52: Cracking Under Pressure

"Susie, why did you have to get poor Angelo involved in this mess?"  Betty, Angelo's wife, called me a few days after the article hit. "You know he can't handle this pressure." Betty was worried about Angelo's state of mind. He had given up practicing law these last ten years or so in favor of real estate. Handling people's problems, like lawyers do, is not for everyone. If someone cannot wall off the job from their real lives, or operate unemotionally they may become troubled. Actually, I was getting worried about Angelo too. The enormity of Frank's problems combined with his severely declining health, the unbelievably uncaring attitude of not only the court, the hospital and the community, but of his family also, have all combined to make us all incredulous at the cold, callousness of the human race, in particular when it involves money. It is said that money is at the root of evil for many people, but it seemed Frank's family and his wife's attorney in particular.

Angelo was calling me several times a day to rant about his pressures. He was also calling Matt at work constantly. Matt has a stressful, high pressure job and needs to be able to concentrate. I tried to tell Angelo that even I don't call Matt unless it's important. This didn't stop him from calling Matt several times a day. Even when Matt would try to explain to him that he couldn't talk at that moment, Angelo would become offended, thinking that Matt was not respecting his time, and would continue his ranting anyway. Even Matt's co-workers were complaining about Angelo's constant disruptions at work. He was ruminating on the case; how he wished he hadn't taken the case on,  how he hated Fargo, and how the judge was conspiring against us, how he wished he could trade places with Frank and just mentally disappear.  He was becoming paranoid about everyone, including Matt and me, and he began turning my own parents against me. Angelo needed to be able to put it all away and only deal with it when he needed to; that's what lawyers do. He wasn't putting the case away when he wasn't working on it, he was thinking about it constantly and everything became personal. He began talking about the bill and how much the case was costing him, professionally and personally. He claimed he couldn't take on new cases because this one was taking so much of his time. Every time he brought it up, it was some skyrocketing amount even though he knew Frank was destitute. Angelo became so irrational that I began suspecting either drug abuse or a personality disorder. Even my children began complaining about the constant deliberations in our home. I found myself hoping that Angelo wasn't going to drop by, because his behavior was becoming emotionally overwhelming. Every thought that entered his head became our emergency and must be acted on immediately. The stress was affecting everyone, which permanently damaged our relationship.

"I'm so sorry Betty, I had no idea it would come to all this." I apologized. If I had known it would become this complicated I never would have allowed him to get involved. I think we need some reinforcements. We're hiring another attorney to help Angelo." Matt and I knew that Angelo was in over his head on this. A divorce should not be this complicated, or continue for six years when there are no assets to fight over, and Angelo was becoming increasingly paranoid. At Angelo's insistence, Matt called an associate who was a federal agent. He told her about what was going on at the courthouse. Local government corruption wasn't really her thing, she investigates drug rings, but she recommended an attorney in Delaware County who was a former federal agent, Tom DiLiberto. A local attorney that the judge was familiar with could also help even things up for us. Matt called him, told him why we needed him, and asked him to go to court with Angelo. Angelo sent over the load of briefs and filings that had been exchanged up to this point. We never even met with him before our day in court, but he inspired confidence with his direct and efficient demeanor.

Our day in court was coming up soon; three weeks from the day the article was in the paper. Angelo began sending out subpoenas. Fargo claims that she answered interrogatories about the divorce. Interrogatories are questions that each party are supposed to answer about themselves and mostly about their finances. Fargo refused to allow Kat to answer any new interrogatories, claiming that it was done already six years ago, but she wouldn't let us see them because they were in storage. Nicholas Zinc told us that there were no interrogatories done so we knew that she was lying again. Then she said that Tammy Cavalier had them. Angelo subpoenaed Nicholas and Tammy Cavalier to get their testimony about the missing interrogatories, so then she said that they were lost.

Angelo, Matt and I were still looking at all angles to gain us some psychological ground with Fargo and the judge. Since it was mid-October, election day was right around the corner. We called every candidate running for judge in Delaware County to point out our article in the newspaper and offer our support if any of them would like to use the court's misjudgments in Frank's case against them. We got three call-backs that showed interest in our case. What it was going to amount to, I wasn't sure. There hasn't been a Democrat judge elected to Delaware County Court since the year 1789, or something like that. I'm not sure if Frank could change that, but if any of them wanted to give it a go, we were offering our support. We were trying to get a packed courthouse to show support for Frank. I was counting on these few candidates to show up, the reporter, one of Frank's brothers, and their aunt and uncle. I envisioned the aunt sniffling into a lace hanky and me comforting her with an arm around her shoulder. I thought maybe someone could make audible huffing sounds when Kat testified. I was actually worried for Angelo that they would charge him with contempt of court to punish him for the article. Angelo had us so paranoid, I didn't put anything past these people.

Meanwhile, Frank was still in the hospital. They weren't using the restraints as often because we complained to everyone in the hospital. They had to have extra staff to take care of him. We often saw someone in there feeding him or helping him walk in the hallway. That was the best they could offer though. He needed nursing home care with activities and therapy. The social worker at the hospital hadn't been able to find a place for him yet, but at least the hospital seemed to have a better attitude toward Frank's care.

51: Frank Hits the Print

"Susie, did you see it?" Angelo called me, shouting into the phone, first thing in the morning.
"See what?" I ask.
"The article, it's up." Angelo is excited beyond words. "I wish I could be a fly on the wall at that courthouse today."
I was just walking into work. "You're kidding, oh my gosh!" I had butterflies in my stomach all of a sudden. It's a scary thing to go public. We were opening ourselves up for scrutiny and airing our dirty laundry for all to see. Also, I didn't know if the judge would retaliate against me or Frank in some way, it was a risk I felt we had to take. I threw my purse down on my chair and started up my computer. After waiting a couple weeks for this article, I had kind of forgotten about it. It didn't hit the paper as fast as I thought it would, so I was wondering if the reporter had changed his mind. Maybe he was just waiting for a slow news day. Either way, he didn't warn me that it was coming. He never contacted me again, even after I sent him a thank you email for showing concern for our plight. I guess because it wasn't personal, he's just doing his job, and moving on to the next story.

The article starts out describing his visit to the hospital. He said that he told Frank that his sister-in-law sent him, but Frank looked at him with incomprehension as if he was trying to figure out if he was a person or a thing. Then he described his physical appearance, thin and pale. Next he says that Frank has Frontotemporal Dementia, an incurable and progressive disease. That's all he says about it, but if the FTD Association had collaborated on the article, it could have been more, and this will haunt us. He goes on to call the judge out by name for finalizing the divorce while Frank was in prison and unrepresented in court and he says that Fargo is "alleged to have engaged in an unethical conspiracy to deny this patient his rights." He also calls Kat out for having an affair with another man. So we pretty much covered all the players, and now they all have a reason to hate me.

By 10am there are comments posted on the article. The very first comment muses that Frank must have been an alcoholic, because no one ever has dementia at age 51. This upsets me, especially that it's the first comment and anyone reading it will be influenced by this one thing. I call my contact at the AFTD again to see if they'll change their mind about getting involved now that the public thinks that FTD is from alcohol abuse. I plead with him to post a comment from AFTD to dispel this myth officially. Again, the director feels that it goes against their mission to educate the public about FTD by educating the public about Frank's FTD. She says that she can give me information and I can post it myself. This causes me to fire off a nasty email to her:

I'm sorry that you feel this way. It's a wonderful time to comment on the misconceptions that occur with this tragic disease. The first comment to post on the article felt that he must be an alcoholic to have dementia at age 51. This deeply offends me and I felt that your organization should be the ones to set things straight. If I post, it seems that I'm only defending Frank because we're related.

I am deeply disappointed that you do not feel, as I do, that this would be a great time to make the public aware of AFD. You have no idea how long it took us to find a diagnosis for Frank. Most people have never heard of someone so young with dementia. He had been to a psychiatrist, psychologist, neurologist, general practitioner and finally a three week stay in a hospital psych ward before we finally knew what was wrong.

You could have made a difference for so many people experiencing this same thing. I'm sorry that you are not the advocates you claim to be. Keep your pamphlets, because by the time someone needs them, they already know all they need to know the hard way.

The issue is debated all day about whether Frank was an abuser or not, how men are treated unfairly in divorce, someone posted a nice message about being a caregiver. There were many comments that were extremely personal. One said that they knew Frank and he was abusive, one said that since my children went to private school that I should be able to afford to take care of him and gave out personal information about us. It was quite obvious that the Green family were posting up a storm. I didn't want to get involved in fighting in an online forum so I restrained myself from responding, which I'm sure drove Kat nuts. Right before I went to bed I checked the comment section one more time to see if there was anything new and there was one last comment posted at 11:00pm. It said that Frank should "kill himself like his mother did". This one actually frightened me with the hate and viciousness. I reached for the mouse and clicked off the web page as fast as I could, as if a snake had just popped out of the screen. This is not information that anyone knows about us and could only have come from Kat or Little Dick (see entry 18). I went upstairs to tell Matt that I think he should see it and by the time he came downstairs and we logged back on to the article, the comment had been removed by the newspaper. Matt was concerned enough to call the reporter the next day and he expressed shock at the horrible comment and said he was sorry we saw it and that he removed it right away. Matt told the reporter, "Well, now you know what we've been dealing with. The Greens are trash. Frank wanted to get married and he married the first thing that came along, to his detriment."

