagnado, speaks of a family that came together quickly - an elaborate gambler named Leon Lagnado, the author's father, who married Edith, a quiet and reserved librarian who was born to riches until her father left the family.
The family stayed together and survived, though barely. They were tested constantly, and the central character - Leon, the man who liked to wear the sharkskin suit - died as a broken, physically handicapped man (much like my mother).
But there are lessons to be learned here. Despite the family's pitfalls, the family presevered for the sake of the children and for the sake of themselves.
It started at a restaurant, where Leon met Edith and her mother, Alexandra, who was overprotective but gave her blessing to the union. This is a restaurant where Leon, a devout Jewish man who likes to party, frequently went; but on this day, he caught Edith's eye and sent her a note.
He successfully courted her and they got married, quickly, beginning a life of hardships and moving around that eventually landed them in New York. Leon sensed a bad omen when the jewels on Edith's ring are stolen by her brother just before the wedding. But the wedding moved forward, anyway, because he viewed it as the right course for his life.
The book looks back at how Leon was a bit of a playboy, staying out nights to the horror of his mother, Zarifa. She had already lost children - to death, and one who converted to Catholicism and became a priest.
Leon liked to gamble and be with the "ladies," but he resisted to the idea of settling down. He also was a broker who didn't have a steady job but bought and sold everything. The only time he settled down was when it involved religion, and he was a deeply devout Jewish person who went to temple every day to pray.
World War II changed his lifestyle, with the Nazis bearing down on Egypt. Jews thought they would be killed. Then the British routed the Germans and that gave people hope. It also made Leon rethink his priorities, and that's what led him to Edith.
After they married, they were happy, at first. They even took care of a relative who had pleurisy. But then Leon eventually resumed his old habits, even as Edith gave birth to a girl, Suzette (whom Leon initially rejected because he wanted a son) and two boys, Cesar and Isaac. Leon's beloved mother, Zarifa, died around the same time.
Alexandra, Edith's mother, became more involved in the household, but things got worse. Edith gave birth to another Alexandra, but it was determined that both she and the baby, as a result of nursing and the passing of an infection, were sick.
Edith lived; the baby died after nine days. Edith then became hysterical and blamed the situation on Leon. The marriage then began to fall apart just as Egypt changed, with President Nasser pushing out the king, taking control of the country, empowering the country's Arabs and Muslims and encouraging Jews to leave.
Alexandra, Edith's mother, then deteriorated. She started to become demented. She never lived down losing her own blue-eyed son whom her husband, Isaac, had sold to other people before leaving her. She was constantly looking for the child, even though he was long gone.
Eventually, "Lou Lou," the author, was born. For the family, she was almost like a replacement for Alexandra and the family grew closer again. But the Jews still felt threatened - especially when Britain, France and Israel invaded Egypt in the 1950s Suez crisis.
Even though Egypt won, Leon's family realized they had to get out. A part of the family, including Alexandra, left for Israel first. Leon, meanwhile, was afraid to go there right away out of fear that Lou Lou wouldn't be able to handle the heat and decrepit conditions.
The family stayed in Egypt for a while. They procrastinated. They didn't really want to go. But things became more tenuous; culture and diversity was taken out of the schools. Cesar learned how to shoot a gun.
Leon, meanwhile, bonded with Lou Lou and her cat. They enjoyed sitting with each other and staring out into the street while he taught her Arab languages - a necessity in the evolving culture and demographics of Egypt.
Then Leon became seriously injured while walking to the temple. He broke his leg. A pin was inserted, but the pin eventually broke. He lived the rest of his life with a limp that only got worse.
Later, Lou Lou developed cat scratch fever and the family was at a loss. They didn't know how to deal with it, and it delayed their departure from Egypt. It finally subsided after she and her father searched for a cure, and they went through a religious ritual. But this illness - coupled with her father's physical deterioration - became a lingering theme in her life.
The tipping point for leaving Egypt happened when Suzette was arrested - for apparent prostitution, though the charge wasn't true. Leon sprang her loose, but he knew this was the end of their time in Egypt. They packed everything up and headed for France, and they were forced to leave behind their most expensive possessions - including Lou Lou's beloved cat. With Nasser taking control, they were subjected to live a more socialistic lifestyle.
In France, they lived an impoverished lifestyle. They then looked for a new place to live for the long-term. It came down to Israel or the United States. Then they learned that Alexandra had died - a devastating blow to a family that was protective of her, and protected by her in her younger years.
Instead of going to Israel, they decided on the United States. But this process took a while because the human rights and customs people were afraid that Leon was unemployable.
In the meantime, the family grew more accustomed to French life. Edith enjoyed taking long walks to the playground with Lou Lou. Cesar did odd jobs and enjoyed the nightlife. They held on until the family's transfer was approved - even though Lou Lou's bout with what appeared to be Scarlet Fever held things up.
