xxx.....xxx... a little blue pill xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxa little blue pill Carol  knew something was seriously wrong when her husband tried to baptize the parakeet. This was spring 2000, when Carol and x been taking a controversial prescription drug which was causing the once easy-going family man to exhibit dramatic changes in personality. He became obsessed with the Bible and would often walk about his west-end home and law office quoting from the Book of Revelation. Calling himself the Spirit of Truth, he sprinkled one of his children, the family dog and the cat with ``holy'' tap water. On one occasion, he tried to bring back an elderly man from the dead. Last September, his family had him admitted to the Clarke Institute of Psychiatry. Released four days later, he sued his mother, sisters, brother, a doctor and a former client for $15 million. Today x 48, is still practising law. He is living with another woman. His ex-wife and children have been on and off welfare and he has drained almost all of his 84-year-old mother's life's savings. He recently declared bankruptcy. And his family contends it is all because of a little blue pill. Its generic name is methylphenidate, often sold under the brand name Ritalin. While it's considered effective in the treatment of Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD) in children, if snorted, injected or used in higher than recommended doses, it can produce effects similar to amphetamines or cocaine, says Pearl I, a pharmacist at the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health. And the mere mention of it brings tears of rage to Carol's eyes ``The xwe all knew and loved is gone and my life has been shattered because of Ritalin. . . ,'' she laments. She knows firsthand the pain that Ritalin can cause - she herself became addicted. ``I've been devastated emotionally and financially by what's happened to x,'' adds x's mother, Dr. L who has had to move in with one of her daughters. x, meanwhile, can't understand why his family has turned on him. In a recent interview, he describes himself as a deeply religious man who ``may be the spirit of truth.'' Given the right circumstances, he says, he can revive the dead. He tried it in a house where an elderly man had collapsed and died. x adds that this particular resurrection, a few weeks after the man had been buried, failed because the wife of the deceased ``didn't want him back.'' ``I told them that it was all right to cry for him, because he was at peace,'' x recalls. According to x, Christ has repeatedly visited Earth, inhabiting the bodies of such geniuses as da Vinci, Handel and Shakespeare. But one need not be a celebrity to experience a visitation from on high. He says he once saw Jesus riding a bicycle on Jane St. in the guise of a 90-year-old man. The man was a dead ringer for the Mona Lisa, and looked a lot like the newly discovered painting of Shakespeare. And the pill that x's wife claims destroyed his family, he labels a blessing. He says Ritalin helped him to become ``more assertive,'' and ``focused,'' adding that he hasn't needed it since last fall. ``I couldn't have done this restructuring of my life without it,'' he says. x says his law practice is extremely successful, billing $10,000 a month in fees, and adds that he pays $2,000 in monthly support for his former wife and children. He filed for bankruptcy this spring after his statement of claim against his mother and sisters was struck down by a judge who described his litany of allegations as ``long, rambling and largely incoherent.'' The x family's nightmare began in early 1997 when Carol became concerned that her eldest child wasn't doing well at school. Her psychiatrist gave her the name of a Toronto child psychiatrist who was known for his rapport with adolescents. That child psychiatrist diagnosed the boy as suffering from ADD and prescribed Ritalin. Soon afterward, Carol brought another son to see the doctor and she was told that he also had ADD. He took home a prescription for Ritalin, too. Within a short time, Carol became curious about the little blue pill. ``I could see one of my kids wasn't really improving and the other said it gave him headaches and made him feel sick. I'd heard a lot about the drug and I wondered what it would do for me,'' she recalls. After ingesting one Ritalin tablet, she felt so energetic that she cleaned up the kitchen in five minutes. Soon, her husband tried his son's prescription as well. Then, he asked his psychiatrist, who had been treating him for depression, to prescribe Ritalin for him. The psychiatrist agreed but that summer, the couple decided to switch to their children's psychiatrist, who explained that ADD runs in families - and gave them each a Ritalin prescription. By 1998, the xs' only daughter and S's brother were also on the drug. ``x thought Ritalin was the answer to everything,'' Carol remembers. She herself was popping the pill every hour. ``It made me feel really good,'' she recalls. ``I had all these grandiose ideas about things I could do, so I started making all kinds of crafts. But I couldn't finish things. I also felt irritable. And if I didn't keep taking Ritalin, I would feel depressed.'' But the drug, she says, was having quite a different effect on her husband. x had never been especially interested in religion. But now it was his obsession. He began neglecting his law practice and his family to work on a video game which he believed would teach Christian values to teenagers. He has set about finding investors in the video game and to date has raised $48,000, he says, adding that he is still working on the game. In an e-mail to David Mainse, pastor of Canada's 100 Huntley Street television ministry, x says that extensive study of the Bible led him to conclude that the Day of Judgment is near and Christ will soon ascend to his throne in New York City. ``For various reasons, I happen to believe that Christ lives not far from here (in Toronto). . . . When the story of how he spent the last 2000 years is told I am certain everyone will agree that he deserves a rest. I think