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  Nia tried to pull it together for all of them, to no avail. Once released from the car seat, Mika thrashed in Nia’s arms until she could set him down to stand on the cold pavement. He quickly kicked off his boots, one going directly under the next parked car, unable to be retrieved until the car left.

  They were already twenty minutes late for the appointment. Fernando marched towards the hospital, leaving Nia to cope and carry a child insisting on flailing all of his extremities. Where’s God now? Nia kept asking herself. She was at the mercy of Fernando, who marched ahead in a state of fury and was completely out of her sight. Nia wasn’t even sure if they were both going to the same place. Finally, she made it to the hospital’s lobby and let her son down to continue his tantrum on the floor until he extinguished his internal storm. Exhausted herself, she knelt to the floor, weeping inconsolably.

  Fernando was in the corner of the lobby, observing the strangers trying to assist and console his wife, and didn’t move to help. Finally—after several minutes—both Nia and Mika stood and proceeded to the sixth-floor waiting room.

  They didn’t have to wait long before the receptionist called their name, and she and Mika proceeded hand in hand. Fernando was nowhere around, and Nia felt a sense of relief for that.

  Dr. Scholler made her assessment after an hour of tests and measures.“He’s autistic. His diagnosis is Classic Autism of the Severe Nature.”

  Nia sat in silence as the doctor spoke. She was neither relieved nor devastated, but she believed the pronouncement.

  The doctor continued by giving Nia some tangible actions to follow up with, referrals to resources, books to read, waiting lists to get on, and a follow-up appointment.

  Nia left her office with Mika and finally felt a small sense of relief. She had a diagnosis and a direction to get them all out of the abyss—hopefully.

  She found Fernando reading a Time magazine in the lobby, looking perturbed that she had interrupted the article he was reading. Reluctantly, he placed the magazine back on the table and proceeded to the doorway.

  Nia picked up her one-booted child and followed her sullen husband on the long trek back to the car. She didn’t dare ask for his assistance out of fear he would repeat his earlier performance.

  Later that night, when the kids were in bed, Nia went into the study where she knew her husband would be watching a replay of a Stanley Cup game. The only way she could get his attention was to stand in between him and the television.

  “Move,” Fernando said without raising his eyes off the television screen.

  She held her ground.

  “Move,” he repeated with anger brewing in his tone.

  “No, I want to know what we can do,” Nia said, desperate to get her husband’s attention.

  “If you can’t cope, you should put him up for adoption,” Fernando heartlessly replied.

  Nia left the study to find the full, cold bottle of wine in the refrigerator. She grabbed a glass and the bottle and headed upstairs.

  Alcohol seemed like her only short-term medication to treat her excruciating pain. The wine wasn’t her best friend—even though she was treating it as such. It was her liar, falsely giving her a sense of freedom from autism, from her loveless marriage, and her self-loathing for being a mother unable to be available to love and care for all of her children.

  Nia had never felt more alone, existing in a marriage that felt more lifeless than her daily drinking to blackout. Of course, she realized her part in the mess, but she couldn’t get off her path of destruction. Drinking became her go-to; she wanted to stay numb. She felt overcome with her challenges and sunk deeper and deeper into alcoholism. Nia’s life a lie, and she was being unfaithful to her spirit, which she lost in a heap of empty wine bottles.

  When the numbness wore off—as it always did by morning—shame and self-loathing would become the predators of anything worth saving. And so, the days repeated themselves, and the downward spiral continued.

  Each morning, she’d awaken with the clear image of a pistol pointed to her forehead, and every morning she desperately longed to pull the trigger. Her only reprieve to that ritualistic hostage-taking image was knowing there would be some leftover wine in the bottle hidden deep in her closet from the night before. She began to call that “breakfast.”

  Chapter 37

  November 16, 2008, Continued

  “What the hell! Nia, wake up! Turn off the damn car. Nia! Nia! Nia!” Bri pounded on the hood of Nia’s car. “Nia, you fool, wake the hell up!” Bri continued shouting demands. She gave up on trying to wake her friend up and moved to the back of the vehicle to pull the towel out of the exhaust pipe.“Nia, don’t you or Mika dare die! Wake the hell up, or I’ll kill you myself, you poor sad thing,” Bri continued with her voice now panicked.