They went to the United States aboard the Queen Mary. Once in New York, they stayed in Manhattan before moving to Brooklyn where other Egyptian Jews lived. Suzette, constantly at odds with her father, moved to Queens and eventually to California.
Leon, meanwhile, acclimated to the life and finds a temple. He bonded with Lou Lou, again, because she needed to learn Hebrew (something girls never did). Edith, who drifted further away from Leon and even once threatened divorce, found a temple that was not so old and stodgy.
Lou Lou continued to bond with Leon, who couldn't find real work. He sold fake ties, and Lou Lou accompanied him in Manhattan as he made his rounds. They walked around, making pennies on the sales. Lou Lou, meanwhile, always sat and stared quietly, watching every move Leon made as he tried to convince Manhattan shoppers that the ties were no worse than Ralph Lauren.
At the same time, Leon became physically worse, but he did everything he could to relive Cairo and the life he had when he was a dominant physical and financial force.
Italian immigrants moved onto their Brooklyn street, and they forced the family to move to another part of Brooklyn, Lou Lou says. There, the family - led by Lou Lou - got into an argument with the landlady, and they had to move again. They couldn't get settled.
They were poor, and Lou Lou grew up as an impoverished soul. But just when things looked up, they went down again. Lou Lou was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease; a reversal of the conventional wisdom that she had a recurrence of cat scratch fever. The family was devastated. Lou Lou opted for radiation, possibly going against family wishes. She wouldn't be able to have children.
The family lived out the 1970s, which Lou Lou called a "wretched" decade, surviving on the minimum. In the 1980s, her father developed dementia and housed himself at a Jewish hospital, while her mother suffered strokes and went to another hospital. Lou Lou visited both but found the experiences to be excruciatingly painful.
Finally, around 1992, Leon died. Her mother died a year later. Lou Lou was welcomed to pray at the memorial service for her father - going against custom, to allow a woman to pray. But she viewed herself as Leon's life observer - his shadow - so she did what was her father's favorite custom: Kneel at the temple, and pray.
Lou Lou went back to Cairo in 2005, and visited the old house. The same family that bought the house when Leon's family left was still there. Lou Lou felt good about seeing the big rooms where she spent time as a young child, and often thought about what her father - the man who wore the sharkskin suit - would feel like if he were there, too.
But she knew he was there, in spirit, pushing her to discover and learn how the family overcame trouble and heartache. And as I embark on my own project, I feel like my mother is there, too.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Keep your holiday cheer at this time of year
The holidays are portrayed as a happy time of celebration. But it's not true for everyone - especially those who have mental illnesses, and even more so in today’s economic climate.
One of every four residents has a mental illness, such as depression or anxiety, which can be exacerbated during the holiday season and further intensified in reaction to financial stress, mental health professionals say.
Regardless of the time of year or the economy, it is critical to manage mental and physical health, recognize signs of mental illness and seek help when needed, professionals say.
Anyone could experience holiday blues, especially if they experience high levels of stress. During this time of year, stress is commonly related to having unrealistically high expectations for the holidays, said Debra Wentz, chief executive officer of the New Jersey Association of Mental Health Agencies, Inc.
"But this year, it could be even worse because of the turbulent economy,” she said. “It is vitally important for everyone to take steps to manage their stress levels, which can greatly impact both mental and physical health.”
Stress can be reduced by managing what can be controlled. For example, expenses, such as gifts and entertainment, can be reduced. Healthy practices, such as exercising, eating right and getting enough sleep, are also helpful in managing stress, in addition to offering many physical health benefits, professionals say.
Stress and depression can also be related to increased use of alcohol or drugs, especially for individuals who are in the early stages of recovery from addictions. The holidays, with the accompanying stress or social more situations, can also lead to increased drug or alcohol use, professionals say.
Professional help may be needed if any of the following signs become evident:
- persistent sad, anxious or “empty” mood;
- changes in sleep patterns;
- reduced appetite and weight loss, or increased appetite and weight gain; and
- loss of pleasure and interest in once-enjoyable activities; restlessness or irritability.
It is important to realize that most of these symptoms also indicate holiday blues, professionals say. However, holiday blues will dissipate when the season ends and people return to daily routines and no longer experience holiday-related stress. By contrast, depression is indicated by these symptoms lasting for two weeks or longer.
Friday, December 19, 2008
The Texas time warp is alive and kicking
For more than a century, thousands of mentally disabled Americans were isolated from society, sometimes for life, by being confined to huge public hospitals.
In at least one place, they still are, according to The Associated Press.
Texas has more mentally disabled patients in institutions than any other state, and the federal government has concluded that the state's care system is stubbornly out of step with modern mental health practices.