he has done his part,'' x writes in this July 19, 2000 correspondence. Once he found religion, his family became irritants, Carol remembers. ``He went from this kind, caring, loving man to a very critical person, where neither I nor the kids could do anything right.'' She turned more and more to Ritalin to cope. She became hopelessly addicted, often taking as many as 40 pills a day, more than four times the recommended dose. Carol sometimes stole pills from her husband and her own children. In the early summer of 1998, ``after hitting bottom,'' she entered into an eight-week detox and rehabilitation treatment program. After her release, depressed and desperate, Carol switched to another psychiatrist, who prescribed Dexedrine, a stimulant similar to Ritalin which is also used to treat ADD. She was hooked on it within eight months. x, she recalls, was taking large doses of Ritalin and, for a time, also took Dexedrine. She says he had become so obsessed with the video game that his once $90,000-a-year salary tumbled to just $22,000 in 1999. Several times, he moved out of the family home to sleep in the basement of his office, only to return home again. Convinced that his problems were largely caused by Ritalin, x's eldest sons, mother and wife contacted the children's psychiatrist and asked that he be taken off the drug. In February, 2000, after the psychiatrist failed to do so, the family filed complaints against him with the College of Physicians and Surgeons of Ontario, the regulatory body governing doctors. The children's psychiatrist told The Star in a recent interview that ADD is widely underdiagnosed. He would not, however, comment on the complaints except to say that he ``categorically denies'' the allegations. His medical practice continues to be in good standing, according to a college spokesperson, and the family's complaints have not yet been dealt with. In July, 2000, x moved out, leaving his wife and children with no money, a hefty mortgage and $30,000 in unpaid bills. His behaviour and religious obsession worried his mother and two sisters, who noticed he had lost weight and looked ill. So x's mother, sisters and a brother had him committed to the Clarke Institute of Psychiatry last September on the grounds that he lacked the competence to care for himself. He was diagnosed as suffering from a ``bipolar manic disorder, a substance- induced psychotic disorder, a substance-induced manic episode and amphetamine intoxication.'' The institute kept him involuntarily for a 72-hour assessment and asked him to remain a day to finish tests. After that, he signed himself out and filed a $15 million lawsuit against his own family for having him committed. He later amended it to $800,000 and at one point offered to settle with a brother for an apology and lunch at his favourite restaurant. It was the start of a series of actions within the family. x then filed his own complaint to the college against his mother - a family doctor who went to medical school after raising her eight children and who retired in 1989 at age 71. He accuses her of illegally writing prescriptions for herself and family members. When his sister a, a lawyer who works for a government agency, learned her brother had tapped their mother for some $250,000 in loans and loan guarantees, she complained to the Law Society of Upper Canada. x fought back by complaining to the society about a, saying she was ``either a criminal, delusional, or both.'' He tried to get a and his other sister i, a York University technician, fired from their jobs by writing to their supervisors. ``Our intentions were to get him help . . . and we can't seem to get it for him,'' i said of the reason she filed her complaint with the College of Physicians and Surgeons of Ontario. The Ss have so far spent more than $30,000 fighting x's lawsuit, which Justice Anne M called a ``long, rambling and largely incoherent set of allegations made by the plaintiff against his mother and siblings.'' In his lawsuit, x says that being arrested and taken to the institute had a profound effect on his psyche, and a dramatic effect on his ability to earn a living. The detention, he says, was based on ``lies, delusions or deliberate distortions,'' which caused him to ``miss dinner (and) an evening with friends.'' x claims he was ``born into a home of neglect,'' and that his mother had dedicated her life to ``personal self-fulfilment'' rather than the emotional needs of her children. M struck down x's motions, but she said he is free to come back to court with a new claim after he pays the $6,000 in costs she awarded his family for fighting the case. ``It's been a nightmare,'' a says, adding that the family is convinced Ritalin is the root cause of her brother's dramatic personality changes, and that's why they've gone to such lengths to get him the help they believe he needs. But x believes it's his family who needs help. ``My relationship with them is not very heavenly and it's not my fault,'' he says. When his sisters pleaded with him to change psychiatrists, x said he had no problem. x filed for bankruptcy in May of this year, owing almost $400,000 - including the $135,000 loan which his mother had guaranteed as well as the $6,000 he was ordered to pay his family for the failed lawsuit. He blames his wife for his financial troubles. Dr. L, with the help of her daughters, tried to recover her financial losses from the law society. In her complaint she said her son ``fraudulently or negligently'' deprived her of her life's savings. But x claims this is just her cynical attempt to punish him for not giving her enough attention when he was a boy. In a letter dated May 18, 2001, three days after x filed for bankruptcy, Doug Kr, head of investigations at the law society, wrote that officials were closing the probe after investigators found nothing wrong with the way x was operating his practice. Today, the entire S family has stopped taking Ritalin. Carol S has borrowed money from her family to enable her to remain in the family home. And x continues to work on his religious video game and waits for Christ to return - again

