Adapted from a story by The Washington Post’s Justin Wm. Moyer.
The video went viral. When Cheryl Chandler saw it, she screamed.
She realized it was her daughter, who is mentally ill. Although she’d tried to find her, Chandler hadn’t seen Rebecca since October.
Chandler was in West Virginia when she saw the video. She called the hospital, explaining that she wasn’t a reporter. But the hospital tried to give her the email of a spokesman responding to news media inquiries.
Next, she tried the Baltimore Police Department. An officer said Rebecca had gone to a homeless shelter. The shelter wouldn’t tell Chandler if she was there, so she asked if an officer could check. The officer said the shelter wasn’t in his district and told her to call 911. Chandler explained she was out of state but did as instructed, and the operator sent her back to Baltimore police.
After additional calls and hours of worry, police confirmed that Rebecca was at the shelter.
Rebecca Hall’s childhood
Rebecca’s life can be measured in hospital stays and 911 calls.
Growing up, Rebecca wasn’t like her fraternal twin sister, her mother said. She was quiet and seemed to live in her own world. At Christmas, if she and her twin got dolls, Rebecca was more inclined to play with the box. One time, she twirled around the house for hours, captivated by a plastic hanger.
“It was concerning that there could be a cognitive issue,” Chandler said.
When Rebecca was 4 years old, she was diagnosed with Asperger’s syndrome, a disorder on the autism spectrum. Still, for more than a decade, she thrived. She was held back three times in school, but attended the same one with her twin and had access to special education classes.
“Being a twin, you always have a best friend,” said Rosslyn Taylor, Rebecca ’s twin. “She was always my best friend. We was always close when we were younger.”
When Rebecca was 16, she began to show signs of depression and aggression. There were fights at school and suspensions.
One day, though her teacher knew she couldn’t be asked questions in class, a substitute called on her — and a student called her “retarded.” This led to a melee during which the teacher got hit, and Rebecca was exiled to an external education program.
Around this time, Rebecca got another diagnosis: bipolar disorder with traits of schizoaffective disorder. Her behavior changed, too.
She would wander from the house. She would accuse family members of plotting to kill her, or talk about her upcoming trip to Mars, or explain that she had died and come back to life. When her oldest sister got pregnant, Rebecca became infatuated with her belly, and her sister would wake up to find Rebecca standing over her.
“When Rebecca is psychotic, she can be kind of scary,” Chandler said. “She was in need of a more secure, intense program. She needs someone with her.”
Time in a group home
Rebecca began living at a group home for the mentally ill in Charles County, Md., called Pathways. She took medication, and for awhile, things went well.
At Pathways, she had her own apartment, which was filled with stuffed animals and her artwork. She was working toward her GED and had a job at Target as a cashier. She went to her mother’s home on weekends and for holidays.
But in 2016, when Rebecca realized she was an adult, she started making her own decisions. She drank and smoked marijuana and stopped taking her medication. This led to more manic episodes and violent, paranoid behavior, her mother said. Once fastidious about her appearance, she stopped bathing and caring for her hair.
Such behavior wasn’t only out of character, her mother said, but it put Rebecca out of compliance with Pathways. After a few second chances, she was kicked out of the program on Christmas Eve 2016, weeks after walking her twin sister down the aisle at her wedding.
Pathways Executive Director Gerry McGloin said he could not acknowledge whether a particular person received services, but said Pathways works as an advocate for patients, and sometimes patients and families do not agree on what’s best. He said Pathways can only do so much for people with mental illnesses who refuse its services.
A struggle to get Rebecca help
Rebecca moved back in with her mother, who had to arrange full-time care for her grown child at her home.
If Chandler took her to a hospital during a manic episode, explaining that her daughter needed help, the hospital staff could ask Rebecca whether she promised to take her medication. If she agreed, she wouldn’t get admitted. After all, there was nothing physically wrong with her.
Chandler couldn’t understand it. Nurses would listen to Rebecca talk about extraterrestrial travel and insist there was nothing they could do for her. But Rebecca was an adult. Legally, she could make her own decisions, regardless of her mental state.
Because of privacy laws, Chandler couldn’t get basic information about her daughter.
After Rebecca stopped taking her medication in 2016, she went to the emergency room or was hospitalized about 10 times. Her mother called the police on her three times.
Police were as unwilling to intervene as the hospitals, Chandler said. Twice, they refused to take Rebecca to the emergency room. A third time, they took her to the hospital only after she tried to attack a police officer. It seemed like an endless cycle.
After the viral video
After the video went viral, the hospital behind the patient dumping apologized, mounted an internal investigation and in March was cited by a federal regulator.
There are a lot of people to be called to account in how her daughter was treated, Chandler said. There are hospitals, case managers and emergency responders who she says failed her. She has a lawyer and is contemplating a lawsuit against UMMC.
Then there is the army of trolls on social media. As much as the video helped Rebecca receive quality treatment, it also made her a target. People made fun of her appearance and called her a junkie.
“I have a lot of hate toward the people who dehumanized her, embarrassed her, hurt her,” Taylor said. “I know Rebecca wouldn’t want me to do that. She wouldn’t want me to think that way. But it’s hard to think that people didn’t treat my sister like the beautiful human being she is.”
In the meantime, Chandler is still struggling to get Rebecca the help she needs. She stayed at a hospital until late March, when she was sent back to her mother’s home for about two weeks.
She ended up in another hospital this month, Chandler said, suffering from flashbacks from her time in Baltimore.
The latest hospitalization comes after much struggle. In the months before the video went viral, Chandler had embraced a new strategy for helping her daughter: not helping her.
“If I’m there, they’re more inclined to not do anything,” she said of Rebecca’s encounters with hospitals and law enforcement agencies. “If I’m there, they are less likely to do their job.”
