Next week Grand Rounds will be hsoted by NHS Blog Doctor.
If you want a sneak peek at his blog I can think of no better post to read than this one: his eulogy for a friend who had schizophrenia. I haven't been reading this blog long enough to know whetehr he will bring me ot tears on a regular basis. BUt his post is a beautiful tribute to a friend who had it tougher than I can imagine:
And there were achievements. Achievements which, in context, were huge. She was an indulgent aunt. She was supported by, and sometimes supported others, with similar problems to her own. She nursed her mother through a prolonged and at times distressing final illness. Most of all, Emma did not give up. She fought. At times a losing battle, but she fought. Trapped inside this wretched illness, there was an intelligent, kind and witty person.
When I was in college it was the early 80s, the early Reagan years. This was a time when massive budget cuts impacted halfway hmes and centers for veterans and the mentally ill and the homeless. The basic result was that the people who needed those places were booted out during the day and could only come back to sleep at night. Where did they go? They wandered the streets of downtown San Jose or they hung around in the parks.
Going to an urban college with an open campus (and before there was any San Jose Redevelopment movement) we had our share of displaced folks who wandered our campus. I don't recall any of them ever causing any actual trouble. In fact many became mascots of a sort to various departments.
We had a guy who often wandered into the theatre building. I believe he used to be able to play the piano, as he would sit at the piano in the small black box theatre when it was vacant. He would play on the keys, but nothing very coherent ever emerged. I used to give this guy half my routine egg salad sandwhich from the deli across the street. I don't remember him ever speaking, to be honest. Mostly he smiled.
One memory is the most clear one I have of the guy. It was raining and my best friend and I were standing on the corner under our umbrellas across the street form the theatre building. All of a sudden he ran up and kicked water from a puddle on us. We looked up startled, and he ran several steps away, then looked back at us laughing. There was nothing malicious in this laughter. This was the laughter of a young boy who tohught he was playing with us.
If it were the movies I'm sure we would have engaged in a festive splashing fight with him. Best friends forever. As it was we did laugh with him, but then we moved on, crossed the street and got inside where it was warm and dry.
I don't know if this guy actually had schizophrenia, but as I read NHS Blog Doctor's account of his friend and how even her affinty for books and reading was eventaully taken from her, I thought of this guy who haunted the black box theatre, sitting at the piano that he no longer could play, but surely knew that once he could.
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