Murder-Suicide Prozac 15/01/1991 California Man Cuts Off his Own Arm: Kills Girlfriend: Commits Suicide
Murder-Suicide Prozac 1991-01-15 California Man Cuts Off his Own Arm: Kills Girlfriend: Commits Suicide
http://web.archive.org/web/20130202060020/http://ssristories.com/show.php?item=1031
Summary:
http://www.fda.gov/OHRMS/DOCKETS/AC/prozac/2443T1.PDF
Mrs. Frederic
RICHARDSON: My son, age 17, his student years
were happy years. He was a great source of joy
to his parents. He had a thirst for life. His life is
remembered as a series of vignettes. He climbed the Great
Wall of China, riding camel to the pyramids of Pizzo, watching
with eager fascination the animals
of Serengeti. He skied during winter months and he spent summers
with his parents in the south of France. It was his summer home.
He was very popular and disarming. It was an irresistible love of
life. His curiosity and enthusiasm, the ease with which he
made friends had always taken him off the beaten path. Once
we took him with us to a Chamber of Commerce trip to the
Soviet Union at a time when the stringent security measures
were still in force. He went off on his own, met young
people, enjoyed amenities of Russian life, all this to the
amazement of nervous security people. The group heard with
utter? fascination as he regaled them with stories of his side
adventures.
My son graduated from Wharton. He explained to us
that he wanted to have more studies in humanities. As he put
it to his dad, "I am too mellow in nature to climb the
corporate ladder." My son spent a year in Paris. He studied
everything and anything he wanted. He loved Paris and felt
fulfilled.
In his letters and telephone calls he often
expressed the feeling that he has been blessed with good
fortune of being born to a good home with loving parents. My
son came home from his year in Paris brim-full of ideas on
what he wanted to do with his life. He was happy to be home,
happy with his year in Paris. As always, he was bursting wit
energy and life.
Home one week he woke one morning feeling dreadfull~
sick. When his illness persisted and he was given a series o~
tests by his doctor, the result of each came back negative,
and finally he was examined by Dr. Levy, a research scientist
at U.C. Medical Center. He diagnosed his illness as called
chronic fatigue syndrome, a debilitating disease, but one that
is not fatal and eventually he gets well.
For the next two years my son spent time at home but
he never gave up planning his future nor was he wasteful of
time. He worked on a book, composed music, read a lot, played
piano. He spoke of his new life and he said he wanted to
marry and have a lot of children. He promised us many
grandchildren.
Early in 1989 his condition began to improve and he
gave thought for his future. His father bought him a multimillion
dollar hotel to provide his son with an opportunity to
work in a surrounding that had great appeal to him while he
could also pursue his artistic and creative talent
My son cherished his father.
As an example of his love for his dad
he once wrote, "Dad, you are a masterpiece of a father." When
his father died, he was a great comfort in pulling me through my
sudden loss.
In August, 1990, my son felt well and joined me for
vacation in our usual summer place in France. He flew in,
putting his Harley-Davidson on the plane with him. After an
enjoyable summer, he decided to stay a few more months and
work on his recordings. He was ecstatic about a one-week
engagement opportunity to sing and perform with a band his own
composition in the latter part of February.
Last Christmas my son came home for a visit. At that time he saw
his physician. He thought that he had improved greatly except for
some residual effects that had remained, such as headache and
periodic low energy.
The doctor prescribed Prozac.
Of course, my son was completely unaware that Prozac
was an antidepressant. He had a fear of any form of
sedatives, dreaded the toxic effect of it. After my son
returned to France, excited about his upcoming performance, I
read an article in The Wall Street Journal and I sent it to
him. When I talked to him on the phone, I asked him if he had
read the article. He said yes. He assured me that he had
achieved full recovery. Indeed, he had read the article. He
answered with these words, "Mom, don?t worry about what
depressed and crazy people do. Not only do I not feel
violent, on the contrary, I have never felt happier and more
full of love. I love you and I love the world."
My son had contacts with home on an almost every-day
basis. I did not hear from him for four days. I was
apprehensive. I called a musician friend of his to check on
him. They said that the cleaning woman had knocked at the
door and he was singing opera. He didn't have an operatic
voice and he didn't open the door and he was talking nonsense
This report alarmed me. I sent him a telegram to
call home immediately. One additional day I called back and
demanded that they break into his apartment.
DR. CASEY: Would you please conclude in the next
few seconds?
MS. RICHARDSON: At 3:00 a.m. I received a telephone
call that my son?s body was found with another young lady in
his apartment. This person he had befriended the summer
before was going to the Riviera to visit him. He had told
everyone how much he looked forward to her visit and how much
he liked it.
While waiting for my flight in the lounge of the
airport I struggled to make sense of what little information
I had. The Wall Street Journal on Prozac came to mind. I
placed a call to Dr. Levy and asked to call my son's doctor
and have her call all her patients and have her call all her
patients and have them taken off the Prozac.
Dr. Levy was devastated. He had come to love my son
and his gentle quality, and repeated disbelief, saying that
"your son wouldn't harm anyone, wouldn't take his life. I know
him. It must be the work of a third person."
Upon my arrival with the investigators, they were
baffled by the scene. The woman had died instantly. My son
had sliced himself. His hand was completely severed on the
bed. There was a knife wound on his neck, punctured his
thorax, cuts all over his body, the last blow was through eye
socket that had pierced his brain. He died on the floor with
the kitchen knife beside him.
The investigators had searched the apartment, questioned everyone
who knew him. They already had concluded
that my son lived a clean life. He did not drink or smoke nor did
he take drugs.
They had overruled a newspaper account that it was a cult or a
prowler or a crime of passion. Their findings made them more
mystified.
When I mentioned The Wall Street Journal, the group
revealed that, indeed, the autopsy had shown Prozac in his
system. They immediately accepted that the bizarre behavior
must have been the side effect of the Prozac. They gave the
press the finding the following day. Crime was not committed.
My son and his friend were victims of an American drug
prescribed by an American doctor.
Earlier my son had excitedly reported home
that his Christmas present, a red new car, finally had arrive
and he had picked it up from the customs. He had dropped it
to a garage for a minor adjustment. He expressed how much he
looked forward to driving it.
DR. CASEY: Thank you.