One Canberra couple, readers of the Canberra Daily, have shared with me the sad story of how they lost their son to suicide. The tale is worth retelling here, because it is the story of too many Canberra families.
“Robbie” was in his early 20s, sociable and independent, working his way through a university degree when he fell mentally ill. An attempted suicide galvanised his family to try to get help for him, but what followed was 2½ years of struggle to find the right service, the right in-home support, even the right diagnosis of his illness.
Robbie was admitted to various services, public and private, in Sydney and Canberra, mainly through the insistent, anxious advocacy of his parents, but at each stage treatment ended without him being appreciably any better, and without a plan for managing his illness in the community.
At many points his parents were denied information about the progress of his treatment and where appropriate support could be obtained, officials citing Robbie’s right to privacy. This is despite Robbie living at home because he was too unwell to hold down a job or live independently. His condition deteriorated, and other suicide attempts followed.
He was discharged after three weeks in a private mental health facility, but without an ongoing referral to a treatment specialist or to a service that could support him. His family was frantic with worry but had little means by which to navigate what community resource could help him.
And in that dark, lonely limbo, Robbie ended his life.
His parents are frustrated that they were unable to know more about what was happening to him, consistent with the protocols that give a patient power over their own treatment and who can share that knowledge. Those protocols usually work well, but are problematic when a patient has impaired judgement and when appropriate services are scarce and can only be accessed by banging the table and insisting that help be provided.
A middle path needs to be found. Protecting a mentally ill person’s privacy at the expense of their well-being, and possibly their life, does not seem to be a sensible balancing of priorities.
Robbie’s family would have been glad to give up their advocacy – carried out stumbling about in the dark – to a health professional who took responsibility for diagnosing Robbie’s condition and lined up the treatments that he needed to get through.
But no such person ever appeared. Despite two-and-a-half years of asking for help no one ever offered to step up and take on that role. In those circumstances, with Robbie unable to self-manage his condition and his family locked out, there is a certain grim inevitability about how this story ends.
Robbie is gone and his family does not even know what the condition was that killed him. Surely we can do better. Families will always be the first line of defence, but only if they are properly empowered.
with Gary Humphries…
If this story has raised issues for you, call Lifeline on 13 11 14.
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