  From the intense pounding on the car, Bri could see both Nia and Mika stirring. Relieved, she continued to pound. Bri could see the large bottle of wine and a collection of pill bottles on Nia’s lap.

  Nia was slowly regaining consciousness. Realizing what was happening, she opened the car door to the compassion of her friend.

  “Nia, how could you resort to this? Mika, Mika, wake up, Mika!”

  Ignoring Bri, Nia was concerned that if she were to live, her son would, as well.

  “Nia, did you swallow a bunch of pills? What about Mika? Did you overdose him?” Bri continued her emphatic questioning.

  Nia couldn’t remember and didn’t respond.

  Bri grabbed the pill bottles in Nia’s lap and shook them—all had the lids on, and pills were still inside. “Thank God,” she said. “Nia, you crazy person, you and Mika would be dead if I hadn’t come out to check on the horses. The old farm lady I lease the pasture from called me to tell me a car was parked behind the barn. I came to check out what was going on.” There was only a slight element of relief in Bri’s voice. “Never in a million years would I have guessed to find you here in such a state. Get out of the car, you stupid ass. I’ll get Mika out.”

  The blast of cold air hit Nia’s face like a slap of reality. “Is Mika ok?” Nia could see her son waking up and yawning. He looked around and looked comforted to see his mom, his books, and the half-full bag of Smarties.

  Mika pulled his favourite things out of the car and placed them on the hood to resume his happy, pre-carbon monoxide poisoning activities, apparently undisturbed by the unconscionable actions of his mother.

  Nia, rubbing her foggy head, had to pull herself together and think of a plan before Bri devised her own. “Bri, I know this looks really bad. Things for Mika and me have been beyond hard. Please don’t call 911, please? Mika’s ok. See? He’s eating his Smarties. If the police get involved, they’ll put me in jail or a psych ward. Things for Mika will get much worse. Please listen to me,” she begged.

  “Nia, you aren’t well; you were a few minutes from death, and you almost killed your son. Maybe you should go to the psych ward,” Bri said with conviction.

  “Bri, please don’t call anyone. I promise I’ll get help. I’ll call my doctor tomorrow, I promise.” Nia wholeheartedly pleaded with her friend.

  Bri knew all three of them were getting cold. It was seven at night. Mika’s return time to CPRI was 7:30 at the latest. Looking at Nia, she could see she was desperately trying to shake off her alcohol and carbon monoxide cocktail. “Ok, Nia, here is the plan, but only if you go to the doctor tomorrow. Promise?” Bri was devising her plan of action.

  Nia knew Bri wasn’t going to take lies. She made her resolve to go to the doctor look authentic, knowing full well she wouldn’t.

  “Nia, let’s get Mika in the back seat of my car. You get in the front. I will drive you both to CPRI. You’ll stay in the car and wave to the staff, so they see you. I’ll bring Mika to the door and tell them you feel like you’re coming down with the flu. I’ll also explain to them that Mika didn’t sleep much last night, and that’s why he seems tired. Hopefully, they won’t suspect a thing. What do you think?”

  Nia
, realizing this was life, not death, had to think fast to cover her near-fatal actions. “Yes, Bri, that’ll work.”

  Nia felt an immense sense of relief, knowing she hadn’t opened any of Mika’s or her own pill bottles. The wine bottle, on the other hand, had a healthy dent in it.

  Bri wanted to help her friend, and it seemed the easiest thing to do was to take Mika back to CPRI; no one would know otherwise. The staff could clearly see Nia waving and thought this situation unusual. Still, it was a plausible explanation and proceeded to usher Mika in to get him ready for his bedtime routine. This was the only time Nia was grateful he didn’t have functional language.

  Bri got back in the car and reamed her friend for her unthinkable behaviour. They drove back to her car.

  Nia pulled herself together and stepped out of her friend’s car.“Bri, you were a godsend tonight. I know I’ve put you in a very difficult position, and I am truly sorry.”

