Did I do the Right Thing?

Andy Lee, 2T7 WB

I stared at Achilleus’s case file, the weight of medical decisions pressing against my temples. The aggressive treatment plan they’d pursued for his schizophrenia—high-dose antipsychotics,intensive therapy, and multiple interventions.

Two years ago, Achilleus had been in the depths of a severe psychotic break. The team had made bold choices. Powerful medications to stabilize his mind, comprehensive psychiatric support to rebuild his reality. They had pulled him back from the brink.

But now, his hands betrayed him. The tremors from medication, the cognitive fog, the reduced motor control—they were insurmountable barriers. The neurological side effects of his treatment had stolen something fundamental.

“Each piece of wood tells a story,” Achilleus would say. “Cedar has this warm, rich scent that speaks of ancient forests. Maple reveals its character through its subtle grain—smooth, with just a hint of complexity.”

When Achilleus spoke about woodworking, his entire demeanor transformed. His eyes would light up, hands moving with a muscle memory that transcended his current challenges. He described the intricate process of crafting furniture with a reverence that bordered on poetry.

But with his tremors, his dream of woodworking remained just that—a dream.

During the last session, Achilleus brought in an old portfolio—sketches of furniture designs he’d created before his diagnosis.

Intricate chairs with perfect curves, tables that seemed to defy gravity, cabinets that told stories through their joints and grains. His fingers traced the lines, but he could no longer create them.

All I did was sit and think to myself.

Did I do the right thing?