I recently had the privilege of addressing a group of mental health nursing students at Fairfield University in Connecticut. Their professor, Joyce Shea, had heard me speak with Mary Moller, PRN at the APNA (American Psychiatric Nurses Association) Annual 2011 Conference, and assigned Ben Behind His Voices as required reading for her mental health nursing students. To my great delight, Ms. Shea shared with me some of her students' reactions to the memoir, and invited me to speak with them about how mental health nurses can make a real difference in the family experience when mental illness results in hospitalization.

Silver Linings aren't always visible right away, and sometimes we never find them.  In our family, the silver lining of new friendship emerged this week from an awful event a few weeks ago. On his way to an "anonymous" meeting he has attended for almost eight years without incident, my son Ben became the victim of a crime.  He was thrown to the ground, threatened with what the mugger said was a knife (we'll never know, nor do I want to), and robbed. The kids (two of them, he says) took his keys, his backpack with all his belongings, his cash, and his feeling of safety.  Ben will never go to that meeting again, because the neighborhood now holds these terrifying memories . The silver lining? Well, in finding a new meeting to attend, Ben has finally met some young people his own age who also have had issues with mental health.

I write this to you from Disneyland, where over 1,000 dedicated psychiatric nurses are passing up on Mickey and Goofy in order to become inspired, educated, and even better than they already are at their jobs.  Thank you, members of the American Psychiatric Nurses Association, for wanting to help people like my son Ben as he struggles with schizophrenia. [caption id="attachment_384" align="alignleft" width="170" caption="for attendees at APNA Conference"][/caption] Tomorrow morning I will tell our family story at a "Product Theatre" breakfast meeting, along with an amazing nurse who shares this vision: together we will advocate for the value of teamwork between providers, caregivers, and those with the "life experience" of a mental illness diagnosis. I can't wait.

Last night, Ben came home from an "Anonymous" meeting and shared with me that there had been an unexpected discussion about mental illness, and that (in his words) "about 90% of the people in the room admitted that they have one." I wanted to press for more details - you bet I did - but I've learned not to push the learning. The fact that he chose to tell me this much - without, of course, revealing names or details - seems like a good thing. Did he participate? Did he admit he has an illness, too? Did he feel supported in this group of peers? I didn't dare ask. But I did wonder.

When my son, Ben, finally began treatment for mental illness,  I kept careful notes on all the symptoms I saw between appointments.  At best, Ben would see his therapist and/or psychiatrist for 1 hour a week and was often able to hold it together for that one hour in a much better way than he'd been able to do all week with us.  So I made an effort to fax these notes to the provider the day before the appointment. Some read it. Most did not, citing "no time" as the reason. Really? What kind of session can you have if you don't have all the facts? Families know. They know a lot.

Last night my friend called me from the ER of our local hospital. She is where we were eight years ago: son in crisis, mother in heartbreak, son blaming the mother. Oh, yes. I remember it well. Without dwelling on details that invade my friend's family privacy, I'll sum it up this way. Bipolar. Not taking prescribed meds. Alcohol. Threatened suicide. 911. Rehab desperately needed. Mother hoping. Son, age 26, wavering, now that rehab (which he said he needs) could now become reality.

I write this from Las Vegas.  My son Ben has been living at home with us ever since his discharge from the hospital three weeks ago.  The last time he lived at home was over seven years ago, when his schizophrenia diagnosis was so new and his rebelliousness so out of control.  This time, he is a delight to live with, and wants to be fully cooperative with the "program" we have set up for him - routine, structure, rules, meds. But - for how long? And is this good for him?

When mental illness meets recovery, does community matter? You bet it does. I just returned from a meeting with my son's new support team. This meeting was demanded by the the Wicked Witch (me, in this case), who was upset with the way the transition was handled from group home to supervised independent housing.  In the space of two weeks, I've seen signs that Ben is lost, lonely, unmotivated, forgetful, swinging from depressed to hyper, and probably not taking his meds when he can get away with it. Schizophrenia still looms underneath all the progress he's made. Back and forth went the conversation, over and over again. me: Where was the support for Ben's transition from 24/7 supervision to independent living?