16.6.04 22:13 Permalink / comment

The People That I Miss Most In My Life - Christine fficeffice" /> My mother and I were at my sister's grave yesterday. Just to remember her and wish her a happy birthday. Neil and Beverley were there also. It was a beautiful sunny June day, not hot or humid, but pleasant with a strong breeze that caused brisk fluttering of the leaves on all the beautiful trees and bushes in the cemetery. I miss my sister. Yesterday was her birthday. Christine would have been 51 years old. As it is as she died not long after her 40th birthday, she will never grow old. She was my dearest friend, my confidante, we laughed together, we cried, we tripped the light fantastic together. I am sorry to say that when Christine grew sicker, I should have been there more for her. I was busy raising my children and immersed in family life, so I know that it was not always possible to be with her, keep her company, but of course, I could have done more. I find it so difficult to remember Christine, she seems like an eternity away. Is that wrong? It makes me sad that I don't feel her so close to me as I used to. Aside from my mother, or perhaps as well my mother, she is the most courageous person that I have ever known. With ravaging and unrelenting persistence, the cruellest thief took her legs, her hands, her freedom to get up and go, it caused the failure of basic toileting functions making her so very distressed and embarrassed, finally it had started to chip away at her brain, her memory, her focus, her understanding. Through it all, my plucky sister maintained her dignity under such wretched odds. Luckily, for Christine, as I am sure she would agree, MS finally enabled the only possible outcome and finale - infection which ended up overwhelming my poor little sister and causing all her organs to fail, one by one. I will never forget the day she died. ffice:smarttags" />November 10th 1993, a Wednesday, it was also the day of my daughter's confirmation. Normally this would be an occasion that our family and friends would celebrate; much as we tried it was arduous. We went to the church at about 1900, and all the while, I was playing the waiting game, a guessing game. Is she gone yet, has she died, is it over, is Christine dead, has she taken her last breath? You see she had been mortally ill for a number of days; MS had compromised her entire system. She had pneumonia, again. She had lapsed into a coma for 6 days. Ahh, my wonderful mother had resisted the route of the chronic care facility and kept Christine at home until the bitter end. It was a bitter, horrible end, most especially for my mother who nursed her daughter to her death. Christine did not go quietly into the night. She laboured, struggling for breath in the last days. Thick bloody mucous flowed from her respiratory passages with unrelenting tenacity. Thankfully, a palliative care nurse was assigned to help care for my sister in her final few days. This was a blessing for my poor mother as she would not leave my sister's side, save for an occasional walk or breath of fresh air. Another uncanny blessing is that the nurse, who was about my mother's age, had originally come from the very same place in East Prussia as my mother. Unfortunately, I never met this woman, but after it was all over, I took great solace in hearing of my mother’s praise for her, and God, my mother needed someone as precious as that nurse. My mother never saw her again. She left after cleansing and preparing my sister’s body, her job so lamentable but done so exceptionally. Obviously this nurse was an exceptional human being. Well after my daughter's confirmation finished, we trooped home. A couple of friends who were at the confirmation had reached the house before us. They looked very heavy-hearted. My sister-in-law, Sue, quietly