  “Nia, you need to get help. You’re a sick person, not a bad person. You have a disease—alcoholism. I’m trusting you to get the help you need. Now get back in your car and stay warm until you sober up.” Bri was certainly convincing with her reassuring words to Nia.

  Nia got back into her car, turned on the ignition, and put down the windows to feel the cold winter air fill her lungs. She flipped open her console and found some gum and a small collection of her music. She picked the Beatles’ album, Abbey Road, and put on her favourite song, “Here Comes the Sun.”

  Somehow, the lyrics always lifted her spirits, and tonight was no exception. While singing the song, Nia took stock of the pharmaceuticals and the Disney DVDs and then repacked the items in their appropriate bags. Realizing she wasn’t sober enough to drive, she leaned back against the car seat and opened the moon roof. She belted out the song “Here Comes the Sun” to the stars and the horses still munching on the hay.

  Chapter 38

  Nia Hits Rock Bottom

  Bri drove to the roadway and blocked the laneway for fear Nia might try to drive her car home. Without reservation, she called 911. “My friend Nia has tried to commit suicide by stuffing a rolled-up towel in her exhaust pipe. I’ve pulled out the towel; she’s conscious. She has pills and alcohol with her in the car and has resisted me trying to get help for her. I’m blocking her car from moving. Please come, please hurry.” Bri gave her location and waited only a short while before a police car and ambulance arrived.

  Nia opened her eyes, not recognizing her surroundings of pink coloured concrete walls. She was alone in a room and could hear the rumbling of shouting and swearing from unrecognizable voices beyond the closed steel door with a tiny mesh-glass window. Where was she? How did she get here? And why was she here? What happened to her clothes, and how did she get the huge bruise the size of Ontario on her arm? The most shocking realization was that handcuffs retrained her hands to the gurney. It wasn’t a night terror; it was real. She could see a clock through the small window: 7:00. She didn’t know if it was morning or night, nor did she care.

  The night before flashed back to her, and she felt a massive wave of nausea she’d never experienced before. How could she have done what she did? How could she have attempted to take her son’s life, let alone her own? Then something happened; an immense calmness came over her. The room filled with sunlight, and she could feel its warmth on her face. She heard God say, “It is alright now. You are safe. I am here. I’m looking after you. You no longer have to fight as you have nothing to fear. Feel my love for you.”

  In the warmth of the sunlight, she opened her eyes and saw her handcuffed hands in prayer with the sensation of His hands pressing over hers. Without a doubt, Nia could feel His love, forgiveness, and the revival of her soul arousing within her. She felt her whole body lose its tremendous tension of resistance. Her body relaxed, and an incredible sense of peace washed over her.

  Chapter 39

  Nia Starts on Her Path of Recovery

  After a few days, Nia found herself in the psychiatric ward. She knew she was in the right place. Nia fully recognized she needed help, that she couldn’t do this alone. She felt grateful to Bri for calling 911. Bri was correct in realizing her actions were a call for help. Nia was beyond helping herself. Alcohol had become her master, and she was the slave. Every day, the craving for wine made her submit to its hold on her. She couldn’t stop drinking on her own. Nia knew she had to be totally removed from it to start her journey of recovery from alcohol, to find trust in the process, and believe that she was finally on the right path.

  Her psychiatric team quickly understood that Nia wanted their help and that she was grateful to be out of her world of chaos. They believed her sincerity, her calmness, and her willingness to trust them.

  Dr. Jamison was her assigned inpatient psychiatrist. After reviewing her clinical history and the state she was in at the time of admission, he was surprised to meet the quieted, humble woman gently smiling at him as he entered room 36B.

  “Hello, Nia. I’m here to help you. To do that, I need your help. Can we do this together?” he asked calmly and respectfully.

  “Yes,” Nia responded simply. In her voice, she heard her determination within composure.

  “Nia, I know you have been suffering for a very long time. You have so many stressors, a big one being your son, Mika, who has autism.”

  Oh God, here it comes. She was waiting for it; she was sure that she would be charged with attempted murder, and Nia knew she wouldn’t deny it.

  “You’re safe now. Mika is safe. Andrew is ok, and Isabella is with your daughter, Aviana. You can rest. We’ll help you get well,” Dr. Jamison said.