Critics allege that Texas remains stuck in an era when the mentally disabled were hidden away in large, impersonal facilities far from relatives and communities, according to The Associated Press.
"In Texas, it's like a time warp," Jeff Garrison-Tate, an advocate who wants to close the 13 hospitals called "state schools" and move patients into group homes, told The AP.
For the third time in three years, the criticism has attracted the attention of the Justice Department, which on Tuesday accused Texas of violating residents' constitutional rights to proper care.
Investigators found that dozens of patients died in the last year from preventable conditions, and officials declared that the number of injuries was "disturbingly high."
In addition, hundreds of documents reviewed by The Associated Press show that some patients have been neglected, beaten, sexually abused or even killed by caretakers. Inspection reports also describe filthy rooms and unsanitary kitchens.
Many of the nation's mental hospitals were first built in the 1800s, when they were often called insane asylums. But by the 1960s, most experts concluded that patients fared better in smaller, community-based settings.
The American Institution on Intellectual and Developmental Disabilities says large care facilities - usually those with at least 16 residents - "enforce an unnatural, isolated, and regimented lifestyle that is not appropriate or necessary."
Because of those concerns, eight states have abolished large institutions for the mentally disabled. Another 13 states closed most of their largest facilities, leaving just one open in each state.
But Texas has remained "the institution capital of America," said Charlie Lakin, director of the Research and Training Center on Community Living at the University of Minnesota.
The 13 facilities in Texas house nearly 5,000 residents - more than six times the national average, according to The Associated Press.
On a per-capita basis, Texas has 20.4 people per 100,000 in large institutions, Lakin said. The national average is 12.2 people.
Other states with large populations such as New York and California - which have rates of 11.2 and 7.5 people, respectively - rely far less on large institutions.
Federal law requires the mentally disabled to be treated in "the most integrated setting" possible - a factor that led to the Justice Department rebuke of Texas.
Laura Albrecht, a spokeswoman for the Texas Department of Aging and Disability Services, said the agency is expanding community-based services. Texas officials say keeping the facilities open is a matter of preserving as many treatment options as possible.
But critics allege that "warehousing" patients in large institutions invites abuse. Patients are isolated from their families and communities, making regular contact with loved ones more difficult. And caretakers often get overwhelmed by the large numbers of patients, Garrison-Tate said.
In Texas, officials verified 465 incidents of abuse or neglect against mentally disabled people in state care in fiscal year 2007. Over a three-month period this summer, the state opened at least 500 new cases with similar allegations, according to federal investigators.
An AP investigation earlier this year revealed that more than 800 state employees have been fired or suspended since the summer of 2003 because they abused, neglected or exploited mentally disabled residents.
And in the one-year period ending in September, as many as 53 deaths in the facilities were due to potentially avoidable conditions such as pneumonia, bowel obstructions or sepsis, the Justice Department said.
Some families tell horror stories of their loved ones in the state facilities. For instance, Michelle Dooley said her son spent three months in the Austin State School, which she described as a place of "dingy yellow floors and patients running around without any clothes on."
During his time there, he refused to leave his bed and often languished in his own excrement, she said.
Dooley eventually moved her son into a group home in Denton where treatment costs average about $50,000 per year - roughly half as much as the costs at state schools, Garrison-Tate said. Medicaid often picks up most of those costs.
"It was just horrible," Dooley said. "If he goes back to a state facility, he will shut down and die."
At the San Angelo State School, inspection reports from 2007 took note of scuffed walls pocked with holes, rotting food, dirty kitchens, broken furniture and missing shower curtains.
More seriously, two employees were fired after throwing a resident into a pool while he was wearing a restraint jacket. The employees had made a bet with the resident that he would be unable to dunk another resident under water. When he lost the bet, the employees restrained him and threw him in the water, according to the reports.
Other families say they are happy with the state care.
Neil Davidson said his daughter Susan, who has cerebral palsy and is mentally retarded, has flourished during her 10 years at the Lubbock State School.
"I'm very impressed with the level of care she has received," Davidson said. "As far as I am concerned, it's Mr. Rogers' neighborhood. Everybody is looking out for everybody else."
A visit to the Denton State School, the largest in Texas, reveals a sprawling campus spread across well-kept lawns. Superintendent Randy Spence described the place as a "happy, homelike atmosphere."
"The vast majority of our employees love the people they work with," said Cecilia Fedorov, another spokeswoman for the Department of Aging and Disability Services. "They think of them as extended family."
But Denton is also the site of Texas' most notorious case of state school abuse.
In 2002, a care worker repeatedly kicked and punched a resident in the stomach and groin. Haseeb Chishty nearly died after that beating. He is now confined to a wheelchair and unable to feed himself or use the bathroom.