Speaking to a reporter about a very personal issue was a difficult thing to do; it goes against my nature to draw attention. We were outraged at what was perceived by us as the judge, lawyer and courthouse employees working in concert against us, and I was grasping at anything I could think of. I believe that calling into question the groups integrity forced the judge, who had only been on the bench for two years,  to realize that she needed to end this game that she was letting her girlfriend, Fargo, get away with and get serious about the job that she was elected to do.

50: Publicity for Frank's Case and FTD

"This shit is starting to piss me off." I'm not usually like this, but this is getting ridiculous.
Frank is lying in a hospital tied down to the bed 23 hours a day, I think he knows Matt, but I don't think he knows anyone else There's no place to put him that accepts Medicare around here. We've tried. The social worker for the hospital is calling us every few days to see how our search is going. Almost as if she hasn't tried anywhere herself. Every time Matt asked if she tried different places, she acted like she hadn't thought of that one yet. These are places in a 30 mile radius that she hasn't tried; we're wondering just what it is that she does. She speaks the lingo they may be looking for and we don't, so we have to push her to call. She just wants to put pressure on us to figure it out. The hospital administration is putting pressure on her to get rid of Frank. They can't help him and he's costing them money now because Medicare stopped payment for him.

It's July, we were supposed to have our "emergency" hearing for spousal support for Frank that we tried to schedule in February. The woman in Domestic Relations at the courthouse must either really hate Frank or really love Fargo. The hearing we asked for in February was scheduled for April, but that got cancelled by Fargo and rescheduled for July. Now, Fargo says she has a "medical procedure" and it's been re-re-scheduled for October. I guess Delaware County's idea of an emergency is different from ours. From being tied to the bed all day, Frank can no longer walk without assistance. Matt pointed out to the nursing director that there are regulations regarding restraining a patient, she thought that if it was for his safety that she could just keep him tied up all day. They explain that they don't have the staff to take him to the bathroom and feed him all day, so they put him in diapers and put a tube in his stomach to feed him from a bottle. Complaining to the judge in our case does absolutely no good, she couldn't care less, and she let Fargo get away with canceling another hearing. It's inhumane, and I'm getting quite angry.

I called the Disability Rights Network to complain about the treatment we are receiving by the courthouse. Maybe we're doing something wrong, because this doesn't seem right. They do actually listen to Frank's story and call me back two days later to say that they can't take his case. They can only take on so many cases and this one doesn't meet their criteria. I call the ACLU next, they listen to my story, but are not interested. I call the Association for Frontotemporal Dementia. They listen to my story,  but decline to get involved. They tell me that they really only do education, like giving out information to patients and caregivers. I explain that Frank still has DUI charges pending because he couldn't follow the series of instructions the officer gave Frank to test for DUI. Despite having no alcohol or drugs in his system they refuse to drop the charges. If they want to give education, how about giving education to the police forces in the area about dementia and how it can be mistaken for DUI. No, they can't do that either. This truly disappoints me because they could have really made a difference just with this one topic. But they tell me that they can give me some information if I want it. I politely decline. I called the Alzheimer's Association and tell them Frank's story. They don't advocate, they just give out information they explain to me.

"Okay, now why do they do all this fundraising if they don't actually do anything?" I ask Angelo.
"I guess to pay for all those pamphlets they give out." Angelo offers. "Susie, maybe if we get a reporter interested in the story, you know, shed a little light on the case, the judge will feel some pressure to stop siding with her girlfriend Fargo."
"Well, I've made so many calls already, what's a few more." I agree.

I start with the Philadelphia Inquirer and Daily News. I send emails with this crazy story to every reporter listed on the web site. I'm sure they get tons of people thinking they have a story. I don't get even one reply back. I contact the local newspaper next. Again, I send the same email detailing Frank's deteriorating condition and the unfair treatment we have received by the courthouse employees and judge. I explained the missing documents, the hidden divorce decree without notification, the judge's refusal to appoint a guardian for Frank even though the court's own psychiatrist said he was incompetent to stand trial, the delays in our "emergency hearing", allowing his physical condition to decline in prison for something we're not even sure that he did, but we are sure it was in retaliation for asking for alimony, Fargo telling the judge that Frank never paid child support even though it drove him broke, also telling the judge that Frank was the one holding up the divorce because he wouldn't sign the papers even though we have letters from Fargo, in writing, saying that she will not agree to any settlement. Fargo lies so much I think she doesn't even know the truth any longer and I've had enough of their abuse of poor Frank. He can't carry this torch any longer, but we can, and we're fighting back.

I park my car at work on a Wednesday morning and I am about to go inside the building when my cell phone rings. I pull it out of my purse and look at the screen and see it's the newspaper. I'm so excited, my mouth suddenly goes dry. "Hello?" I ask with trepidation. My voice shakes a bit. I know this could be really big or a really terrible mistake, but I won't know until I do it.
"Hi, Susie?" the caller asks.   "Yes" I say sounding more excited than I feel.
"I'm a reporter and I'm interested in the story you sent me about your brother-in-law."

He asks a lot of questions. He wants to know about my relationship with Kat, if Frank was abusive in any way that I know of. I explain to him the phone call she made to Matt recently where she described Frank's anger at the vacuum cleaner. If there was any anger directed at her or the children, she would have said it then. He asks about the courthouse and he says that everyone knows that Delaware County has a corruption problem, but no one knows what to do about it. He does warn me that if he writes this story, we may not be happy with the outcome. He explains that he's done this type of story before and sometimes the public opinion is different from what one expects and it actually has negative consequences. I discuss this issue with Matt and Angelo later that day and we all decide that it can't get much worse for Frank and this may be just what we need to level the field a little bit. Maybe some sunshine on these people will help end the torment they have put Frank and our family through. The reporter was very thorough. He spoke to Angelo even longer that he spoke to me and Angelo gave him all the briefs and correspondence that he had that related to the case.

The first thing I did was call my contact at The Association for Frontotemporal Dementia. I was really excited. I told him, "You say you are interested in educating the public in FTD, well here's your chance. Talk to this reporter about what this thing is so the people reading the article will know what FTD is. I think it will give a great dimension to the story and bring some publicity for what you do."
"Well, I have to talk to management first. I'll get back to you as soon as I can." my contact explained.
"Well, okay, but don't take too long. He's writing this story now." I say.

I get a phone call back from him about an hour later and he says. "Sorry, they say they can't get involved in legal issues."
I am absolutely incredulous. "Are you kidding? This is your opportunity to do what you say you do in a big way. How could you let an opportunity like this go? There are people out there just like us, going from doctor to doctor, trying to figure out what's wrong and not finding answers. It took us four years to get a FTD diagnosis. You don't even have to talk about Frank, just give a general statement about what FTD is."
"Sorry Susie, the director declined. She said she can't get involved." the guy explains to me.
"Well, tell her I think she's making a huge mistake. I truly question her commitment to her job and her stated mission to help people find information. I am terribly disappointed."

I get an email back from the director:

Thank you for contacting us, and I am sorry to hear about the situation with your brother in-law Frank. The Association for Frontotemporal Degeneration is a non-profit organization whose sole mission is to advocate for people who live and work with FTD. Our goals include: promoting public awareness of the disease; providing information education and support, to people diagnosed with FTD their families and caregivers; educating health professionals such as, doctors, nurses, and residential facility staff; and supporting research into treatments and ultimately a cure.

A key part of our mission is to help people find the information and support they need to manage the effects of FTD. One of the most useful things we can offer is a connection to others who live or work with the disease and are willing to share what they have learned. Please consider this message an introduction with an open invitation to check back with us whenever you need help finding resources or support.

I think AFTD can be most useful in this situation by offering information about FTD and dementia care to your family or the attorney handling your brother-in-law’s case. I encourage you to direct people to our website and anyone is welcome to contact us via the helpline by e-mail or phone with questions. I have also attached an overview of FTD as a pdf which you are welcome to share as you want.

We do not have the resources or qualifications to do advocacy on an individual basis beyond providing information but I have included some links to other resources below. Because FTD is rare there is not a lot of professional expertise available and often the real experts are other caregivers who may have faced some of the issues you are confronting and are willing to share resources and support. This may be most helpful in terms of finding a long-term care facility able to provide Frank with the care he needs. We list caregiver support groups and medical centers with expertise in FTD on our website at the link below and I encourage you to contact the people listed for more information.

They want to give information to people who already know they have the disease; that's the easy part. By the time this thing is diagnosed, we already know more than we want to know. I have no choice but to accept this; we go on with the article without them.

49: FTD Regression

"Three-forty-one . . . three-forty-one . . . SET . . . HUTHUTHUT!"

Frank is in the dayhall, or former living room, of the group home that he has been accepted into. This is a large room with a television on the wall and chairs lined up in rows for the residents to sit and watch tv. There are about six people in the room, including Frank, and two aides.  He must have been hallucinating again. The aides said he began announcing play calls before he ran at the row of chairs and started throwing them around the room. The chairs lined up in neat rows must have appeared to be players on some imaginary opposing team, blue plastic uniformed football players. Maybe he's reliving his past glory days when he was one of the stars of the football team.

The director of the home was very generous to give Frank this opportunity to live there and for having the compassion to help him get out of prison. According to her, he was near death from starvation after not being cared for in prison. She did her best to help him gain back some weight and become stabilized on medications. He needed more time, but he wasn't going to get it. This was actually the second episode of inappropriate behavior in only a month. One of the residents told Matt later when he went to pick up Frank's things that the first incident happened when the aides were laughing at him and Frank became angry at them and threw a chair at them. When Matt asks the director about it she denies that this was the reason for Frank's episode. He had begun this behavior of sitting and standing over and over again which annoyed and distracted everyone around him and could have been the cause of the first incident. After the second incident the director called the police and an ambulance and Frank was taken to the local hospital.

