This time things were different. I felt defeated even before I had started. I thought we were going to lose Jan for sure, and I did not see how I or anyone else could bring him home this time.
I remember holding on to Jan and not crying. During the journey Jan would sniffle occasionally, terrified that I would let go of his hand. I did not, and stared at the back of the driver’s seat. To this day, I cannot remember the colour of the back of that driver’s seat.
There were many things to think about during the journey. We were thankful no one had been hurt. Then other thoughts surfaced. Were we going to lose our home? Was my brother going to prison? How would I get him out of this one?
Jan, frightened and ill, did not make a sound. He sat quietly all the way, and seemed to be growing weaker. When we arrived at the hospital, they placed him on a wheelchair with his hands cuffed, and tied down his legs. He stayed quiet through it all. I kept a firm hold on his hand.
We were brought to the Accident & Emergency Room.
My family had arrived at the hospital by car, but had been made to stay outside in the waiting room. My parents were sick with worry and exhausted.
They had done too much of this campaigning and crusading. Even glorious generals retire from the front-lines at some point, and pass on the torch.
The 4th Step
My brother and I were put in a kind of holding cell in the hospital, where we waited with a number of officers. Some of them were nice enough. Noticing that Jan’s lips were chapped and blue, they offered to get him drinks and asked if he was hungry.
Then Jan was brought to see the doctors. Once they were done, we were transported to the police station.
I soon discovered, to my consternation, that they meant to lock Jan up in a cell overnight. So I marched right up to the officers and demanded to see their superior.
I was referred to the inspector who had taken charge of the case. When I met him at his desk, he seemed unwilling to talk and somewhat hapless. So I demanded to see his superior. (They must have thought I was such a charming and sociable person when I made all these demands.)
I would have been prepared to meet nasty stomping furry ogres if it meant I could bring Jan home.
This officer – I had been too peeved to take note of his exact rank, but its title had a “superintendent” someplace – was an aloof, stony-faced man with a subtle sneer about his mouth and a dismissive look in his eye. Perhaps he saw a naïve little girl who meant to tell him sentimental stories to try and convince him that her brother was not a criminal. He was right.
He began to talk about how my brother had committed an offense, how it was all standard procedure, how they could make no exceptions, and so on. I simply looked at him. I was not angry, nor was I sad. I was only determined.
‘Jan does not conform to your policies nor standard procedure,’ said I. ‘Maybe if you stopped a moment to think about what you’re doing, you’ll understand what I am trying to say. Jan’s upset now, and he’s ill. He’s never gone to bed not surrounded by family. If you put him in that cell overnight alone, not only will you be doing something cruel, you will also be doing something counter-productive because that would just make him even more upset, and when you give him back to us very upset, do you think good things will happen? You’ll be dealing him emotional and psychological damage. What’s more, he’s an autistic boy. Who knows what this damage will do to him or how he will react. You’ll be dealing my family further damage – don’t you think that enough damage has already been done?’
He paused, then tried to sound out anything that seemed like a loophole in my argument, searching for weak links. I kept right on talking. I was not letting my brother become a prisoner.
Finally his expression softened and he heaved a sigh. For a moment he looked weary. Under that stiff, jaded, condescending exterior roughened by years of life and work, he was, really, a reasonable man.
He relented and made a couple of phone calls. I was then told that my brother would be released, on the condition that the Institute of Mental Health (IMH) take a look at him if he was unwell.
The police transferred the case to the IMH, and there Jan underwent a thorough examination. The doctors found anomalies in his liver, and that his blood pressure was too high and his pulse abnormal.
I must have had thanked him, that officer whose rank I cannot remember. I cannot recall now. If I had, I do not think I had thanked him as an officer, but as a person and a human being.
Jan came home.
The 5th Step
There is a simple reason why it is not easy to bring my brother to the hospital. Jan is very strong.
I do not mean anything poetic or symbolic by this. He really does have a great deal of physical strength. He has displayed this uncommon strength ever since he was a tot.
Jan was born with an inclination to find syringes and medicine bottles repulsive creatures. As a baby, come medicine-feeding time, the grown-ups would bind him with a swaddling cloth such that his fists could not punch and his legs could not kick.
So what does he do? He twists and turns his neck such that the syringe containing the medicine cannot be brought near his mouth.
