Michael Schofield’s daughter January is at the mercy of her imaginary friends, except they aren’t the imaginary friends that most young children have; they are hallucinations. And January is caught in the conflict between our world and their world, a place she calls Calalini. Some of these hallucinations, like “24 Hours,” are friendly and some, like “400 the Cat” and “Wednesday the Rat,” bite and scratch her until she does what they want. They often tell her to scream at strangers, jump out of buildings, and attack her baby brother.
At six years old, January Schofield, “Janni,” to her family, was diagnosed with schizophrenia, one of the worst mental illnesses known to man. What’s more, schizophrenia is 20 to 30 times more severe in children than in adults and in January’s case, doctors say, she is hallucinating 95 percent of the time that she is awake. Potent psychiatric drugs that would level most adults barely faze her.
A New York Times bestseller, January First captures Michael and his family's remarkable story in a narrative that forges new territory within books about mental illness. In the beginning, readers see Janni’s incredible early potential: her brilliance, and savant-like ability to learn extremely abstract concepts. Next, they witnesses early warning signs that something is not right, Michael’s attempts to rationalize what’s happening, and his descent alongside his daughter into the abyss of schizophrenia. Their battle has included a two-year search for answers, countless medications and hospitalizations, allegations of abuse, despair that almost broke their family apart and, finally, victories against the illness and a new faith that they can create a life for Janni filled with moments of happiness.
A compelling, unsparing and passionate account, January First vividly details Schofield’s commitment to bring his daughter back from the edge of insanity. It is a father’s soul-baring memoir of the daily struggles and challenges he and his wife face as they do everything they can to help Janni while trying to keep their family together.
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MICHAEL SCHOFIELD teaches writing courses at California State University, Northridge. He keeps a blog of his family's journey through Janni's schizophrenia at www.janisjourney.org.
Chapter One
August 8, 2006
Today is Janni’s fourth birthday, and I’m setting up her pool party at the clubhouse in our apartment complex.
I place pool toys in the water. Janni is already splashing around.
“Come in, Daddy!”
“I’m coming, Janni. I just have to finish setting up.”
“Look, Janni!” Susan calls out. “Lynn and the twins are here. Come say hi.”
I look over to the gate where Susan is letting them in. Janni is the same age as the twins. We’ve known them since they were babies.
“Janni?” Susan calls again to her. “Come say hi to Lynn and the twins.”
“No,” Janni calls back, not even bothering to turn around and see.
“Janni, you have to welcome your guests,” Susan says, a bit more sternly.
“No!” Janni yells behind her, more forcefully this time.
“Hi, January!” Lynn calls. “Happy birthday!”
“I’m not January!” Janni screams, still not turning around. Then calmly, “I’m Blue-Eyed Tree Frog.”
Lynn is visibly taken aback a little, but recovers quickly; she’s known our struggle with Janni’s constant name changing for a while now.
A year ago, Janni stopped going by her name. And this phase has gone on way longer than we thought it would. Whenever someone calls her by her real name, she screams like somebody put her hand to a hot frying pan.
We don’t even try to force her to use her given name. At this point we’re happy if she just picks one name and sticks with it. The problem is that she changes it all the time, sometimes multiple times in the same day. She’s been “Hot Dog,” “Rainbow,” “Firefly,” and now “Blue-Eyed Tree Frog,” which was originally “Red-Eyed Tree Frog,” from Go Diego! Go!, until a lady working at Sav-On drugstore pointed out, “But you have blue eyes, dear.”
“Lynn and the girls have come to your birthday party,” Susan reminds her. “You need to come and greet them.”
Janni gets out of the pool and comes over to the twins. She is not pouting. She is smiling and rubbing her hands rapidly, as if she is actually suddenly happy to see them. It’s like the previous outburst never happened.
Susan gets the twins two juice boxes from the cooler.
“Hi, Janni. How are you?” Lynn asks pleasantly.
The hand rubbing stops and the smile vanishes. “I’m not Janni! I’m Blue-Eyed Tree Frog.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot.” Lynn quickly corrects herself like she just received a mild electric shock.
