“Don’t expect normal,” the psych nurse said. “He won’t be able to do much. Don’t let him drive,” she instructed me over the phone.
My brother Scott’s ten electroconvulsive treatments (ECT) are complete. It was his wish, as part of his treatment plan for his severe bipolar brain disease. He’s home now from the psychiatric hospital. But he’s not the same. He is like a robot.
His speech is impaired, speaking in short sentences, using one syllable words. This PhD-in-biochemistry-professor-of-molecular-biology-brother is talking like a three year old. And to hear him breaks my heart.
He’s shuffling through the rooms of our mom’s condo, not knowing who else is in the room. He’s got nine bottles of pills, not knowing what they’re for or why. He’s lost to us in a cloud of unknowing.
Will he get his adult brain back?
Will he get his witty personality back?
Will we get Scott back?
They say he will improve, it just takes time. So we wait with him in the cloud of unknowing.
I pray for Scott’s inner-light to shine through the newly formed cracks in his brain. Dear God, please help him shine. Please heal his brain. Please pour out your loving Spirit on him, like rain on a cloudy day, let hope pour down on all of us…we are broken, too.