  What, no police? No handcuffs? Bri must not have said anything about Mika being in the car with me while I was going to kill both of us. Thank God for Bri, she said to herself.

  After the doctor left her room, and despite being in the “looney bin,” Nia continued to feel peaceful and slept for the rest of the day.

  The next morning Dr. Jamison returned and greeted her kindly. “Hello, Nia. I hope you’re adjusting here. It can be overwhelming for patients at the best of times. I need to know if you feel unsafe here. It’s clear to me that you want to get well. I need to tell you something difficult now.”

  Oh God, here it comes, she heard in her head, but her body stayed calm while she nodded for the doctor to continue.

  “I called your husband. I’m sorry to say he has no interest in helping you. He sounded outraged and hung up on me. It’s clear that you don’t have a proper support system, so we cannot send you home anytime soon. Are you willing to stay longer?”

  “Yes,” Nia whispered while she gazed at her hands.

  “Good, if you were to return home now, you would quite likely repeat what got you here in the first place, only this time without a pulse.”

  Nia wasn’t distraught about Fernando’s response to her suicide attempt. She knew he wanted out of the marriage. He wanted Mika gone, too, and his freedom back. Nia knew that her hospital admission was his ticket out.

  Mika was still at CPRI, and Isabella was with her sister, Aviana. Her husband was finally alone and undisturbed.

  “Nia, I can see you’re not surprised by your husband’s unwillingness to deal with you and this hard situation. It’s obvious to me that your marriage is a big stressor in your life.”

  “Yes,” she replied again while offering a small smile of acknowledgment.

  “Your primary nurse, Victoria, has called your friend Bri, who left us her number should you need anything. She’s coming today with some clothes and toiletries for you. I hope this is ok with you. We want to see you out of these hospital gowns. Getting up, showered, dressed, and having regular mealtimes are all part of getting well. We start with the basics here. It’s great to see you smile a little bit. That’s a good thing.” Dr. Jamison stood and walked to the door. “See you tomorrow, Nia.”

  Nia’s renewed faith was working for her. All she had to be was relaxed and ready to receive help. She felt a tre
mendous sense of relief from not having to try to control anything. Her only job was to get out of her own way and trust the professionals who knew what they were doing.

  Bri arrived after lunch with a fancy bag full of new clothes for her. Security had been through the bag looking for anything sharp, with strings or belts.

  “Bri, thank you for what you did for Mika and me. You did what I couldn’t do for myself, and thank you for not telling the whole truth about the situation.”

  “Nia, I was so pissed off at you. I couldn’t believe what I saw when I drove up to your car. Somehow, my anger quickly turned into a question of how could I help you in this absolute mess. I had to think fast; you were drunk. I knew it was no time to have a rational conversation with you. I had to trust my gut, and that’s what I did. You, kiddo, have to do the rest. Stay here; take advantage of the time to finally find some mindful rest.” With her comforting words, true to Bri’s clarity of purpose, she left.

  Nia finally got up and showered. She felt refreshed using all the fragrant toiletries. After her long, hot shower, she put on her new clothes.

  The next morning Dr. Jamison returned. “Well, I can see you are starting to look better.”

  “Yes, Bri came with a bag full of new things for me,” Nia said.

  “That’s great. I want to reassure you that you are on the road to recovery, and I want you to know I believe in your commitment to our treatment. I also want to tell you that because of your positive attitude moving forward with your recovery, I’ve made a referral for you to see a physician whose specialty is treating health care professionals with addictions. I hope that’s ok with you. I promised we would do our best to help you, and I intend to continue doing just that,” he said.

  The next day, Nia saw a physician specializing in health care professional addictions, who gave her the confirmed diagnosis of alcoholism. The doctor also explained that it was a chronic, life-long disease that would only worsen over time. The treatment was abstinence from alcohol and all other mood-altering substances. She also recommended Nia start immediately with an AA meeting every day. The doctor agreed to arrange for her to have a leave of absence (LOA) from the psychiatry ward to attend the meetings, plus an LOA to attend a weekly therapeutic group for health care professionals.