Friday, November 22, 2013
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Losing Wayne.... again
I find myself crying, sobbing, vocally mourning the loss of Wayne like I did the week of the stroke. I'm surprised by this, yet I'm finding it to "make sense". We are at another "fencepost" as a caregiver class referred to it; a transitioning spot where what was is no longer and the next stretch of fence looks very different from what's behind us. and it's unknown. I'm not bad with unknown (at least I don't think I am) but I am terrible with closing chapters--and I mean terrible--and with letting time pass to allow for healing (a.k.a. Patience).
Wayne needs daily, maybe hourly, care; so he will go to a skilled nursing facility. His apartment lease ended and I've been moving him out over the past week... It's another crazy "widow" type experience, going through all of your loved one's belongings and having memories flood your being without warning, and having to decide what to keep versus what to donate. My body is manifesting the stress physically: I've been in cold-sweats for 8 days now, my oh-so-awesome facial numbness, and a rash taking over my right hand.
I miss you, Wayne!
I am lonesome for him--it hasn't been the same since 2008 (obviously), but at least I had some bits of Wayne in my life. I'm at the point where I'm realizing I've been underwater for months, treading water, holding Morgan with one hand and Wayne with the other, kicking like mad to get all of us back up to the surface... but I can't. The divorce and the loss of my job caused Wayne to be on state healthcare and benefits. And then the leg fracture requiring surgery and after-surgery PT (physical therapy) and nursing and pain management care--it was like a trifecta that demanded I take another path.
I wish I could continue to muster the unhuman strength to get all three of us to the surface.
I wish he could live up the street from us, take the bus down to our house and visit Morgan and/or Luna (our 2 year old Australian Cattle Dog), and spend Fridays with Morgan.
I wish he could have freedom, independence, and a life.
I called Wayne two days ago, so Tuesday, and just sobbed on the phone. He did too. I said, "I'm so sorry that I can't come visit you at the hospital. It brings back too many memories, and I really need to detach from being your primary caregiver. I hurt and hate that you are sitting in a hospital, and that you are probably sad, hurt, and lonely.... but I'm sad, hurt, and lonely. I wish you had chosen me. I can't protect you from sadness, pain, or loneliness. I can't protect you from anything I'm realizing. But I can protect myself. And it is so painful to not be there with you or for you! I'm so sorry that this is what life handed us and it sucks. I love you, and I'm not taking Morgan away from you, or abandoning you. We'll come visit you when you move to your new spot, once you are out of Harborview. Okay? Okay. Bye."
The best analogy I can identify is how it must feel when your loved one gives you the last seat in the life raft... how Rose must have felt in Titanic when Jack left her to survive. Why does it have to be a choice? Why can't we both survive? Why does one of us have to sink?
I suppose we both can survive, actually. I just can't be the one helping Wayne to survive. He needs to help himself do that, and if he needs assistance in doing that, it can't be me to "save" him.
*Light bulb* (hahaha--like in Despicable Me. LOL)
Wayne needs daily, maybe hourly, care; so he will go to a skilled nursing facility. His apartment lease ended and I've been moving him out over the past week... It's another crazy "widow" type experience, going through all of your loved one's belongings and having memories flood your being without warning, and having to decide what to keep versus what to donate. My body is manifesting the stress physically: I've been in cold-sweats for 8 days now, my oh-so-awesome facial numbness, and a rash taking over my right hand.
I miss you, Wayne!
November 2nd would have been our 11 year wedding anniversary.
I am lonesome for him--it hasn't been the same since 2008 (obviously), but at least I had some bits of Wayne in my life. I'm at the point where I'm realizing I've been underwater for months, treading water, holding Morgan with one hand and Wayne with the other, kicking like mad to get all of us back up to the surface... but I can't. The divorce and the loss of my job caused Wayne to be on state healthcare and benefits. And then the leg fracture requiring surgery and after-surgery PT (physical therapy) and nursing and pain management care--it was like a trifecta that demanded I take another path.
I wish I could continue to muster the unhuman strength to get all three of us to the surface.
I wish he could live up the street from us, take the bus down to our house and visit Morgan and/or Luna (our 2 year old Australian Cattle Dog), and spend Fridays with Morgan.
I wish he could have freedom, independence, and a life.
I called Wayne two days ago, so Tuesday, and just sobbed on the phone. He did too. I said, "I'm so sorry that I can't come visit you at the hospital. It brings back too many memories, and I really need to detach from being your primary caregiver. I hurt and hate that you are sitting in a hospital, and that you are probably sad, hurt, and lonely.... but I'm sad, hurt, and lonely. I wish you had chosen me. I can't protect you from sadness, pain, or loneliness. I can't protect you from anything I'm realizing. But I can protect myself. And it is so painful to not be there with you or for you! I'm so sorry that this is what life handed us and it sucks. I love you, and I'm not taking Morgan away from you, or abandoning you. We'll come visit you when you move to your new spot, once you are out of Harborview. Okay? Okay. Bye."
