Final Steps
Arriving at McLean Hospital and the OCD Institute — site of so much hope, and so much sadness when Nathaniel’s stay there in 2010 did not last long — brings tears, but only briefly. I am headed to a meeting with the director, Diane Davey, of this intensive treatment program for people with serious OCD and BDD, but as I approach the building, I am aware that I am being warmly received by all of the current residents undergoing treatment. They are assembled in the courtyard outside the North Belknap Building holding homemade signs that wish me well, thank me for my efforts, and urge me on to the finish line. I am overwhelmed. When an attentive silence follows their cheers, I realize I am meant to say something. I manage to communicate the message of hope that my whole pilgrimage has been about.
I then meet with 15 social workers and other staff members of the Institute, including Medical Director Scott Rauch, and they are eager to listen to my plea to involve families more closely in treatment, and to honor the integrity of each person’s struggle. I am impressed by their dedication.
A joyous reunion for lunch in the McLean cafeteria includes Judy, Carrie, Louise, Gary, Conor, and Jennifer (who knew Nathaniel during his stay at OCDI). We begin the walk to the CambridgeSide Galleria Mall, where Nathaniel walked that bleak February day when he realized he could no longer tolerate intensive treatment. He must have felt completely defeated, but he then rallied at home to exert even more effort to curb his obsessions and compulsions, got several jobs, intensified his treatment, and made so many strides in the months following his time at McLean.
During the walk, we get intercepted by a reporter from WBZ News Radio and share our thoughts which get quickly editing right into the 5:00 news hour.
The day ends with dinner from around a makeshift card table in Carrie’s tiny new apartment in Boston which she is sharing with dear friend Nora. Her brother Justin joins us, and we enjoy take out from Whole Foods while notes from a lone horn player in the apartment next door waft through the open window (we are a stone’s throw from the Berklee School of Music…) and we all smile.
By the time Judy and I reach the Marriott in Cambridge, we are more than ready for rest, but the view from the 26th floor and the basket of snacks from room service – compliments of the house – revive us.
Much for which to be grateful. Much still to do. Many people to thank for their support. Tomorrow will be wonderful.
Complimentary snacks!
- From our Marriott Hotel window
I am so sorry about your son, and I admire your courage and strength to bring awareness to this terrible and debilitating illness. My son was at the OCDI when you arrived, and he felt proud to be a part of the rally in Boston. He was happy to participate in something bigger than just himself.
I agree with what you wrote above regarding treatment: “listen to my plea to involve families more closely in treatment, and to honor the integrity of each person’s struggle.”
Thank you also for that.
This is a difficult journey we parents navigate–raising and loving a child with severe mental illness. I wish you peace and comfort.
I know your journey will be remembered by my son always.
Best,
Jennifer
Dear Denis,
I have just become aware of your journey and I am so touched to learn of it. My heart breaks to read of your son’s story. May 25th of this year was 11 years since my dear, darling best friend Bob committed suicide after a life of struggling with OCD and a panic disorder. He was funny, intelligent, handsome, but could only see himself as a person who lived in the grip of his rituals. I have missed him everyday. He also spent time at McLean. I tell people that mental illness can be as life-threatening as cancer or heart disease. The doctors and researchers there were not able to save your dear son or my dear friend, but I hope they were able to learn from them in ways where they can learn to save others.
May you have strength in the rest of your noble journey,
Betty
WOW! Congratulations and thanks for telling your story. I live outside of Boston, but saw your story on CNN.com today. I know the places you mention in your most recent entries well. We are so lucky here in Boston to be surrounded by some of the best medical professionals and facilities in the world. I am so sorry they were not able to save your son, but, with your help, they may be saving someone else’s son or daughter. With your help, I have learned a little more about BDD. I have two almost-teen daughters and a younger son and knowing more about this disorder can certainly be a lifesaver. Thanks for all your efforts. I am sure your son will rest in peace knowing that you are helping relieve the suffering of others.
WOW! Not just an amble down a country lane….feel the steps, feel the love. Way opens….
I am with you all! You can’t see me, but I am with you.