By Joe 

Over the past two weeks, I have been dealing with a bipolar disorder crisis in my family. Even though I have learned a great deal about bipolar disorder over the years – from working on the book and our blog, from past experiences, and from extensive research – during these two weeks, I have felt like a real Bipolar Dummy.

While fighting in the trenches with bipolar disorder, it has become so unsettling that I have forgotten almost everything I thought I knew and, one evening, I totally lost my cool. I grabbed my wife by the front of her shirt, and angrily asked, “Do you want me to kill you?!” She smiled, I slapped her, and she ran from the house. She stayed with the neighbors until her sister picked her up. Then, she slept at her sister’s house. This was last Thursday.

I know I have a temper, but I had never physically accosted my wife before. Why did I do it? Have I become a wife beater?

Our son, who’s 21, was pretty upset when he heard what happened, too. He wanted to know why his dad slapped and threatened his mom. I felt I was being judged, so I tried to explain. I tried to tell him that I can’t really justify it, but I won’t stand for being judged. I explained:

After mom’s first hospitalization, she quit her job. She was pulling in over half the family income and had both of our kids on her insurance. She quit her job and earned nothing for quite awhile. When she returned to work, she started earning about a fifth of what she earned before. I was suddenly thrust into the position of supporting the family. I have been working 10-12 hours a day 6-7 days a week to make ends meet, and we’re still falling behind financially – borrowing against the house, cashing out a good chunk of my retirement. I haven’t had much of a break over the past 9 years – a couple one-week vacations.

My wife and daughter planned a trip to Spain this summer. They were supposed to leave on June 3 and stay in Spain for 3 weeks. I was happy for them. I love to see my wife and our daughter spend good quality times together. My wife loves to travel, speaks fluent Spanish, and was going to be hooking up with a couple old friends in Madrid.

Knowing they would be gone, I took on several extra projects to earn some extra money.

Shortly after the school year ended (my wife is an ESL assistant), she began cycling into mania. We knew the warning signs and tried to get the doctor to give her something to “bring her down.” ” We notified the doctor that my wife was getting higher and higher on Wednesday, May 28, and he saw her on Thursday, May 29. He prescribed Lyrica to help her sleep. This was “too little too late” – like giving a placebo to someone who needed a horse tranquilizer. She continued to get higher and higher until she eventually signed herself into the hospital on Sunday, June 1.

I had to cancel her scheduled flight. I called the online travel company through which she purchased the tickets and spent about 4 hours being bounced back and forth between the agency and the airline, neither of whom would take the responsibility for the refund due to medical emergency. (I did finally manage to get this resolved over the next couple days.)

She was released from the hospital and I picked her up on Tuesday, June 3. She seemed much better. The doctor told her how important it was to take her medications and sleep. She seemed to understand how important this was.

Tuesday night, she did not sleep. Granted, it was storming all night, but she had meds she could have taken more of to sleep.

She became more manic on Wednesday and got little, if any sleep again. On Thursday, she talked to her therapist. Later, after the appointment, I talked to the therapist, and she said she thought my wife was “a little high,” but better. I wondered whether we were talking about the same person.

During the course of the week, I believe I was also becoming increasingly upset about the fact that I was working hard to make her happy and she seemed to be doing everything she could to make it impossible for me to work. I know it’s an illness, but it drove me over the edge to think that all she had to do was fly to Spain and have an enjoyable three-week vacation with her friends and our daughter, while I was working myself to death to pay for it all. All she had to do was take the meds she needed to sleep and stop stirring up trouble. I was the one doing all the work.

Thursday is the night we had the fight. My wife was asking me about my “girlfriend,” insinuating that I was having an affair. (I wasn’t, haven’t, and am not.) She then proceeded to bring up other issues that I believe she knew would really get to me. I think that’s when I snapped. She used these verbal/emotional attacks before to draw me into fights, so I should have just ignored it. I remember giving advice in our book about not letting your loved one engage you in arguments. Well, I snapped. I did something I shouldn’t have.

Thursday was the fight. On Friday, she returned home. She had talked to her doctor. According to my wife, the doctor told her to stop taking the Risperdal and the Lyrica that was supposed to help her sleep. He prescribed Topomax to help with the mania. She hadn’t picked up the prescription but would do so first thing the next morning. We had a pleasant evening together. She seemed better.

Unfortunately, she still wasn’t sleeping. She claims she slept from 10pm until 5am, but every time I woke up (at least 5 times), she was not in bed. I’m guessing she slept maybe an hour the entire night.

Saturday morning, before 6 am, I heard her calling me from downstairs, “Joe, Jooooe!”

“What?” I asked.

“The people are here.”

“What people?”

“You have to come downstairs.”

I dressed quickly and came down the stairs to find three sheriff’s officers standing in my living room. My wife had called 911!

One of them informed me that my wife had called and said she was afraid of staying in the house. He took me outside and asked what had happened on Thursday. I told him the story.

By this time, our son had woken up and come out of his room. He is 6’ 8” and over 300 lbs. One of the officers, seeing the size of our son, asked him whether he would be willing to ensure the safety of his mom. Our son said, “Sure.”

As the officers were leaving, I started gathering the phones. I was afraid that as soon as she had an opportunity, she would be calling the National Guard. As soon as I grabbed the first phone, my wife headed out the door to tell the officers.

One of the officers came back to the house to inform me that they would be driving her to the local hospital. She would not agree to sign herself into a mental health clinic, so the doctor called and obtained a court order. My wife now has a mandatory minimum 3-day stay at the clinic. The doctor has placed her on Lithium and Seroquel.

Sunday night (June 8), she called home crying. She did not want to take Lithium and Seroquel. She was on these before. She had gained weight, had night sweats, and couldn’t think clearly. I feel bad that she experiences these side effects, but I think the doctor is doing the right thing. The alternative is unacceptable.

Several hours later, my wife called again. She sounded better. She was sorry for everything. That’s always a good sign. When she is manic, she never says, “I’m sorry.” I am sorry, too.