The best analogy I can identify is how it must feel when your loved one gives you the last seat in the life raft... how Rose must have felt in Titanic when Jack left her to survive. Why does it have to be a choice? Why can't we both survive? Why does one of us have to sink?
I suppose we both can survive, actually. I just can't be the one helping Wayne to survive. He needs to help himself do that, and if he needs assistance in doing that, it can't be me to "save" him.
*Light bulb* (hahaha--like in Despicable Me. LOL)
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Manifest-ering
On Saturday morning, as Morgan and I walked to the car after a sleepover at one of her friend's house, she mentioned Wayne for the first time in 12+ days. "I hope daddy is okay.... I wish I could see him--can I visit him at the hospital?" "Absolutely. Let's head there now. Okay?" "REALLY?!?! Oh thank you Mom! Thank you!" as she tilts her head to the left, places her prayer-shaped hands on her left cheek, and bats her eyelashes. (She is "Gone With The Wind" girly-dramatic--I can actually imagine her saying, "I do declare!")
Then, a few seconds later, "Mommyyyyy? I'm scared to see daddy," Morgan said timidly. So, we talked through it and what to expect and what our plan was and how long we would stay and what did she feel our purpose was in going there and what we are not going to do while there, talked about what she was scared of, talked about all of it during the 15 minute Express Lane drive south to Harborview.
We easily find parking on a side street, and before we get out to visit Wayne, I turn to Morgan and calmly and matter-of-factly explain, "Because daddy almost died here [5 years ago], the sounds and smells and seeing certain things can be very stressful to me. It also brings back a lot of stressful memories. And when I am that stressed, I can have a difficult time breathing and staying calm. So, I am going to have music playing in my left ear [through my hands free earpiece connected to the KindleFire] to keep my brain busy and to help keep me calm. I hope we can stay until you are ready to go, but I might need to leave if I get too stressed-out." She agrees to this plan. I also acknowledge "if you get too stressed out or scared, we can leave at any time. Just tell me when you want to leave..."
Then, a few seconds later, "Mommyyyyy? I'm scared to see daddy," Morgan said timidly. So, we talked through it and what to expect and what our plan was and how long we would stay and what did she feel our purpose was in going there and what we are not going to do while there, talked about what she was scared of, talked about all of it during the 15 minute Express Lane drive south to Harborview.
As I turn onto 9th Ave, I can feel my lip go numb and my breathing get shallow and exaggerated... I hate seeing the Emergency Room entrance... it all rushes back:
racing from Northwest Hospital on 2008-April-02 to Harborview, not knowing where to go, not knowing if Wayne died in the ambulance during the emergent transfer, having to get into the parking garage and unload Morgan and the stroller and the diaper bag, unsurely approaching the Harborview West Entrance and if this is where we were supposed to be, seeing several people leaving Harborview carrying plastic, bright neon orange Harborview Discharge bags... "Please let Wayne get one of those bags someday," I say under my breath. "I hope we get an orange bag..." I said to my mom walking beside me as I push the stroller through the automatic doors. The possibility that he may not leave the hospital at all but rather have one last transfer, to the morgue, was very real.
We easily find parking on a side street, and before we get out to visit Wayne, I turn to Morgan and calmly and matter-of-factly explain, "Because daddy almost died here [5 years ago], the sounds and smells and seeing certain things can be very stressful to me. It also brings back a lot of stressful memories. And when I am that stressed, I can have a difficult time breathing and staying calm. So, I am going to have music playing in my left ear [through my hands free earpiece connected to the KindleFire] to keep my brain busy and to help keep me calm. I hope we can stay until you are ready to go, but I might need to leave if I get too stressed-out." She agrees to this plan. I also acknowledge "if you get too stressed out or scared, we can leave at any time. Just tell me when you want to leave..."
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Me as a 'Sister Wife'!
When all of us "stroke wives" were in the depths of grief, problem solving, mastering the juggling act of so many roles, I joked that what we each really needed was a "sister wife". I'm sure the idea came from my adoration, commitment, and obsession with HBO's "Big Love" series.
We each needed someone who loved our stroke-survivor husband as much as we did, was willing to stay "knee-deep" in the trenches of this post-stroke life, and be a support system, shoulder to cry on, and another adult brain in-the-room to help make decisions for us stroke-wives.
I received this mug in the mail today from one of my fellow stroke-wives... It's like a trophy or an award!
So... "I'd like to thank the academy".... of aphasia, apraxia, epilepsy, neurology, ... To all of 'the therapies'.... you know who you are ;-) ...
And to my stroke wife sisters... *tear* ... I don't know where I would be without you, both mentally and physically, if I had not had you to share AND CONTINUE TO SHARE this unique, forever altering journey.
LOVE YOU 'sisters'!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)