The Tale of the Bipolar Priest

This is a long, circuitous tale, but I’ll give you the Reader’s Digest version.

I went to a modest house in central Phoenix to do an assessment on a gentleman who was in his early 70s. His name was Alek. His wife, who was by his side, was Ginnie. I remember that they struck me as Ward and June Cleaver. She had a dress on and pearls – just like June!

Well, I start talking to Ward…um, I mean Alek. I told them how the assessment would go and that they can feel free to ask me any questions or give me any additional information as the assessment continues. I requested that they get Alek’s medications together so that I can write them down for my assessment. Ginnie got up and got all his medication bottles while I continued to talk to Alek. Everything was going along pretty smoothly.

However, the look on Alek’s face. I can only describe it as reticent…maybe apprehensive. He just did NOT look comfortable with this process or with my being in his home. I don’t think it was personal. I think he just didn’t like people in his personal space, asking personal questions.

When I looked at his meds, there was a blood pressure medication and the rest were psychotropic in nature. My guess was that he had bipolar disorder. As the assessment went along, Alek and Ginnie started opening up – mostly Ginnie. Alek was a former Catholic priest. She had been his parishioner some years back and they fell in love. When they were in their late 30s, Alek left the priesthood and married Ginnie. Ginnie said their life “turned crazy” after that. She married Alek, having no idea that he had bipolar disorder. Yep, there we were. Bingo!

As we got to the behavioral section of the assessment, Ginnie started telling stories about Alek and his depressive and manic cycles. He cycled slowly, but the swings were huge. Alek would go into intense, deep, dark depression for weeks where he would rarely leave his house. He didn’t want to speak to anyone or do anything. After he cycled out of that, he would just “go wild,” as Ginnie described it. She then told me the story that changed their lives forever.

In his manic phase, Alek decided to go to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. He withdrew every bit of cash that he and Ginnie had, bought a plane ticket, and was on his way to New Orleans to party and gamble. At this point, Alek didn’t remember anything else. Ginnie had no idea that Alek was leaving. He didn’t tell her he was leaving and didn’t tell her where he was going. She just saw an empty bed and an empty bank account. She didn’t hear from Alek for months.

This was in the days before social media and Alek and Ginnie’s children were calling hospitals and police stations all over the country. After months of trying, they finally hit pay dirt. Months earlier, police and paramedics responded to a man found severely beaten. He had no ID, no distinguishing features. He was a Caucasian man with brown, but graying hair. He was of average build and average weight. He was beaten so badly that his features were indistinct under the lacerations and bruises. The police had posted a picture of “John Doe” in several newspapers, asking if anyone knew him. Alek’s kids flew out to New Orleans, after talking to the police, and were able to positively identify him in the hospital. Poor Alek had been beaten, robbed, and left for dead.

So, here we are back in Phoenix. Thankfully, Alek survived. He had a traumatic brain injury from the beating. No wonder the expression I saw on his face! This family went through so much, but by a miracle – or by a sliver of a chance – they were reunited. Ginnie told me she made sure that Alek stayed on his meds and that he had been doing very well ever since he finished rehab. Sad, sad story, but in the end the family was reunited and so grateful to have Alek home, safe and sound.