"It got to the point where it was fun beating him, torturing him," said former care worker Kevin Miller, who is now serving 15 years for aggravated assault.
In a statement videotaped by Chishty's lawyer, Miller said he and many of his fellow care workers used methamphetamines, cocaine and Oxycontin on the job.
Chishty's mother filed a lawsuit against the facility, but it went nowhere. In Texas, government entities are all but immune from lawsuits.
Some critics want to close the state schools. But because the Texas Legislature created each one, only lawmakers can close them.
Many of the institutions are large employers in small towns, and they often pay more than other jobs in rural areas. Lawmakers fear taking action that would lead to layoffs, Garrison-Tate said.
"Even if we said we wanted to close all state schools, the community resources
aren't there at this time," said state Rep. Larry Phillips, chairman of a legislative committee studying the facilities.
Kelly Reddell, the lawyer whose client's son was beaten nearly to death, said the state is not doing right by its mentally disabled.
"The very nature of the institutional setting, I think, creates the environment for the abuse to take place," she said. "How in the world can you think this system is the best and it makes sense?"
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Others countries find ways to help themselves; can we?
It has been 10 years since Bishop Gerardi was a leader in ending human rights abuses in Guatemala - a fateful act of generosity that ended with his assassination.
A decade later, we can look at that case as an example of how absolute power corrupts absolutely -- and not just in Central America, but in all countries that threaten civil liberties, including the post-911 United States. When countries threaten civil liberties, they destroy the psychological self-worth of their citizens, mental health professionals say.
Perhaps no book illustrates the abuse of power, and the ultimate triumph over it, than "The Art of Political Murder: Who Killed Bishop Gerardi?" by Francisco Goldman. Some of the human rights abuses appeared to be sponsored or indirectly sponsored by the Guatemalan government prior to Gerardi's death.
But when he died, so did the country's self-worth - until those responsible were found and jailed, giving Guatemalan citizens a much needed psychological boost. But before that happened, a cover-up that the government indirectly endorsed dragged the nation through a period of degrading limbo during which people were killed and tortured.
It should be noted that, during that time, the United States lent a tacit endorsement of the government's actions - even as Guatemala's leaders participated indirectly in the cover-up of the murder - because they were anti-Communist, according to the book.
Gerardi was not so anti-Communist, thus sealing his fate.
Two decades ago, Gerardi was deported after his life was threatened, but the wicked leaders that supported the corrupt government lost power or died. So he came back, and drew up a report that outlined the abuses.
He threw a party following the release of the report, and the bishop acted as though his life was safe - even though, deep down, he thought otherwise.
On that night after the release, others were worried when he didn't show up for other festivities and then called to check on him. When he didn't respond, people worried.
Another church leader at Gerardi's parish noted he saw a light on that was normally turned off, but was on. He went to investigate and found Gerardi in a pool of blood in the garage. Later, this same church leader - who was eager to show people the body - was charged in connection with the murder.
Sometime before that discovery, local homeless saw a big shirtless man leave the garage. Then another man gave them food that appeared to be drugged because they fell asleep more quickly than usual.
The cover-up was on.
After the murder, the church leader, known as "Father Mario," was arrested. It appeared that government and the potential suspects in the crime - all of whom belonged to the Army - were trying to blame the church or the indigents for the crime. But they also knew something that others didn't want them to reveal: an unknown witness found a license plate number on the car in the garage that led to the connection with the Army and the suspects, who were ultimately charged in connection with the crime. With that looming over their heads, the suspects appeared doomed.
But the troubles were just beginning, really. Prosecutors were biased or scared, and some left the country. Friends of the suspects tried to say the murder was a product of a homosexual tryst and they tried to pin it to the clergyman, Father Mario.
Authorities tried to re-enact the crime. They went over the scene but couldn’t match much to anything. They performed an autopsy and determined that Mario wasn't directly responsible - even though the father spent lavishly after the murder and acted indifferently toward it.
Prosecutors eventually found the man - a taxi driver - who had the license plate number. Until that point, the man was continually getting death threats and he was even kidnapped once. He was considering exile.
Others connected to this case were either murdered or went into exile. A new judge really wanted to get to the bottom of murder, but he went into exile, too.
A break in the case occurred when independent investigators associated with the church and human rights groups found an Army man whose job was surveillance, and he kept records of what happened that night. A new special prosecutor also wanted to move forward on the case, and he found other witnesses, too. The prosecutor - who wore a bullet-proof vest and was accompanied by an army of security detail - discovered that one of the homeless people was actually an Army spy. He saw everything that was happening in the garage. He was told he might be implicated in the crime, but he went ahead and testified anyway.
The suspects were convicted, and sentenced to 30 years in jail.
Justice won, but it took more than just testimony. It took courage for people to rise against their government and determine that the best solutions to problems usually come from the people, and not from power.