This downward spiral that began when he lost his job with AT&T and his wife began seeing another man, continued. Frank couldn't catch a break. The physical stress and emotional anguish he had endured for these last six years had to have taken an enormous toll on him. Maybe he would have gotten frontotemporal dementia anyway, but he is 51 years old and I can only wonder if he wouldn't have gotten it so early or so severely if he hadn't been tormented by his wife and the court system.

Matt and I arrived at the hospital three days after he was taken there. We inquire about his room number and we are directed to the sixth floor. Matt and I step off the elevator into a bustling ward. The lively hallways are filled with staff and carts, and noise.  Most of the staff smile and say hello as we pass; a nurse asks who we're there to see. When we tell her, she says, "Oh, he's our favorite patient, and he loves the ladies!"
"Really?" I ask. I'm kind of surprised that he can still recognize an attractive woman.
"Yeah, especially Donna, she's his favorite. He eats best for her." the same nurse responds.
I look over at the nurse who is blushing. She's got big, long, blond permed hair and a cute face. She's pretty, not in a subtle way.
She just smiles and says, "We're taking good care of him."
They direct us to Frank's room which is just at the corner near the nurse's station. We walk in and he's just lying there staring at the wall.
"Hi Frank" Matt says "How ya doin?"
Frank looks at Matt without seeming to recognize him, then looks away and continues scanning the wall in front of him with his eyes.
We notice that he is tied to his bed in four-point restraints. Soft velcro ties are around his wrists and ankles which are tied to the corners of the bed. He can't move, he can only lay on his back. There is a tv on right next to him, but he doesn't look at it.
Matt goes out to ask the nurse about the restraints. She explains that he fell out of bed, so they keep him tied down when no one is there. She said that they come in and walk him to the bathroom several time a day and they untie his hands while he has his meals. They have to feed him though, he doesn't feed himself. He is so malnourished that they will be inserting a feeding tube into his stomach to help him gain some weight quickly.

While Matt is gone, I sit next to Frank and hold his hand. I began chatting about the weather and the kids, and anything that pops into my head. Frank's eyes scanned the wall behind me even though I was right in front of him. Every so often he would look at me hard, like he was concentrating on my face, then he would look away again and scan the wall. This is the first time I have seen Frank since that day in municipal court when they put him in jail. That was only three months ago, but the difference is shocking. His weight, his facial expression, and the frailty is not something I was prepared for.

48: Last Will

Air Force Thunderbirds

The summer before Frank was arrested, we took him on vacation with our family to our beach condo in Ocean City, Maryland. It was the annual Ocean City Air Show and we knew Frank would love it, because, of course we do too. He loves anything military, especially Army, from his time being in the Army Reserves. We sat on the beach with a cooler of sandwiches and drinks watching the air show over the ocean all day. Highlights were the C-130 cargo plane, it's amazing to see that enormous plane flying by. The F-18 Hornet is just absolutely thrilling when it flies by and you hear that incredible sonic boom a few seconds later. The star of the show is the Air Force Thunderbirds. They do those amazing tricks and fly-bys and it was definitely worth waiting for. That night on the boardwalk the Navy Seal Parachute team parachuted down onto the boardwalk and jogged past us and into the event tent. Those guys are true rock stars, and each one more handsome than the next. It was a great time and thinking back I am so happy that we were able to spend some good times with him while we could.

That weekend we thought it was time to talk about his will. It was hard to bring up, but something that we realized was necessary. Not that he had any money or any items of value. The few things he might have had were left at his house the day he had to leave it when Kat got her PFA. There is a divorce settlement pending though and we were expecting that at some point in the future Kat would be forced to pay Frank what she owes him, just a basic dividing things down the middle settlement, but it could be a significant amount of money. Matt said "Frank, we have to talk about your will."
Frank answered, "I'm going to live forever. I feel great."
I said, "I know Frank, I feel the same way, but it's good to be prepared anyway."
Matt asked, "What do you want to do Frank, you want to leave everything to your kids?"
Frank answered, "yeah, that's good."
I said to Matt later, "Why would he want to leave his kids anything. They know he's not well and they don't care. They could call him if they wanted to, they're not little kids any more. He spends more time with us and our kids than his own. We're his family now. I think we should suggest leaving everything to his beloved niece and nephews; you know, the ones that actually care about him and spend time with him."
"Susie, you know how much he loves Frannie and Eric. In the end, I want them to know that no matter what they did, or didn't do, that their father still loved them more than anything in the world. It doesn't matter how long the distance or how deep the hurt, in the end, they were still the most important thing to him. That's what a father does, and that's what Frank would want." Matt explained.
He has a good argument, but I'm a little angry at them and I wish I could ask them to explain themselves. "Frances hasn't called Blaise since he asked her to call her dad for his birthday, and she dropped him and Brett from Facebook too. What's with that?
Matt insisted, "Well, after we pay off his debts, there probably won't be anything left anyway, but I'll try to make sure there's a few dollars left so they know he still thought of them . . . and Kat will know that if she hadn't dragged this out for so long that her kids would have gotten all the money right back instead of it going to your cousin's attorney fees."

47: FTD Patient Admitted to Group Home

"How's it going Frank?" Matt asks Frank brightly, trying to sound positive while visiting him in jail.
"Good" Frank answers in a robotic kind of voice. His voice sounds a little different; like a higher, weaker tone. He's lost a lot of weight too, and his eyes look sunken and dim. He's probably down about forty pounds from when he first was arrested less than two months ago.
"We're trying to get you out of here Frank. We're looking for a nice place for you to go." Matt assures him.
"Okay" is all Frank says.
"You lost a lot of weight; what's going on? I thought you liked the food here." Matt has never seen Frank this thin.
"They're stealing my food." Frank answers.

Matt is shocked at the difference in Frank's appearance and demeanor. He looks over at one of the guards standing nearby. He offers, "Yeah man, he's kind of having a rough time now. All his buddies left and there's a whole new crew here now. They're giving him a hard time, I think it's been rough on him. We have to keep him in his cell for his own safety."
It was the interaction with the other prisoners that helped improve Frank's condition initially, but now,  being kept alone, basically in solitary confinement, languishing in his cell, has had a horrific deteriorating effect. Apparently Frank is not the only person this has happened to. A lawsuit has been filed against the Pennsylvania Prison System for keeping mentally ill prisoners in solitary confinement without proper medical care.

A social worker for the prison called and asked us if we found a place for Frank to live yet. He explained that the warden doesn't think Frank belongs in jail and wants him out. Perhaps he is as alarmed as we are at Frank's dramatic decline. Frank has been found incompetent to stand trial, so there is no reason for him to be in jail other than the judge will not release him to us; maybe with good reason. There is no question that Frank is debilitating in prison though and we need to figure something out. I'm perplexed why the social worker is asking us if we've found a place for Frank, when it's his expertise. He must not even be trying. I called "A Place for Mom" but the best they could do is a half-way house about three hours away in the mountains near the Delaware Water Gap. It's a beautiful park and camping area, but we would rarely be able to visit and they provided no nursing care, just a bed in a home. That would not be a long term solution. Finally, based on a recommendation from the social worker, Matt called a group home right near the prison. It's a regular house in a regular neighborhood, but it's been converted to a nursing home with ramps and a big parking lot and houses about ten people plus two staff and a nurse. The director, to our surprise, agrees to interview Frank to see if he's a suitable candidate for the home. We get great news that she will "take a chance" on Frank; her words. She reported back to Matt that Frank is "dangerously malnourished". She said that she felt that Frank was in imminent danger of death by starvation if we didn't get him out of George Hill Prison quickly.  This woman is our new hero.

The only hold-up is that the home cannot accept someone with criminal charges against them. Through the social worker, the director of the group home communicated to the warden that the charges need to be dropped. The warden called the judge in this case to let him know. This is not the woman judge from Domestic Court, this is a male judge from the Civil Section assigned to Frank's PFA violation.  This judge seems like he's trying to be fair; unlike our experience in Domestic Relations. He realized that Frank needs this group home, but he can't drop the charges himself. He has to call Fargo. Fargo has to call Kat who, in her passive-aggressive manner,  refuses to drop the charges.  The judge had to call Kat and Fargo into his chambers for a meeting in person to berate Kat into doing the right thing.  I don't know what he had to say to her to get her to do it, but knowing her, it took a lot of pressure. Meanwhile, while all this negotiating is going on, there's an empty bed at the home losing money. The director told us that we had three days before they were going to go to the next person on the list. This was just one more way that Kat could hurt Frank and I have no doubt that if she knew of the three day time limit, she would have taken four to make her decision.

Two months after arriving at George W. Hill Correctional Facility, Frank leaves looking like a hollow shell of the person who went in.

46: FTD Divorce Under Suspicious Circumstances

The letter to Fargo's office was headed with "third request". "Please forward to my office all orders and correspondence related to the court hearing dated April 7."
Angelo was trying to get to the bottom of what happened at the secret hearing on that date that involved Frank but we weren't invited to.  Angelo saw it on the courthouse's web site of previous hearings. Three weeks after he asked for the order of the hearing to be retrieved from the court files, he got a phone call from the cabal of secretaries in Domestic Relations that his file was ready to be picked up. Angelo went that very day, an hour drive into Delaware County, to the office of Domestic Relations where the women work who thought it was so funny when we showed up for the canceled hearing.
"Hello, I'm here to pick up this order." Angelo hands the woman the file number. She turns and looks through the files for a few minutes and says, "I'm sorry, it's not here. Did someone tell you it was here?" the woman asks innocently.
Angelo is fuming already. "I just got a call this morning! What do you mean it's not here?"
"It must be in the judge's chamber, try over there." she offered.
Angelo was shuffled around the courthouse from one office to another; being passed around like gossip at junior high. He finally ended up at the office of the District Attorney to complain. The woman in the office looked at him like he just landed there from planet Mars and asked to be taken to her leader.  Angelo was beginning to feel like he was on another planet. He hadn't practiced law in a while, but when he did, in Philadelphia and New Jersey, he had never run into such an unscrupulous bunch as these people. He had no choice but to leave empty-handed after being told the order was lost. What was   in this order that no one wants him to see?