said that she had received the inevitable call, Christine had died. Robert, my brother, was on the way to her home. My poor, dear daughter started to sob uncontrollably. No doubt, she had internalized the fear, the angst and heaviness of her aunt dying, whilst experiencing the occasion of her confirmation. I tried to comfort my girl, but I was numbed but in such a desperate way and I needed to go to my mother. Her dad took over, as did the family friends. I felt so bad, so mean for leaving Kyla when she was so distraught, but at least her dad was trying to soothe her. When I got to my mother's home, the atmosphere was thick with the anticipated grief, but more of shock and profound bewilderment. I hugged my mother so desperately. She led me into Christine's room. Ohhh, Christine..... I looked for signs of peace in her face, hoping that perhaps she had seen that light and gladly gone toward it. But no, her eyes betrayed the pretty sister I had known and loved. Slightly open, glassy, empty, dead. Obviously all that was the essence of Christine was gone. Hey, no big surprise! I felt her hand, it was cold, but her body was still warm. I stroked her forehead and told her how much I loved her and how much I miss her. I told her how infinitely brave she had been and that I know how wonderful she will feel in that special place where all suffering ends forevermore. I got up on the hospital bed and lay beside her. I don’t know why, maybe just to let her know how much I wanted to comfort her. Funny, because she no longer needed comforting, it was her loving family who desperately needed solace. Of course then I told her that I was so sorry, I should have comforted her so much more, done so much more for her. Maybe I should have laid beside her in her bed and read to her, or just held on to her. I believe that I stayed with my sister for about 30 minutes that day. I really have no idea how long it was, time stood still.. I don’t recall the scene outside of Christine's room after my time with her. There were many sobs, faces fraught with desperation and tears, but all of us were so quiet, so still. Beverley, a long-time friend was there, as was Christine’s friend of some time, Neil. Neil has MS also, but was less compromised than Christine was back then. I think the worst part of that awful day was when the funeral home attendants came with the trolley to take Christine away. My heart ached, shattered into a million pieces as I could hear the black naugahyde body bag being zipped up. I was in the room, but God at that point I could not look. My poor poor mother, oh how I could feel her agony, her grief, her desolation....to see her daughter being wheeled away by the two strangers albeit pleasant strangers who were appropriately concerned, but very professional. Oh my dear mother, how she wanted to go with Christine, as if she were still alive, but knowing that she was no longer alive. To think of her child being taken away, after all these years, alone to a cold strange place, as if she was still alive. I felt it too. It was brutally horrendous, one of the saddest moments in all my life. How can we, my mother, me, my brother, how can we possibly endure this grief, this torment? .

14.6.04 01:51 Permalink / comment

The Highway to Hell 1996:  It was really stupid to try that Ritalin tablet.   Two of my sons had been diagnosed as ADD, which in the end was a lie.  Then I was diagnosed then the ex.... how stupid was that!  Was that doc/shrink/turd in the pockets of the drug company or what?  If is wasn't enough, he would prescribe more, practically asking me how much did I think I should be on.  The ex, well whatever the ex wanted, the dr. H. would say OK.  You want to try Dexedrine?, OK well just substitute a Dexedrine tablet for a Ritatlin tablet....yes you can mix and match!!!

