So much has happened in my life since my last blog entry! Let me just fast forward and tell you that all ends well...Eventually.
September brought my husband leaving me, moving all of his personal belongings out of our home, hiring strangers to care for me, then taking off on our two-week Disney cruise to the Panama Canal. Our air-conditioner slow- leaked water, buckling our diningroom subfloor. Our septic system failed. One of my two caregivers didn't work out. I alternated between all-consuming rage and soul-wrenching despair. I was seeing a team of therapists; physical, occupational, and speech. One of my therapists called county mental health after I made an off-color remark about killing myself if only I had the ability. I thought the comment was more of a smart ass way of acknowledging physical helplessness. In retrospect, it was an indication of my increasing depression.
October brought about a reconciliation of sorts. My husband stayed gone for six weeks. He did not call me to acknowledge my 17-year sobriety date nor did he call to wish me a happy birthday. Two events we planned on celebrating aboard a luxury cruise ship together. My last hurrah. I looked forward to his call when he put in to port only to be disappointed again. Each week I set myself up for disappointment and I got it, keeping my emotional wounds raw and bloody. He decided to return home to "save me" or perhaps to save the $1900/week but he neglected to bring home any of his belongings. I constantly felt as if he had one foot out the door which, kept me on a ragged edge. I began taking medication usually prescribed for bipolar disorders at the suggestion of my psychologist. It seemed to help but not fast enough for my husband's temprement. We locked horns. Police were called, usually by my husband, who was paranoid about going to jail thanks to his second wife
November was a bit better with the distraction of the holidays and visiting my sister at the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance (SCCA) House. We still had our battles and they frequently ended with Me on the floor after refusing to be restrained either by muscling me to the transfer chair or to bed. If I didn't want to be somewhere then by God, I would try my darndest to move myself. Sometimes I was successful but often, not so much. I was picked up from the floor so many times I began to recognize our local EMT's and police.
December was more of the same. Trying to get along but having our moments. My feelings were constantly hurt by my husband's withdrawal of love and affection. He refused to go to bed at a reasonable hour opting to stay up half the night until I awoke to an empty bed at 3 or 4 in the morning. Sex was off the table since August. The hurt kept piling on. Christmas was a bust. I might have been recovering from my first ever dose of Halodal received in my friendly neighborhood emergency room. This was precipitated by another fall I took trying to escape the transfer chair he forced me into. This time I went down on my face and I heard an audible crack. I wanted an x-ray. It's important to note that each of my falls were characterized by my husband as me throwing myself out of my wheelchair.Suspicion reigned supreme in our household. Phone calls were taken outside so I could not overhear. The few conversations I did overhear confirmed my worst fears. My husband was angry and portraying me in as negative a manner as possible in an effort to get me out of our home and into a nursing home. My husband seemed to want to provoke me into crying jags. This was easily accomplished by repeating "I can't take care of you".He would increase the torment by picking up my iPhone or iPad taking photos or video and threaten to post to YouTube.
On December 31st, I went out with the old, when my husband felt it absolutely necessary to abandon me in our home...Again. I was grateful that at least he took me to the bathroom but I did not appreciate the orchestration of the event. He talked all night on the phone slanting events so he appeared the long-suffering abused husband. He placed me into the transfer chair and tossed my iphone on the love seat beside mtelling me that he was headed to the police station to turn himself in for abuse I have no idea whether he did so or not. I only know that three hours passed before anybody showed up. One of my friends called 911. Then a number of friends arrived moments before paramedics. Much to my dismay, my stepdad never showed despite saying he'd be right there. My hairdresser showed up and thankfully took charge of the situation. Everyone was thanked and medics sent packing since I was trying to stay in my home. Unfortunately, after the hub bub died down and I got cleaned up, I realized I was nauseous and was experiencing shortness of breath. The paramedics were called back and off I went to the University of Washington. I was put on oxygen in the ambulance. Inspected, painfully poked and prodded, questioned and re-questioned until I was admitted. Then I was made as comfortable as possible in a private room, where I cried in the new year, wondering what would become of me.
I was discharged to a skilled nursing facility (nursing home). I was devastated to not have the love and support of my family nor my husband but I planned a night at the symphony with a loyal friend the same night of my arrival. I went to the home with an attitude of gratitude while harboring a flame of hate in my heart for my husband. This juxtapositioning of emotions would plague me for months to come...
