When I started this blog, I made myself a promise which was to tell the truth, to write an honest blog. I mean, that's what writers do, tell the truth and the truth will set you free--right? Well, some things I am not so proud of, and the other night was no exception. But here it is, the whole truth.
It had been one of those nights and I snapped. Had a regular melt down. I think because it had been such a rough week and I am stressed and worried that Rehab won't let Bob continue and the fact that he seems to be getting worse instead of better and why the hell isn't that bladder medication "kicking in"???
Anyway, it was the second time I was up that night with Bob, changing the sheets, and this time it was a mess: a bigger mess than usual. And I'm up to my elbows in urine and diarrhea, it's so bad that I start to gag. Have to run out of the room because I think I'm going to throw up. That's when I snapped. And I screamed at him. You know how it is, when you're mad and frustrated and you scream, I mean really scream, at-the-top-of-your-lungs, at the one you love. And you say just awful things. Well, that's what I did. I screamed: I wish I never married you! I wish we never met!
Oh lord. The minute, no--the instant it was out of my mouth, I regretted it. And poor Bob cannot defend himself. I mean, normally he would have lashed back out at me. You know how it is, we've been married 16 years and we've had a few battles. Normally, he would tossed some equally terrible insult back at me. But he can't do that, anymore. Poor guy can hardly talk, let alone fight back. My only hope was that maybe, just maybe, he didn't understand what I said. Because sometimes it's hard to tell just how much he understands. One doctor had told me his aphasia was both "expressive" and "receptive", so who knows how much he understands? So that was my hope, that maybe he didn't understand what I screamed. Maybe, just maybe, it went right over his head. So, I calmed down, got him cleaned up and put back to bed and the next morning, after I got him bathed and dressed and up in the wheelchair, he looked at me with these sad, sad eyes and said two words, "You? Marry?"
Damn. He understood.
I tell you, it about broke my heart. I felt like such a heel. Such a total shit. Of course, I apologized. Told him I didn't mean it, was just stressed out, etc. etc. Because you know, I love that guy. I love him so much.
So that's it. The whole truth. The ugly truth. I know, sometimes I get pretty nitty-gritty in this blog. But I started this blog because people kept telling me to "do something for yourself" and I kept thinking, like what? It's not like we have the money to go shopping or whatever. Or the time. And who would take care of Bob if I went out??? So here it is. Ugly as it is. That's how it is, taking care of a stroke survivor. Sometimes, it's not pretty. Sometimes, the only thing that keeps me sane is this blog...
But then, there are nights, after I hook up his nightly feeding pump, I pull a comfortable chair beside his bed and we watch a movie together, and sometimes he grabs my hand with his left hand. Really squeezes tight. He lifts our hands in the air and does sort of a swishing hand dance, back and forth. When he does that, I just melt. And I am so happy, so very happy that he is alive and with me and we can hand-dance in the air together. I love him so much. God, I'm such a shithead.