30.5.04 11:27 Permalink / comment

Goodbye LIttle Max, I\'ll Never Forget You..(the story of a miscarriage at 11 we  Well, Sunday was Mother’s Day and that’s when the cramps started. The next day the bleeding started, ever so mild, just like the cramps. I feel sad, frightened, with just a little hope. It’s 8 am Tuesday morning, the bleeding has turned from old brown to dark red and the cramps are more frequent. Time to go to the hospital, I guess. Take a taxi, cry all the way behind my sunglasses. It is a beautiful, sunny May morning when all the spring flowers and trees are beginning, but I feel that the new life in me is ending. They are all very nice to me here in the hospital emergency room, telling me that it is not my fault, that it was probably not meant to be. x had cried really hard when she spoke to his mum on the phone this morning. They do a pelvic and tell me that the cervical os is still closed. Maybe a good sign. "Threatened Abortion." not yet Inevitable. Lets do an ultrasound. Oh, its not good here. She’s not saying anything: the’s not showing me the little bright sticks that were the legs and spine of my little Ca when he like Max, was eleven weeks in my womb, or that flashing little light that was his beating heart, and to top that off, she calls in Dr. W. to continue. "I don’t suppose you can tell me anything"? I say futilely. Well, its best to correlate blood results etc. etc." Oh, what’s the use. Back to Emerg and wait, wait. At last here comes that pretty young resident. "Let’s find a room where we can talk". "What’s the bad news?" I say. "The bad news is that there is no foetal heart." Hoping against hope, I knew that it would be bad. She offers me her shoulder in comfort. Next the OB/GYN comes - she’s nice too. Tells me that the natural rate of miscarriage is about1:4 and that having had 4 healthy kids, I had beaten the odds, but now my number must have come up. "You need a D&C, but the os is still closed, and the bleeding has stopped, so it can wait a couple of days. You can go home and I’ll have your Doctor call you." So I go home. x and I cry. It is so sad. Our little Max is dead and our next expected treasure will not be. I nap, feel drained, I have cried trillions of tears today; are there any left? Yes, Oh God, the cramps are really bad now. Its’s suppertime and look at all those big, bright red clots. I feel scared, I don’t want to haemorrhage to death. Lucky for us, our kindly neighbour, a new father himself, tells us to go, he will look after the kids. I sit in the car with cramps. This may be what labour pains are like. Having had four c-sections, I never experienced major labour pains. It comes in regular waves, I grit my teeth, I bang desperately at the window. I could stand it, if only a living baby would be at the end of it. But now all I want to do is get rid of this excruciating pain. Now I am back (they should have just had me stay there)! "OB/GYN is a zoo tonight, but Dr. F. will be down as soon as possible". I.V. time, blue gown time, lying on uncomfortable stretcher time. x comes in looking shaken (took a long time to find a parking space). We hold hands, we sob, There is nothing much to be said. You better go now there are four kids waiting at home and they need you. Bye, I love you. I am getting really annoyed, its’s been 90 minutes , no analgesia yet. I wouldn’t mind the waiting, I know only too well what hospitals are like, but oh the fucking pain! I just want it to end. My little foetus be it malformed or not, is dead and I hurt like hell, wave after bloody wave. Finally lots of warm sticky gushing. I call the nurse. Finally Dr. F. comes. "75mg. Demreol and 50 mg. Gravol." Some relief at last. Dead to the pain, up to the ward, doped up until D&C time. Goodbye little Max. I am so sorry that we didn’t grow together, that you didn’t meet Ty, K, Sn and wee Ca, your wonderful daddy and nanny. You would have been so loved. You are so loved. We are sorry. I will never forget you. 2 p.m. Wednesday. Finally, D&C time has come. I remember those 2 times before when the Pentothal whooshed over and I woke up in post-op pain but to find out that I had borne beautiful babies. Those times were rewarded. Not today. Wake up, it seems like only minutes later. Pain, nausea, more blood. More Pitocin. Back to the ward. I have to stay overnight because I lost a lot of blood. But I think back to being a patient now for the next few hours, rather than the painful reality of being a grieving mother.