“Girls, wish Blue-Eyed Tree Frog a happy birthday,” Lynn instructs her daughters.
“Happy birthday, Janni,” they dutifully intone. The twins have known my daughter as Janni since before they could talk. It is all they know.
“I’m not Janni!” she screams at the twins. “I’m Blue-Eyed Tree Frog.”
The twins look up at their mom, confused.
“Janni!” Susan warns. “Be polite.”
I say nothing. Sure, I would like Janni to be polite, but I realize odd behavior is a by-product of her genius. She hit all of her developmental markers early and was already talking at eight months. By thirteen months she knew all her letters, both big and small, even if they were turned on their side or upside down. Then, at eighteen months, she was speaking in grammatically correct sentences, introducing herself to people saying, “I’m Janni Paige and I am eighteen months old.”
But I didn’t fully comprehend what she was capable of until I came back from grad school one evening when Janni was two and Susan was telling me about their day.
“I’ve been teaching her addition,” Susan told me, which I already knew, “so today we started on subtraction. I asked her what ‘seven minus four’ was.”
“Did she get it right?” I asked.
“Yes, she did, so we did ‘seven minus three is four.’ Then she asks me, ‘Mommy, what’s four minus seven?’ so I started trying to explain negative numbers to her.”
I stare at Susan. “She asked you what was four minus seven?”
Susan, washing dishes, turns to me. “Yeah.” She sees the look of shock on my face. “What’s wrong?”
“She asked you that right out of the blue?”
“Yes. What is it?”
Negative numbers, I remember thinking. Negative numbers are a totally abstract concept because they don’t exist in the real world. You can’t see negative four apples. At two years old, Janni’s mind made the jump from what Piaget called “concrete reasoning” to “abstract reasoning,” something that typically happens at a much older age. Janni could conceive of concepts that did not actually physically exist.
I have fantasies of Janni going to Harvard or Yale or MIT before she is even a teenager. My ultimate dream, when I close my eyes at night, is Janni winning the Nobel Prize. For what, I don’t know and don’t really care. But to be able to do what she can do at two years old, she must be a gift to humanity. I think that trumps being impolite on occasion.
“Would you like some juice?” Susan hands the twins the juice boxes and they take them.
Janni starts to laugh and flings her arm around the twins. “400 is splashing mango juice on you,” she chortles, without touching them.
The girls flinch instinctively, then look up at their mother for guidance, not sure what happened.
“400 is splashing mango juice on you.” Janni makes the move again like she is throwing juice on the twins, but she has nothing in her hand.
The twins retreat to either side of their mother.
“Janni, that isn’t nice,” Susan corrects.
“But it’s not me. It’s 400. 400 is splashing mango juice on them. She likes to splash mango juice on people.” Her arm shoots out with the imaginary juice again. We don’t even have mango juice.
The twins look up at Lynn. “You both need sunscreen.” She looks down at them, taking each daughter in one hand and over to the lounge chairs and tables.
“Well then, tell 400 to stop,” Susan tells Janni. “400 is another one of her imaginary friends,” she explains to Lynn.
Janni turns away and says to the air, “400, stop that.” She waits, apparently for a response, before turning back to the twins.
“She won’t stop.” Janni breaks into laughter again. “It is so funny. 400 is throwing mango juice on you.”
The twins are clearly scared, as Lynn puts on their sunscreen. “It’s okay, we know Janni is ‘unique.’ ”
This is frustrating. She’s being imaginative, but the twins haven’t seen imagination like this. Geniuses are often eccentric, I think to myself.
“Janni!” Susan’s voice goes up an octave. “Stop it!”
“It’s not me! It’s 400!”
“You control 400. Tell her to stop.”
Janni puts out her hands in exasperation. “I can’t!”
“Janni . . . ,” Susan begins, but I cut her off.
“Let it go.”
Janni comes over to me and and we get ready to go into the pool. This is what I do. I am her protector from the rest of the world.
I see the look of frustration on...
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