He continued pressure on Fargo to hand over the order, as she is required to do, because the secretary never did produce a copy for us. Two months later, after the appeal period was over, Fargo's office finally sent a copy of the order. We found out that Kat and Fargo had their secretary friend, the one that thinks this is all so funny, set them up with a court date to finalize the divorce before our hearing, thereby rendering our request for spousal support immaterial. So, she had our hearing cancelled yet held one of her own without any notice to Frank's home or attorney. The transcript was even more unbelievable. This divorce has been unfinished for seven long years because Kat refused to sign the papers because it would mean handing Frank money. The first thing the woman judge asked was "Is this divorce uncontested?" Because she noticed that neither Frank, nor any attorney to represent him, was there. Fargo answers, "ummm . . . the other side hasn't shown up. We don't know why."
Here is Fargo lying under oath with Kat standing silent right next to her. They both know exactly where Frank is, in jail, because they put him there. The judge asks no more questions and finalizes the divorce. Fargo asks the judge for Frank to pay her $2500 in attorney's fees and the judge says, "why don't you take $3,000 just to make sure you have enough to finish up." Fargo thanks her and it's over.

These are two women who know each other very well, they are both on the same committees and boards and they both went to the same law school as well. I can't imply that there was collusion, but to finalize a divorce after seven years when the plaintiff or his attorney wasn't even there is a little questionable, especially when this very same judge refused to appoint Matt guardian of Frank at a previous hearing. It should have been postponed at the very least.

Angelo appealed the decision so we could move ahead with our request for support saying that our hearing could not be stayed for not having a guardian, while her hearing moved forward. Our appeal was set to be heard in July along with the support hearing with the same judge. Meantime there was alot of papers flying back and forth. Angelo wrote a brief with our issues and Fargo had to answer. The main question was why weren't we notified about this hearing. Fargo said that she sent a notice to Frank in prison and she had to assume that he read it. Angelo answered back that if you knew he was incompetent to have a hearing for the spousal support, why would you think he would be competent enough to be the sole receiver of a notice of a hearing to finalize his divorce. She answered that if Frank were truly incompetent, there would be a doctor there to read it to him.  Her answer that she admits that she sent notice of the divorce hearing to prison is a direct contradiction to her sworn testimony in court that she had no idea where Frank was, which is a crime known as perjury. Finally, she expects us to believe that she feels that there are doctors hanging around the prison reading mail to people and making sure their attorneys are notified of any pending legal proceedings; it's preposterous.

45: Appointed Guardian of FTD Patient; for Frank's Sake

"Plaintiff's request to be granted 'guardian ad litem' denied. I suggest you take it up in Orphan's Court."
That was the ruling by the first judge that let Nicholas Zinc out of Frank's case which was the first time Matt asked to be made guardian for Frank, just for the divorce case. Guardian ad litem is not a full guardian, it's just a guardian appointment to be able to negotiate on behalf of someone for a particular area, but not everything. We really didn't want to be fully responsible for Frank at that point mostly because I didn't really know how liable we would be for him. Say he gets into an accident and gets sued, or does something negligent; would we be legally responsible for any hot water he found himself into? Matt had gotten turned down three times by two different judges in Delaware County Courthouse to be appointed guardian ad litem. There was no reason given, but all three times they told us we had to go to Orphan's Court. Orphan's Court is for full guardianship which would give Matt the power to conduct any and all business on Frank's behalf. After we did some research we found that a guardian cannot be sued or held financially responsible for any debts or liabilities so we decided that since Frank was found incompetent and Matt was going to have to go to court for him, that he would have to go to Orphan's Court after all.

Fargo was using Frank's incompetence against him. She had our hearing for spousal support cancelled because she told the docket clerk that we couldn't proceed without a guardian. The woman who works in Domestic Relations that seemed to be working for Kat's attorney, rescheduled it for three months later, now a total of eight months to wait for an emergency hearing. Still, two Delaware County Judges refused to appoint Matt guardian. We decided to go around them and go to our own courthouse where a person can still be treated fairly.  Orphan's Court in Montgomery County appointed Matt legal guardian of Frank after reviewing all the medical evaluations we had. Normally, the incapacitated person would be there also, but since Kat had Frank jailed, that was going to be difficult. Someone from the courthouse took the hour long drive up to the prison and interviewed Frank. It was a slam dunk after that. Matt was appointed legal guardian by the court of Montgomery County and had papers to prove that he was legally able, and required, to look out for Frank's best interests. There was no one better suited to do this because Matt took his responsibility for Frank very seriously. He took Kat's and Fargo's victimization of Frank very hard. There was no one but him to try to get justice for his brother. He could see that Kat paid Frank what he was owed financially, but he could never right the wrongs she committed to him and the children emotionally; all for Frank's sake.

44: FTD Support Hearing Goes Awry

"Let's see . . . ummm, no; there's no record of any hearing today. Are you sure it was today?" The woman at the court clerk's desk takes off her reading glasses and looks up at Angelo quizzically. Meanwhile another woman in the office is standing behind the front desk off to the right side and we hear her on the phone. She's looking directly at us, like she's speaking to us, but she's on the phone. "Yeah, they're here now . . . yeah." she giggles.

Our emergency hearing for spousal support, that we've been waiting five months for has suddenly been cancelled with no notice or reason. Apparently someone in the office thinks it's hilarious though. What does Mulva Fargo do to get the courthouse personnel to tamper with cases for her, I wonder.
"Who do you think that woman was talking to on the phone?" I say out loud to Angelo and Matt. We all already know the answer though.  No one even answers me.
Matt and I both took off from work today. We weren't needed to testify and Frank wasn't going to be there, but we felt it was important for the judge to know that someone cares about Frank even though Angelo said we didn't have to go.
"We must have stepped in some deep shit here. I don't know what's going on, but that case was on the docket yesterday. I know because I checked it to make sure the time hadn't changed." Angelo looks like a mixture of anger and confusion. I think we all feel the same way. Suddenly I feel paranoid, like we just stepped into a private club where everyone knows each other and we are standing out like nudists at a suit convention.
"You guys get out of here. No sense hanging around. I'll see what I can find out." Angelo seems distracted. I was mixed with relief and disappointment. No one likes to feel duped or ridiculed, but I really wanted our day in court and I felt like doing some yelling. I had to leave it to Angelo to get to the bottom though, so Matt and I left. Since we were all dressed up with no place to go, we treated ourselves to a nice, quiet lunch at a beautiful old colonial restaurant near home. We don't talk about anything much but Frank these days though, and it's becoming exhausting.

Angelo tracked down the guy who schedules the docket for Delaware County Courthouse and asked him what happened to our case. "Yes, the other attorney told me that you weren't ready for the case." he said in his superior tone, as if this was a good reason.
"What do you mean? You take her word that I'm not ready for my case?" Angelo asks incredulously.
"She said that you couldn't proceed without a guardian for the plaintiff." the docket clerk explains.
"Where's the judge? Did she approve this? Because as far as I know you can't just cancel my hearing because the other attorney wants you to." Angelo is exasperated. The guy shows no reaction and has no response. He just walks away from Angelo quickly, like he has someplace more important to be and leaves Angelo standing there.

It's not like Fargo didn't know who Angelo was. He sent a very polite letter to her office introducing himself as Frank's attorney and in the final paragraph wrote that he was looking forward to meeting her on the 28th at the courthouse for the APL hearing. He got no response from her, probably because she wasn't planning on showing up for it. Keep in mind also, that this very same judge who was presiding over this case is the same judge that turned Mat down, twice, to be appointed guardian ad litem for Frank. It is required for a judge to approve the cancellation of a hearing if it is within twenty-four hours.    So did she approve the cancellation of our hearing for need of a guardian and at the same time refuse to appoint Matt guardian?  It's been six years that Fargo and Kat have delayed things, they're not going to stop now, especially when Frank has some unknown, i.e.  not Delaware County, attorney that is easily manipulated by the courthouse employee shenanigans.

Before he left the courthouse Angelo checks the docket one more time to see if it was rescheduled at all. While perusing all files for 'Layton', he is surprised to see that there was a hearing three weeks ago. Angelo sucks in air, "What the hell is this?" he says to himself. He goes back into the office where the cabal of treacherous secretaries work. The three of them all look at each other when Angelo walks in. "Hey, can I get a transcript of this case?" He hands the woman a piece of paper with the case number on it. The same woman that was on the phone laughing at him before is still snickering with her head down. He looks at the name plate on her desk and makes a note to himself to find out who she is and why this case is so important to her.  "I'm sorry sir, that case isn't in our files any longer. I'll have to order it from the records." the woman looks blankly at Angelo, but he's feeling all their eyes on him. He's tries to stay calm and not give the impression he's on to their tricks because he knows that will only make it worse. "Okay, that's fine." Angelo says calmly. "When will it be ready?"
"I don't know sir, it could be three weeks." the secretary claims.