28.3.04 03:00 Permalink / comment

Max part 2 I found this at the time when I experienced my loss.  It struck me like a arrow through the emotional heart. I MISS THAT CARRIAGE I am your mother; your carriage to life holding you safe and protected inside We move simultaneously together keeping each other company Even though there is no protruding evidence that you are within me I house a constant reminder that you are there - a part of me. When you arrive my arms become your carriage to carry you to and fro So that we can experience this world and you growing up together. There must be another carriage somewhere with larger welcoming arms Inviting you and others for a lifelong ride to someplace we don’t know. You step out of my carriage and off you go on a journey to another existence I remain here weary and sad wondering why you had to go. Wherever you are I hope that you think "I miss that carriage - that mother of mine, she was the best there ever was!" I miss you so badly too! I miss being that carriage Your loving hostess and carriage to life. With deepest gratitude to the author Donna Dilley Chicago, ILL.(1988)

28.3.04 03:00 Permalink / comment

Diamond in the rough! It's a BeeOOFULL DAY mummy, beoofull day. It is truly a wondrous experience to hear innocent little ones speak, especially my own yuns. This is what wee Sean burst out with one spring day just befor Cal was born in May. So Sean would have been almost 3 and I can still hear that beautiful little voice. Sean (the symbol I gave him was a sparkling diamond) was a funny little character. Perhaps being the middle child of 5, he felt that he needed to be larger than life to be noticed. He had this annoying habit of making wierd grunting sounds when he wished to piss off his brother and sister. He also would antagonize his younger bros at times. I hate to admit that I lost my temper more with wee Sean than any other of my little yuns. I believe his troublesome temper was his attempt to seek attention for himself even if it was negative attention. But you know, that at this point in time, my Seanny is the most caring, considerate and kindest of all my brood. I think that he was the 'glue' child during our horrendous family descent into drugs and madness (courtesy of ahole and me). There were a number of resources of family members of addicts at rehab. One such resource was a youth support meeting and simultaneously the parents (the addict and significant other) would meet in another room to discuss and learn parenting techniques all in the perimeters of the world of addiction and rehab. There I learned about the roles that family members naturally assume, I believe in normal family life as well as in family traumas. I still have the notes from rehab, but they are stored somewhere deep in the recesses of the basement, on purpose. This lesson was also explored in the youth group meetings as well as the parent meeting. Sean and Callum attended the youth meetings as they fit into the age range of 12 to 18. They, especially Cal did not wish to go, however after the first meeting I was thrilled to see that they both came out looking quite exhilerated. Their comments were that it was so good to talk about all the family shit with the other kids who were going through the same sort of shit and therefore understood. Cal said how despite the fear of embarrasment, he spoke up and realized that he felt better getting some things off his chest! Back to Sean: during the period of 1998 to 2000, July 12 when the ex again fled the family, Sean was the kid who always was checking up on me. Am I alright, have I started supper yet as dad is going to be home soon, we had better clean up the kitchen before dad gets home......Sean wanted his parents to stay together, the family not to split up, for everyone to be alright again. Poor wee Sean, my heart aches when I think of what his father and I put him and his sibs through! Sean skipped so much school during 1999 when his was in the eleventh grade that he ended up leaving school and not finishing that year. Why was he absent so much? Was he going to the mall, hanging out with buds, NO!...My poor 17 year old was experiencing aches and pains and illness and symptoms and thus making his own way to his Dr. Then he would come home at the appropriate time. Sometimes earlier saying that he was not feeling well and had to come home. It was only in retrospect that I realized that this was his way of checking up on his family, namely me, to make sure that I had not displeased his father who would once again threaten divorce and leave the family. Sean was the fixer, the child who tried desperately to make his mother better and make his dad the way he used to be before he started to take ritalin. Sean you are a most excellent and beeoofull son. I love you dearly and I am so sorry.

15.3.04 00:59 Permalink / comment

The Bitter End of an Era There was a picture of a renaissence lady holding the severed head of a dastardly male.  Somehow this picture disappeared (with my photoediting skills I am that lady and the head is that of none other than my ex!).    What can I say....after 20 years of marriage and FIVE children, he left me, no money...I had to fight for support for me and the 4 sons who stayed with me in our home....I had to go on welfare....he left me July 11, 2000 and cut off all communication.............AND THIS MAN IS A LAWYER! PHOTOEDITING IS A GREAT ESCAPE AND I CAN RECOIL AND ABHOR...this may seem childish, but it does help with the anger, the bitterness, the confusion, the betrayal, the agony....

21.2.04 11:00 Permalink / comment

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