Lindsay Clancy was a labor and delivery nurse. Her hands caught babies. Her hands held them. Her hands lifted them to their mothers’ chests. Those same hands were around her children’s necks while thirteen psychiatric medications prescribed by her providers were still in her blood. They saw her psychosis. They discharged her into it.
Postpartum psychosis is a documented medical emergency. It affects one to two per thousand women after delivery and destroys the ability to distinguish reality. Researchers at the Medical University of Lublin found in 2023 that half of those affected have a history of psychiatric problems, with bipolar disorder as the most common risk factor — a risk profile her providers would have recognized, if they had looked. Clancy was diagnosed with depression and psychosis symptoms. She was prescribed thirteen medications. She was in the care of psychiatrists, nurse practitioners, emergency physicians, and psychiatric hospital staff. The prosecution and the defense agree she killed her three children in 2023. They disagree only over whether the psychosis left her unable to distinguish what she was doing. Both Lindsay Clancy and her ex-husband, Patrick Clancy, have filed civil lawsuits against her medical providers for failing to diagnose and treat the condition before the children died.
The psychosis that destroyed her mind has a name. It is documented. It is real. It is a medical emergency — one to two per thousand women after delivery. You know this. You know the research. You know that half of those affected have a history of psychiatric problems. You know that bipolar disorder is the most common risk factor. You know because she was in your care. She was medicated by you. She was seen by you. Her psychosis was in your notes. Her mind was dissolving in front of your eyes. And you discharged her. As jury selection began last week, the prosecution and the defense agreed on one thing: she killed them. They disagreed only over whether she knew what she was doing. She did not. You documented that she might not. And you discharged her anyway.
There is a weight in your throat now. A nausea that will not settle. You know what it is. She was a labor and delivery nurse. She caught babies. Her hands held newborns, lifted them, placed them on their mothers’ chests. Those same hands were around her children’s necks while thirteen medications you prescribed were still in her blood. Her mind had broken. She could not distinguish what was real. She was in your care. Her file is in your hands. The prescription pad is on your desk. The discharge papers bear your signature. Your stomach tightens when you open the file. The name you read is the name of the woman you sent home into the psychosis that killed her children. Her husband filed suit against you. She filed suit against you. They are saying what this column says. You saw it. You let her go. The nausea does not settle. The metallic taste rises under your tongue. Your hand shakes when you reach for the prescription pad again. Your breath will not fill your lungs.
“I believe there is a dignity in sorrow simply because it is God’s good pleasure that there should be. He is forever raising up those who are brought low. It means simply that God takes the side of sufferers against those who afflict them.” — Marilynne Robinson, Gilead
Three children are dead. A woman’s mind broke in your care. The hands that could have caught her are the hands that let her go.