Angelo gets in his car and drives an hour back home to Betty and the kids, and solace. He looks around his nice home and his beautiful family and thinks, "What the hell am I getting into here?" He feels like he just stepped out of the Twilight Zone.

43: FTD Sufferer Incompetent to Stand Trial

"Will Francis Layton come forward!" the court bailiff announces.
There's suddenly a mumbling of voices and running. Distant scuffling can be heard. They've brought Frank in from jail for his hearing on the PFA violation that Kat complained about from two months ago. Someone whispers to the judge and he gets up out of his seat, steps down from the high platform that his desk rests upon, and disappears through the doorway.

"Matt, I've never seen anything like it." Guy Newman, Frank's friend and attorney from his previous, more normal life, states sadly. "They put Frank in that holding cell and it was like he was a caged animal. He was actually climbing the walls."
"So what happened?" Matt wanted to know.
"Well, he was trying to rip the bars out of the wall, and the guards were actually afraid to get near him; and that doesn't happen too often, I can tell you. There was no chance that they were going to bring him into that courtroom for his hearing."
Matt let out an audible sigh, "So what's next?"
"Psychological exam." Guy explains. "Everything is on hold until we find out if your brother's competent to stand trial. In my opinion, he's not, and they'll have to drop charges. Where does that leave us, I don't know."

Matt was dumbfounded by this news. It seems like just when there's hope that Frank is improving, he suddenly gets much worse. Our plans to bring Frank back home are dashed by this new aggressive behavior that we didn't count on. Frank is to stay in jail until a full psychological exam is completed and a new court date is set.  At that point the judge will follow the recommendations of the court-appointed psychiatrist.

Dr. Arthur Boxer is a very well respected psychiatrist on the Main Line of Philadelphia. He's got a CVA a mile long, serving on many boards and educational institutions along with his own private practice. He also works for the state as the court's appointed psychiatrist. We were very fortunate to have this opportunity for a complete mental exam for Frank from such an experienced and knowledgeable doctor. According to Dr. Boxer's report, Frank had a complete lack of knowledge and understanding of his present circumstances and environment. His condition, FTD, caused him to not be held accountable for his activities as he lacked the ability to comprehend his actions which led to this situation. He was rendered incompetent to stand trial with no hope of becoming competent in the future.

There wasn't exactly a hearing, just a meeting in the judge's chambers with the DA and Guy Newman, who has been extremely generous to Frank. He donated his professional services at no charge for his old friend for any criminal charges like the PFA and DUI. There are still incredibly good, caring people in the world. The judge will not release Frank to us unless we can assure him that someone will be caring for him 24 hours a day. Since that's impossible, the only option for Frank's release is to a nursing home. I called every place I could find on the internet within our area. I thought it was hard before he was arrested to find care for him, but to find a nursing home that was interested in accepting someone from prison is nearly impossible. This is what I'm most angry about now. Kat is so hateful and spiteful, that six years after Frank filed for divorce, she's still punishing him.

This arrest is only because my cousin Angelo filed for spousal support and Kat doesn't want to pay. If Angelo had any experience working as a lawyer he probably would have known the court would not award spousal support to a man that is not caring for the children in any way, but that's another story. Due to his lack of experience working as an attorney, Angelo was on the wrong path with this case the entire time. We felt we were doing him a favor of giving him a job when he needed it, but he mistook our generosity for desperation and became someone we didn't know.

At the time we felt that since Frank had been found incompetent, the hearing would go our way and Kat would be ordered to help support him in some way.

42: We're All Just Actors in the Great Movie of Life With FTD

Matt and I took a little Sunday drive out to George W. Hill Correctional Facility. I don't know what we were thinking, we didn't do any research ahead of time. I think we thought it would be like visiting a hospital or something.  Just driving up to the guard station was intimidating, with razor wire everywhere and gates that seem like they could trap you at any moment. We found out that they have a narrow window of visitation times, so we couldn't go in anyway. I was actually relieved because as I was reading the dress code guidelines posted at the gate, I changed my mind about wanting to go in. I read, "no tight fitting clothes, no see-through clothing, females must wear bra and panties . . ." I don't think I belong here, and I certainly don't want to be checked by a prison guard to see if I have on panties. I know I've been exposed to things that I wouldn't imagine I would have had to go through lately, but this is all a little too ghetto for me.
"I'm sorry, but checking me for panties is a deal-breaker, say hi for me." I said.

Frank's hearing isn't for another month to see if they are going to sentence him or let him go for violating the PFA. Matt called the prison Monday morning to inform them of Frank's Frontotemporal Dementia and that he is taking Abilify to prevent the hallucinations associated with his condition. He spoke to a nurse in the health suite and she said she would make a note. It took them about a week to notice that Frank was a little different. The phone rang, caller ID says it's the prison so I answer immediately. "This is the nurse at George W. Hill. We have, your brother I guess it is, in the health suite here. Is there something wrong with him?" Never mind that Matt had already called the health suite and told them what was wrong and gave them a list of Frank's daily medications. Apparently this information wasn't noted after all and he hadn't received any medications at all. At least they finally figured it out and he will spend the rest of his incarceration in the hospital wing of the prison.

With the narrow visitation hours at the prison, and Matt's work schedule, it was difficult to find a compatible time to visit Frank. After Frank had been in jail for about two weeks, Matt finally got there. He said it was very difficult getting though security. Not only is there a metal detector, but a scanner to detect narcotics, and a dog. There are no wallets, or money, no watches or jewelry, cell phones, no hoods, no double layers of clothing, so if you have on a shirt and sweater, you have to take one off. One time he forgot that he had his watch on and by the time he walked back out of prison and through the mile-long walk back to the parking lot, visiting hours were over.

Matt sat down in the visiting room with Frank. By the way he described it, it sounded like the visitation room on one of my favorite shows, "Arrested Development" when George Bluth was in prison. Like a small cafeteria with short rectangle tables and guards around the room watching for conduct violations. ("no touching!") We had been so worried about how someone like Frank would hold up in prison. He can't follow directions, doesn't communicate well, doesn't comprehend what people are saying to him; how could he keep up with the demands that prison life would hold for him? Our worries were unfounded; Matt said that Frank looked great. He was communicating better than Matt had seem him in months. He had a huge smile, and said the food was great, and had made friends.  One of the other prisoners shouted over, "Hey Frank!". Matt asked, "Who's that Frank?"
Frank answered, "Oh he's just one of the actors, they're all actors. You're getting the money, right?"
Matt is slightly confused. "What do you mean Frank?"
"We're making a movie here. All these people here are in the movie with me. They put the money in my account right?" Frank is off his meds and is probably hallucinating right now, but it's a good hallucination, I guess.
"Oh, yeah, I got the money." Matt goes along since it makes Frank happy.
"We'll go see it when it comes out." Frank seems really excited.
"Hey, how's it going." Frank waves at another prisoner walking past.

Matt came home feeling much better than he had in weeks. Frank believed he was the star of an action movie being filmed at the prison and seemed more vocal, thoughtful and happy than he had in weeks. Probably due to the constant interaction he was experiencing with the other inmates and guards. Which suggests to me that symptoms of FTD can be improved by living in a stimulating, group environment.
"I wish I had been there to see him Matt." I said. "Next time you go I'll make sure I put on my prettiest panties."

41: A Warning

We should have been relieved. It should have felt like a burden lifted; but, we were like a busy bee hive that lost it's queen. We were buzzing and flitting with nothing to do. Our outrage at what had just happened in court was becoming overwhelming the more we discussed it. Angelo told Matt that cops do what they did to Frank when they really want to get a guy. They pick them up on a warrant on a Friday afternoon and by the time they get to the police station and they get their phone call, it's too late to post bail so they have to stay the weekend. Maybe that's all they intended but by the nice local cop calling me, giving me time to get there to post bail, I spoiled their plans for Frank's weekend stay so they had to deny bail. I don't know though. Vincent was coming down from New Hampshire to visit this weekend. We had to call him and let him know so he didn't make that long drive and not see Frank. He was always closest to Frank and took the news pretty hard. Maybe it's worse hearing bad news from far away when there's nothing that you can do. It's one of those things that the more you think about it, the more victimized you feel, so late that evening, feeling helpless and desperate to help Frank, Vince sent an email to Frances and Eric, Frank's kids, via Facebook. It was a plea for them to help their dad, that he was really sick and needed their help to get back home. There was nothing wrong, it didn't place blame, just letting them know that Frank was in a bad situation and asking them to help him.