September brought my husband leaving me, moving all of his personal belongings out of our home, hiring strangers to care for me, then taking off on our two-week Disney cruise to the Panama Canal. Our air-conditioner slow- leaked water, buckling our diningroom subfloor. Our septic system failed. One of my two caregivers didn't work out. I alternated between all-consuming rage and soul-wrenching despair. I was seeing a team of therapists; physical, occupational, and speech. One of my therapists called county mental health after I made an off-color remark about killing myself if only I had the ability. I thought the comment was more of a smart ass way of acknowledging physical helplessness. In retrospect, it was an indication of my increasing depression.
October brought about a reconciliation of sorts. My husband stayed gone for six weeks. He did not call me to acknowledge my 17-year sobriety date nor did he call to wish me a happy birthday. Two events we planned on celebrating aboard a luxury cruise ship together. My last hurrah. I looked forward to his call when he put in to port only to be disappointed again. Each week I set myself up for disappointment and I got it, keeping my emotional wounds raw and bloody. He decided to return home to "save me" or perhaps to save the $1900/week but he neglected to bring home any of his belongings. I constantly felt as if he had one foot out the door which, kept me on a ragged edge. I began taking medication usually prescribed for bipolar disorders at the suggestion of my psychologist. It seemed to help but not fast enough for my husband's temprement. We locked horns. Police were called, usually by my husband, who was paranoid about going to jail thanks to his second wife
November was a bit better with the distraction of the holidays and visiting my sister at the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance (SCCA) House. We still had our battles and they frequently ended with Me on the floor after refusing to be restrained either by muscling me to the transfer chair or to bed. If I didn't want to be somewhere then by God, I would try my darndest to move myself. Sometimes I was successful but often, not so much. I was picked up from the floor so many times I began to recognize our local EMT's and police.
December was more of the same. Trying to get along but having our moments. My feelings were constantly hurt by my husband's withdrawal of love and affection. He refused to go to bed at a reasonable hour opting to stay up half the night until I awoke to an empty bed at 3 or 4 in the morning. Sex was off the table since August. The hurt kept piling on. Christmas was a bust. I might have been recovering from my first ever dose of Halodal received in my friendly neighborhood emergency room. This was precipitated by another fall I took trying to escape the transfer chair he forced me into. This time I went down on my face and I heard an audible crack. I wanted an x-ray. It's important to note that each of my falls were characterized by my husband as me throwing myself out of my wheelchair.Suspicion reigned supreme in our household. Phone calls were taken outside so I could not overhear. The few conversations I did overhear confirmed my worst fears. My husband was angry and portraying me in as negative a manner as possible in an effort to get me out of our home and into a nursing home. My husband seemed to want to provoke me into crying jags. This was easily accomplished by repeating "I can't take care of you".He would increase the torment by picking up my iPhone or iPad taking photos or video and threaten to post to YouTube.
On December 31st, I went out with the old, when my husband felt it absolutely necessary to abandon me in our home...Again. I was grateful that at least he took me to the bathroom but I did not appreciate the orchestration of the event. He talked all night on the phone slanting events so he appeared the long-suffering abused husband. He placed me into the transfer chair and tossed my iphone on the love seat beside mtelling me that he was headed to the police station to turn himself in for abuse I have no idea whether he did so or not. I only know that three hours passed before anybody showed up. One of my friends called 911. Then a number of friends arrived moments before paramedics. Much to my dismay, my stepdad never showed despite saying he'd be right there. My hairdresser showed up and thankfully took charge of the situation. Everyone was thanked and medics sent packing since I was trying to stay in my home. Unfortunately, after the hub bub died down and I got cleaned up, I realized I was nauseous and was experiencing shortness of breath. The paramedics were called back and off I went to the University of Washington. I was put on oxygen in the ambulance. Inspected, painfully poked and prodded, questioned and re-questioned until I was admitted. Then I was made as comfortable as possible in a private room, where I cried in the new year, wondering what would become of me.
I was discharged to a skilled nursing facility (nursing home). I was devastated to not have the love and support of my family nor my husband but I planned a night at the symphony with a loyal friend the same night of my arrival. I went to the home with an attitude of gratitude while harboring a flame of hate in my heart for my husband. This juxtapositioning of emotions would plague me for months to come...
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