Saturday morning, the next day, at 8:00, the phone rings. Caller ID says it's Delaware County Police. "Now what", I'm thinking. I answer the phone. "Hello, is Vincent Layton there." the caller asks.
"Uhh, no. He doesn't live here." I answer, confused.
"This is Officer McCreedy with the Delaware County Police. We have information that he was visiting you this weekend."
I am still confused about what this guy wants now, it's the cop from the courthouse yesterday.  "Uhh,no. He was coming to help us take care of Frank this weekend, but since you arrested him, we told him not to come." I said sarcastically.
"Oh, okay. Well, he sent an email to Frances and Eric and their mother wants you to know that if you ever contact them again she will consider it harassment and press charges." the cop tell me.
"Oh, really. And why would you be telling me this, since I didn't try to contact them?" I want to know. He begins to answer me, but I interrupt him, ". . . and furthermore, they're the ones always contacting us. They've called my children and contacted them on Xbox many times . . . and Eric's Xbox ID is 'bluntblazer', I didn't even know what that means but my son told me it means he smokes pot, so you tell her that I don't think she's done such a great job with them." I added that just in case Kat was standing right there next to him listening in while he did this as a favor for his neighbor.
Officer McCreedy continues, "yeah well, they were very upset at his email and she just wants you to know that she does not want you to contact them."
"Well, they should be upset. They don't know how unwell he is, but maybe they should." I said.
"Yeah, I was the one who arrested him yesterday, he didn't look too good." the officer stated.
"I know, I spoke to you yesterday." I informed him. There's a pause; he's thinking I guess.
"That was you?" he asks like it's some great revelation. I wonder why he's so astonished. Is it because Kat painted us as monsters and his impression of me didn't fit the illusion she painted, or is it because he was surprised that Frank's family was able to make it to the arraignment even though they gave us no notice. I'm left to wonder.
"Yes, that was me, I'm Matt 's wife. You know Frank has dementia and we've been working really hard taking care of him. We just got him stabilized on meds after being in the hospital for three weeks and now it's all ruined." I took this opportunity to vent.
"They'll take good care of him, he'll be just fine." he dismissed my worry.
"You know, Frank was a good dad and he hasn't seen his kids in six years.  I don't know if you're a father, but if he has to take that hit just to look at his own child's face once in a while, I don't blame him; I'd do the same thing." I said angrily.
"I hear ya. I'm a divorced dad and I have custody of my kids. I don't know what I would do if I didn't have them." He said honestly.
I continued my ranting, "And you know what else? I could not believe the level of disrespect in that courtroom. There is a man standing in front of you in shackles, with his life in ruins, and you were all laughing and having a great time like it meant nothing at all to you. It made me sick."  I was so glad I had the opportunity to get this out.
"Hey, we do this every day, it's nothing to us, we have to try and get through the day too." He tried to excuse the behavior.
"Exactly, it's nothing to you, but it's something to everyone that comes in there, and that should be respected. And what's with that judge? It looked like he just came in from mowing his lawn. He can't dress a little, maybe put on a tie before he shatters someone?" I observed.
"No, he came in on his day off just to do this, he's a good guy." the cop says.
"Well, maybe he should dress the part, you know, look like he came prepared at least." I said.
Instead of getting angry though, he seems happy to continue making small talk with me, and oddly, doesn't seem ready to end the conversation.
"Well, I have no plans to contact Kat or the kids, so  . . . is that all you wanted?" I ask.
"If I could just get Vincent's number . . ." he asks.

Vincent is freaked out. "What the hell? I had a cop call me this morning!" Vince called Matt after he got off the phone with McCreedy.
"Yeah, he called us too, and we didn't even talk to them." Matt replied.
"I was upset about Frank getting arrested . . . and I might have had a little too much to drink too, but I don't think I said anything wrong though." Vince sent Matt a copy of the email he sent to the kids. It sounded like he was a little emotional, but not angry or crazy or anything, he just asked if they could help their dad. They might have been upset because there was a time when we were close and he was funny Uncle Vince, and now they feel like the bad guys. Especially Eric, because he was the one who claims to have seen Frank at their house, and as a result of that, Frank was arrested, sealing his fate.
"Can she do this? I mean, I didn't do anything." Vince is upset.
"No, don't worry, just don't contact them again." Matt says. "Susie's cousin Angelo is going to send him a letter telling him not to call us again and if he has anything else to say he should contact him."

Angelo was outraged. Matt called him right away and told him what happened. "Are you kidding? What's with this guy. He's going to warn you not to do something just in case you were thinking of it? A cop wouldn't do this. This is personal for him for some reason. I'll take care of it." Angelo fumed.

"Oh, believe me, I won't send any more emails." Vince said assuredly.

40: FTD Victim Exploited

"Mrs. Layton?" the voice on my cell phone from an unknown number asks.
"Yes, this is she." I answered.
"This is Officer Fox, of the Montgomery County Police Department." the caller stated.

I knew it was about Frank, I'm thinking they found him wandering somewhere dangerous, or maybe they were calling to follow up on him being lost the other night. Frank's only been home from the hospital for a week after being diagnosed with Frontotemporal Dementia and our lives are more turned upside down than before he went in. If we aren't with him, we're talking about him. If we're not talking about him, we're worrying about him. I took the day off from work and actually felt guilty for not spending it at Frank's house watching old World War II movies, his favorite thing. He's got a video tape of every movie about WWII ever made, I think. We just watched his newest purchase, "Swing Kids". It was a good movie, about German kids dancing to American swing big band music in private clubs during WWII, but the Nazis banned it so they had to be discreet and then, of course, they got caught. My kids are still making fun of their mantra "Swing Heil!"

"Is everything okay?" I ask the officer.
"Well, I just thought you would want to know that I had to pick up your brother this morning on a warrant from Delaware County. He's fine but I thought you would be worried about him." the officer stated kindly. He had my phone number from when I reported Frank lost two nights ago.
"A warrant? He's been in the hospital for three weeks and he's only been home a few days, and he's got dementia. What could he have done?" I ask.
"It was for a PFA violation." the officer informed me.
"Oh my gosh. I can't believe it. He's been in a nasty divorce for six years now." I told him.
"I figured it was something like that, but they called and asked if I would pick him up, and then they came and got him here. It's a courtesy thing." the officer explained.
"Well, I just thought you would want to know." Officer Fox sounded apologetic.

I thanked him and hung up. I had only just gotten to the mall. I needed to do some retail therapy. I was feeling a little stressed out over all the extra work and worry we've had lately and thought I would take some 'me' time. So much for that. Now I just feel guilty that I wasn't there when they came and got him, or if I had taken him out with me they couldn't have picked him up, or if the hospital had just kept him, or if that stupid nursing home would have accepted him . . .  I called Matt and told him. He was furious. This was definitely planned out. When they picked up Frank for PFA violations before they always called first to say there was a warrant and let him come in. This was covert, because we never got a warning and if Officer Fox hadn't called, we still wouldn't know where he was.

Mulva Fargo, Kat's attorney warned Nicholas, before he resigned the case, that they would report Frank for violating the PFA if we didn't drop the alimony petition. Matt called her bluff. We thought we would have had our hearing by now and Kat would be helping with Frank's care, since they are still legally married and she's the one holding the divorce up by not signing the papers. Guess we were wrong. Matt called Angelo to tell him what happened since he would be looking for Frank too and he couldn't believe it also. He said, "I'll call and find out where the arraignment is and post bail for him."
We thought we would have him back in a few hours and as soon as they found out how ill Frank was, they would release him immediately. No, that would actually be the human thing to do.

In November, four months ago, when we realized how bad Frank's behavior was becoming, Angelo petitioned the court for an Emergency Hearing for spousal support. His condition was becoming too much for us to support and we needed that hearing. Despite the title "Emergency" the hearing was scheduled for April, five months away. I called our Montgomery County Courthouse to ask how long it takes to schedule an emergency hearing there and they said it was a day or two; five months is inhumane. My old high school girlfriend is a court reporter at Montgomery County; when I told her about what happened, she whispered, "I've heard so many stories; everyone knows how corrupt Delaware County is, you'll never win there."

So with the hearing for support scheduled for April, Kat has had Frank arrested in March. I go with Angelo to post bail to get Frank back. We drive to a town in Delaware County, an hour away, to a Municipal Courthouse. It's a little empty building in the middle of nowhere, there's two officer there, and a couple bailiffs when we arrive. One is the arresting officer, his badge says "McCreedy". He's probably wondering how we found out about the hearing, but he says to Angelo, "you the lawyer?"
Angelo answers that he is and McCreedy goes, "Yeah, I know Frank."
 I'm wondering why he's telling us this, so I ask,"Oh really, how do you know him?"
"I'm his wife's neighbor." he tells me. "yeah, I know all about this guy."
"oh crap!" I'm thinking. Kat's always been a story teller, who knows what she's been feeding this lardhead, and she just got him to do her bidding, and all so she doesn't have to pay spousal support. I figure I better cut this conversation short because he looks like one of those unstable kind of cops that would falsify records or something evil. He looks and has mannerisms exactly like Hank, the DEA agent, on Breaking Bad and I don't like the looks of him.
"You know the judge had to come in on his day off for this." the Hank look-alike continues.
I guess we're supposed to feel bad for him. I look inside the courtroom and don't see a judge. I find out it's because he doesn't look like a judge. He's got a plaid flannel shirt on and jeans and looks like he just came in off his tractor. I find out later that Municipal Judges, or Magistrates, aren't even lawyers. They're just some guy that runs for political office and gets to decide people's fates without having to endure the trials and tribulations of law school and learning all those pesky laws. It showed too. If I could remember his name, I would like to write him a letter and tell him what his decision has done.

Court begins with a gavel bang and Frank is brought out of a holding cell in handcuffs and leg shackles. I hear them shouting at him because he doesn't comprehend their directions about where to go and how to walk with his ankles chained together. He finally gets it together and he walks past me. I'm trying to make eye contact, but he doesn't look at me until I say "Hi Frank". He says hi back to me and continues his perp walk to the front of the "courtroom". The judge accuses him of violating the PFA and Angelo tells the judge that we would like to post bail.
 The judge says "Bail denied!"
Angelo says, "Your honor, the defendant has just been released from the hospital after a three week stay. He's severely incapacitated and was diagnosed with dementia by the psychiatrist there."
"Counselor, I said bail is denied." the municipal judge stated firmly.
"Your honor, may I say again that the defendant is in a very fragile state right now and  . . ."Angelo tried to argue to no avail.
"Well, jail will be the best place for him then." the judge had his mind made up before we even got there; Kat had already gotten to him through her friend McCreedy.
Then the cops, the judge and the bailiffs began bantering and laughing out loud while they filled out the paperwork to take Frank to jail and Frank stood before them in shackles.
I suddenly felt cold, I had to get out of there before I threw up.

39: Frontotemporal Dementia Progresses

"Does anyone know where Frank is?"  my cousin Angelo calls and asks.
 Matt, Angelo and I are taking turns looking in on Frank. Angelo goes over in the morning and puts dinner in the crockpot. Matt and I take turns in the evening making sure he takes his meds and he's safe. Since Angelo's job as a realtor is pretty flexible, we paid him to look in on Frank and sort of be a companion. I couldn't ask my children or any older relatives because honestly, I wasn't sure they would be safe considering he was having hallucinations and not telling us about them. At least we're all Frank's age and he knows us well. The plan is that Angelo would hang out with Frank, cook, watch tv, go out sometimes; that lasted about a day and a half. Frank would give off this uncomfortable vibe like he wanted Angelo to leave. He would stand up and sit down over and over or he would begin pacing. Then he would stand in the middle of the room and stare at him strangely. There was no reading his eyes, they were blank, so you couldn't tell what his intentions were.  Angelo said he couldn't stay with Frank all day, it was too uncomfortable,  but he would go in the morning and make sure he took his meds and maybe check in later if he was around.

It's not like I hadn't tried more conventional means of care for him. I called every nursing home I could think of in our area. I thought I had him in at the nursing home my grandmother went to before she passed away. Everyone in town knew my grandmother and everyone loved her. Although she had been gone eight years, they still remembered her when I called and dropped her name. "Oh yes, we loved your grandmother. And how is your family?" the director asked. "We are all doing well, thank you. I remember how much Nanna loved living at Summer House." I gushed.
"Oh that's wonderful, well if there's ever anything we can do . . . " She thought I was through.
I continued, "By the way, my husband's brother is in need of care. He's 50 years old and he's just been diagnosed with Frontotemporal Dementia, and  . . ."
"Oh, no we can't take him. I know this diagnosis. It's very bad, these people are unpredictable and can have dangerous outbursts." the director explained.
"He's not dangerous at all. He just sits, he's never had any outbursts." I interrupted hopefully.
"Our average age is 83 here. That's a big difference from fifty. He just doesn't fit in. I'm sorry." She was dismissing me and I could tell there was no convincing her to take Frank. I called Bayada Nurses, a visiting nurse agency. They had a meeting and decided that Frank's diagnosis was unpredictable and dangerous and the nurses could not safely walk into Frank's home.  I called a senior daycare center, same answer. Most nursing homes have answering machines and I suppose they only return calls that appeal to them and only one of the other homes I called returned the call, but it was a private nursing home that did not accept Medicare and it would cost $8,000 per month. Even if we got some alimony from Kat, it was still way too expensive. The sad truth is that no one wants to take care of a fifty year old with dementia.

Angelo called around 5:00 only four days after Frank got home from the hospital; we had lost him already. "Are you sure he's not there somewhere? Did you drive around the neighborhood?" I asked.
We took Frank's cars away. While he was in the hospital we sold one of his cars and we hid the other one at Matt's office until we had a buyer for that one too. It was February and extremely cold. I was worried we would find him frozen on the turnpike somewhere. I ran out of the house and went driving to all Frank's favorite places, Giant grocery store food court, Whole Foods food court, Home Depot, Wendy's, Boston Market. I even showed his picture to the workers at Home Depot hoping they had seen him. No, no one had. I called the police next and reported a man with dementia missing. The police operator was very nice and helpful. She took my name and phone number and then asked me if Frank was a veteran. I said that he was National Guard. She told me that the veteran's groups in our area would mobilize to help look for him if needed.  Next, I went back home thinking he might show up at our house. When Matt came home we went out together and drove around the streets between his house and our house. We finally found him around 9:00 that evening, right down the street from our house, just walking down the sidewalk. Matt pulled over next to him and he barely looked at us. I called his name and he stopped walking and just stood there. I got out of the car and opened the back door and said, "Get in Frank, you must be freezing."  He got in the back seat without a word. I said, "Frank are you cold?" and he answered "yeah". That was pretty much it for conversation. We drove him back to his house, gave him his meds, and waited until he was in bed.
"He was looking for his cars" Matt said. "I know him; he thinks I have them."
"Matt, we can't keep this up" I complained.
I had no idea what was in store for us next though.

38: Finally, a Diagnosis of FTD

It's Super Bowl Sunday. The Green Bay Packers are playing the Pittsburgh Steelers.  Matt and I are having a little party; a few friends from college and Matt's fantasy football buddies. We have some trivia games planned, a little football pool where everyone buys a box and the winners are announced at the end of the quarters, and of course some food. I got a party tray of sandwiches at Panera and I made a few appetizers and desserts myself. Just a few more last minute things at the grocery store to buy and I'll be ready.

I get to the store, grab a shopping cart and head toward the entrance. The store is more busy than usual, everyone's picking up their last minute snacks before the game starts. Coincidentally, I see Frank go in the entrance ahead of me. It's clear he's on a mission. He's walking quickly and he's stopping and looking up every aisle. I know this because I'm following him. I'm curious to know what he's after and why he's in such a hurry. He has no idea that I'm right behind him throughout the store. He hasn't picked up anything yet, but he's looking very hard. Finally, in the last aisle he pauses and I call his name, "Frank!".  He turns around quickly and looks at me with big eyes like he's surprised to see me there. "What's up?" I ask smiling.
He's practically breathless, he answers me quick like he's in a hurry, "Oh, they got me all over. I'm here, I'm going there. I'm looking for that stuff, you know that stuff you get, . . . like when somebody dies . . .?"
"Umm, like a cookie tray?" I ask. I'm trying to think of what you eat when somebody dies, but I don't know. But his question freaks me out a little bit.
He looks at me and his expression changes, like he just now realized who I am and he's come back to reality. I said "Frank, are the people back?"
"Oh . . . no, . . . no. I just came for ice cream." He just happened to be standing in front of the ice cream freezer so he grabbed a quart and said, "this is what I needed."
"Oh, okay, well, enjoy the game." I said.
"Yeah." Frank answered and walked away.

This has me worried, really worried. The hallucinations have him on a mission to buy something, who knows what. But I'm wondering what other commands he has followed or would follow in the future. I am afraid to even think about it. I can't wait to go home and tell Matt. I'm just happy that I was coincidentally there to witness it. I realize that we have to do something because this is getting serious.

The next day Matt calls a guy he knows who runs the psychiatric ward in a small private hospital near his office. He tells Luther about Frank's behavior and asks him if we could admit Frank for evaluation. Apparently, it's not easy to get in but Matt has known Luther professionally for a few years now and he  tells Matt to bring Frank in through the Emergency Room next Thursday and he'll see what he can do.
We explain to Frank that we want to find out what's wrong with him and see if we can get it fixed. Frank looks back at us with the same serious expression that we are looking at him with and says "yeah, okay."

That Thursday Matt and I take Frank to the ER. It's really busy for a Thursday afternoon. We check in, do all the paperwork and soon they call us back to the triage area. They give us a gurney in the hallway because all the examining rooms are busy. Frank sits on the gurney while Matt and I stand next to him. I hear the teenage girl in the room right in front of us crying and talking on the phone to her mom. She cut her hand at school somehow and she had to get stitches. Her mom arrives about 30 minutes later, and after talking to the doctor they leave together. The next room is a woman obviously looking for drugs. I hear the doctor say to her, "I can give you Naprosyn." She starts wailing, "But doctor, I'm in alot of pain!"  He tells her that he can't offer her anything else and walks away. Then she gets on her phone and starts crying to someone about how much pain she's in and complaining that the doctor won't give her anything. Matt and I look at each other skeptically. We have been just standing here in the hallway for about two hours. Matt and I are playing silly games to keep ourselves occupied while Frank just sits and stares. We play an alphabet game where we take turns going through the alphabet naming things in certain categories. First we pick rock band category. I choose AC/DC, Matt says "Beatles" I tell him that I hate the Beatles and pick Coldplay for 'c', and on it goes. After that category, we move on to tv shows, Matt begins with 'Arrested Development', then I say 'Bridezillas", then we do snack foods, movies and finally drug names before this becomes boring also.

Finally, a doctor comes over and asks why we're here. Matt explains that his brother is having hallucinations. The doctor asks Frank what his name is. He knows that. He answers "Frank . .  Frank" Then he asks what day it is and Frank says it's September; it's January. The doctor asks who the president is and Frank answers "the cowboy", which is a pretty good answer for George W. The doctor tells us that they have a psych ward but it's full and he tries to get rid of us. Matt tells him that Luther told us to come today and he changes his story. He calls up to the ward and we find out that today is Luther's day off even though he told us to come today. It takes about another hour of communication between the ward and the ER before we finally get Frank up to the seventh floor. It seems the only way we got in is because Matt knows Luther though. If we were just walking in off the street, we'd be back on it by now.

I'm exhausted from sitting around doing nothing for hours. We get Frank settled and walk around the ward with him. Hopefully, he'll make friends. It looks like everyone there is about his age. They're all  hanging out in a community room watching tv. Frank doesn't look like he wants to be friendly though. When we leave he goes to his room.

Luther said not to visit for a few day so Frank adjusts to life on the ward. On the third day, Matt stops by. Frank doesn't seem happy or sad to see Matt but he wants to go home. "Can we go home now?" Frank wants to know. Matt talks to the nurse to see how things are going. She says that when Frank first got there they found him hiding behind the door to his room talking to his hallucination even though he denied seeing anything. They have to coax him out of his room because he prefers to sleep all day. He hasn't interacted with anyone, but goes into other people's rooms; maybe he's lost or maybe he just doesn't know better anymore. Matt leaves and Frank asks again if he can go home. "No Frank, you have to stay here for a couple weeks until they figure out what's wrong." Matt explains. "I'll be back tomorrow." with that, Matt leaves.

Frank's behavior doesn't improve. The staff try to get Frank involved in ward activities, but he doesn't participate. Even the other patients try to get Frank involved but he doesn't care to interact. Someone was missing their radio and it was found in Frank' room. That didn't make him very popular. Every day when Matt visits, Frank asks if he can go home now. Finally, after two and a half weeks, they discharge Frank with a diagnosis; Frontotemporal Dementia. The psychiatrist isn't surprised that Frank is in the middle of a divorce. He said that many marriages of FTD sufferers end in divorce before they even realize they have the disease, mostly due to the personality changes. The emotional disconnection with the disease is perceived as lack of commitment to the relationship but the reality is that the person who has the disease doesn't realize that any changes have occurred.

The dementia diagnosis is bad news because now we have no psychiatric options open to us for Frank's care. Frontotemporal Dementia is considered a medical condition so we only have nursing homes to explore now. Frank is immediately discharged from the psych ward into our care because he doesn't have a psychiatric condition. I try to explain to Matt that we shouldn't take him back. We should tell the hospital that we can't take care of him and let them figure it out, but Matt insists that we can all pitch in and see that Frank is cared for. I don't know why no one ever listens to me.

37: FTD Hallucinations Become Dangerous

"Let's play Apples to Apples" my son Blaise announced after Christmas dinner was cleaned up. That's one of our family's favorite games. Matt and me, my parents, my brother, our friend Joe, Frank, and my three sons all sat down at the table again and surrounded the game cards. Apples to Apples is a fun word game that just about anyone can play, except Frank.  There are noun cards and adjective cards. The chosen judge for the round turns over an adjective and the players select a noun card from the hand they are dealt that they believe best exemplifies the adjective. Sometimes it's funny, sometimes it's clever, and sometimes you just don't have anything and you just have to throw something out. The judge shuffles the cards so he doesn't know who submitted which card and then decides which noun they like best. The winner is the person who has the most winning adjective cards at the end.

I sat next to Frank. We were all throwing in cards, making jokes and laughing about clever connections, Frank just sat there holding his cards. I told him, "Frank just throw one in, it doesn't matter what it says." He began sorting the cards in his hand, because he really didn't know what he was supposed to do, so I picked one for him and threw it in. Somehow, Frank won that round. That continued for the entire game. He never caught on to what we were doing and just sat there holding his cards while I threw in a selection for him. We played about ten rounds in all and unbelievably, Frank ended up being the winner of the entire game. It was hard to tell if he comprehended that he won because he just sat there with a blank look on his face.
After the game was over, Matt said "Frank, you look tired. Why don't you get going."
"Yeah . . . yeah" was Frank's answer as he slowly got up and put on his coat.

He was still driving at this point. As bad as he seemed, he could still navigate and still knew how to drive well. I took photographs throughout the day, but Frank never looked up and smiled like he would have even six months ago. In 2006, he was still working at the phone store. In 2009, he brought Midge to Blaise's graduation party. He was beginning to become forgetful, but could still carry on a conversation and seemed to have a great time. In June 2010, just one year later, we had a graduation party for Brett. Frank came and sat among his aunt and uncle and brother, but he spoke very little. Now only six months later he has become a zombie. He's moving through life but there doesn't seem to be much life left in him.

The following week we had an ice storm. They were predicting dangerous road conditions and a Code Blue Weather Emergency condition. A Code Blue is called when winter weather conditions pose a threat of serious harm or death to those without shelter. Matt got home from work at 7:30 that evening, ate dinner and after seeing the weather forecast thought he had better check on Frank and bring him some groceries so he wouldn't have to go out. I packed up our leftover dinner for him and Matt slowly made his way over to Frank's house. The ice storm was beginning, the roads were becoming slippery and the wind had turned gusty making a very uncomfortable trip out. When Matt pulled up in front of the house around 8:30 pm he was shocked to find Frank standing outside in the driveway near his car. Alarmed, Matt jumped out of his car and called, "Frank! What are you doing out here?"
"Did you see him? He's running away." Frank answered.
"Frank, there's nobody here." Matt said.
"He told me I wasn't allowed inside. He told me I was going to be arrested." Frank continued. He seemed surprised that it wasn't real.
"C'mon Frank, let's go inside." Matt said, taking Frank by the shoulder.
"They're in there." Frank said.
"No Frank, there's nobody there, c'mon, let's go in." Matt said reassuringly. "Do you see anyone?" Matt asked.
"Umm, no, not now." Frank answered.
"Do you see them alot? Matt asked.
"Uh, yeah they're here all the time. The hillbillies keep telling me that I'm in trouble and I'm going to get arrested, and there's servants and some kids. They told me that I wasn't allowed in here." Frank said plainly.
"What were you doing outside?" Matt asked.
"I was going to stay in my car with my gear." Frank answered.
Matt noticed that Frank's car had been filled with a sleeping bag and blankets, and suddenly it made sense. He wondered how many times the hallucinations made Frank sleep outside.
"Are you afraid of them?" Matt asked.
"No." Frank said. But it's hard to imagine that it wouldn't be frightening.
"Uh, can I stay with you?" Frank asked.
"No Frank, you can't stay with me." Matt said. Matt and I have discussed having Frank live with us, but I felt that I needed to put my children first and I would fear for their safety having Frank in our home. Not that he would intentionally cause us harm, but he may unintentionally cause something like a cooking fire, or react dangerously to a hallucination.
He gave Frank something to help him sleep and tucked him in bed before he left.

Matt came home and told me what he witnessed at Frank's house. He was whispering so as not to alarm Joey our youngest child, but Brett couldn't help but overhear, because everything seems more interesting when it's being whispered. Brett has been our 'funny' child ever since he was a baby. When he was about a year old, before he could even talk, he put his chubby little finger inside a brass fish's mouth and said while giggling with dimples showing and bright eyes flashing, "Ow . .  oww!"
His great sense of humor doesn't always have great timing though. After Matt finished telling us what happened, Brett began retelling the story.  As he held an imaginary serving tray aloft, he regally announced "Your moonshine, sir." I stifled a giggle while Matt looked sternly at Brett and said, "You know, that's just not funny." It became his anthem though whenever we talked about this new stage in Frank's condition; the children thought Frank had become quite amusing.

Matt and I both attempted to discuss the hallucinations with Frank's psychiatrist again, and again we got the runaround from the receptionist and then the same apathetic response from the psychiatrist. Matt called another mental health clinic near his office and got Frank an appointment. It was farther for Frank to drive but he was familiar with the area. They were much more cooperative and included Matt in Frank's treatment plan. They started him on Abilify for the hallucinations, and enrolled him in a twice weekly group session, but we still did not know why this was happening.

About a week later there was another snow storm, a blizzard actually. I left work a little early at 4:00 to get a jump on traffic because the snow had become heavy already and they were predicting at least a foot of snow for our area. The first thing I did when I got home was change into something warm and cozy and get the fireplace started. The snow was already about eight inches on my patio. It was a perfect night to make some good comfort food for dinner. I was busy in the kitchen slicing beef for my famous Beef Stroganoff over egg noodles and worrying about Frank when I heard tapping on my back door. For a second I was startled, thinking who would be out on a night like this?  Then I thought, Frank, that's who. I looked out and there's Frank standing in front of my door covered in snow with no coat, just a zip up sweat shirt on. I threw open the door and said "Frank, what are you doing out in this weather?"
"Uh, I lost my keys." Frank replied. He just walked five miles through deep snow in the dark. I quickly handed him a towel and some warm, dry clothes to change into. He seemed relieved to have made it to this refuge. He had a nice meal with us and I just kept chattering on about anything I could think of to fill in the space. Eventually, I ran out of things to say and I remembered that I had one of his mother's old recipe boxes in my cabinet. I said, "Frank, how about if we make one of your mom's recipes?" I pulled out the box and we began sorting through old, yellowed index cards in Terry's familiar handwriting. I took the box from her house after she passed away hoping to find her meatloaf recipe. Hers was the best meatloaf I've ever had and I'm still hunting for a recipe that will become my signature meatloaf. Alas, I haven't found her meatloaf but there's a bread pudding recipe that seems pretty quick and simple that we settle on. I send Frank in to relax in front of the fire and the television while I whip up the dessert. In no time at all we were savoring warm bread pudding with vanilla sauce, one of my favorite things. Who knew it was so easy? I brought Frank an extra large portion, and sat down with him in the family room while we waited for Matt to come home. I was happy to make him something that reminded him of his mom who we were missing so much. He enjoyed it and enjoyed it some more. He went in the kitchen and helped himself to three more servings until it was all gone. He really enjoyed good food, but I also learned that people suffering with FTD often over-indulge in food and do not realize when to stop.

Matt drove Frank home later that evening and used his spare key to let Frank in. We couldn't help but wonder if he really lost his key or if the hillbillies told him to leave. Frank denied seeing the hillbillies and servants after starting Abilify, but I had reason to believe he wasn't being truthful.

Terry's Brown Sugar Bread Pudding

2 cups soft 1/2" bread cubes

1 1/2 cups milk

1/2 cup brown sugar

1/4 tsp salt

1/2 tsp cinnamon

2 eggs beaten

1 tsp vanilla

1 tbsp butter

Mix all ingredients except butter and pour into greased one quart casserole. Dot butter on top. Bake in slow oven (350') for one hour.