Already gone

 

My heart is breaking. I don’t know where to turn. I feel like I'm reaching the end of my ability to pick myself up and go on. I don’t want to wake up. There is no reason to try. I am alone.

His eyes have dark circles. His cheeks are sinking. His hands shake and clutch with a mind of their own. He sees a chasm where there's tile on the floor. He sees a cliff in every rug. His feet seem rooted to the ground and he can barely move. He forgets this. He wants to do things, but he can't. He tires fast but refuses to rest. He can't help me help him. He looks at me as I struggle to position him to sit, as if I'm leading him to peril.

I am no longer invincible. I am lost. This can't be me, and I fear I'm gone forever. I wish the real me could come back and help us. I wish I had five minutes to myself for every time I have been told "you are not alone." But I am, and I feel hopeless. I want drugs for me and drugs for him. I want us to sleep. Mindfulness is overrated—give me mindlessness. Meeting him where he is could be the end of us both. I just can't keep going there.

I feel like I have depleted my supply of the effort it takes to find joy. I can't do it. I have no desire to keep trying, but I am hitting a wall. The disappointment of it is breaking me. I can't rest. Everything I do must be rushed. I can't come up with a single scrap of hope. Hope is cruel and not for everyone.

I feel like my insides are turning to stone as my smart, strong, athletic, sweet, kind, and loving husband just wastes away before my eyes. He has lost 20 pounds. He isn't interested in food or water. I feel like my every waking moment is spent trying to feed him. He is sick of me poking things at his mouth. He grows mistrustful when I try to get him to sit down. I feel like I say sit down, lay down, or go to sleep more than any other words.

I can't muster the energy to continue the pretense of excellence. I just can't be bothered. My energy is gone. I am tired of trying to improve our situation. I'm done fighting alone. Disappointment is detrimental. My tears are hot and fat, and they fall so fast. My daughters are just not in this story.

I'm thinking I will just disappear. I want to run outside to lie in the grass and scream. I want someone to find me there so I can lash out like a wounded cheetah. I want someone to know how bad it is behind these closed doors. I am so alone. I am mad. I have nothing for me. I can't take a shower, watch a movie, or watch a TV show. I can't take a walk. I can't do anything without either being joined, watched, or interrupted.

He won't let me sleep. He wakes me up and stares at me with his pitiful, round pie eyes of innocence. I remember he is frightened, but he knows nothing of what is to come. The present scares him. The future scares me.

I'm so sick of anything that happens in the bathroom. I'm sick of cleaning piss off the walls, the floor, and our bodies. I'm sick of taking him to the toilet. Four out of five times, he has forgotten how to pee. I am not a professional penis handler. I don't know how to deal with having to decide for him if he needs to stand or sit. I ask him, and his answer is, "How do I know?" I get the penis out and he clutches his pants back on. Then he wets himself. Or, I get him ready and he tries to get into the shower or mess with the trash can.

"Pee!" I tell him. Then hhe asks, "how do I do it?" I have to show him what to do. But I don't know what to do. I don't want to be involved in this. I am traumatized. There will never be another penis in my home. I am exhausted.

He will not sit still. He creeps around the bedroom mumbling unintelligibly. He looks at everything. He picks things up, messes with them, and moves them. He obsessively adjusts the sheets. He does this shuffling around until he is physically exhausted. Is this a problem? Really? No. But he gets frustrated, and then I find myself anxious and clenched—always clenched. So exhausted, so alone.

I feel so ashamed that I think of how horrible this is for me, and then I remember how much more horrible it is for him. And I love him more than life. I just want to turn back time or fast forward. Anything but this. Anything but what I know is coming. How can I do it if I'm already gone?

The Moon Can Wait

The moon calls to me but I cannot go.
Quiet now, so that he can rest his poor, broken brain.

I wait by his side.
He will never be alone, this I promise.

Silent tears fall
Moonlight stirs the wildness my other heart craves

It is so lonely here without my soulmate
The moonlight illuminates memories of another life, But not for him.

My inner self struggles to return to our bubble, but that life is over.
My mate is down.

I will carry our precious memories for the both of us.
I turn my face to the lure of the moon, my body still held firmly by the touch of his hand.

Sleep my love. I am here.
The moon can wait.

Traumatized by an oil change

Things were going well. 

A few minor bobbles but we got through it. 
I was feeling empowered by my success
And I got cocky.

I know! I’ll make an oil change appointment,
And instead of waiting there, Bruce and I will wheel over to Marcos for lunch.
What could go wrong?

A gust of wind,
A toppled hat,
The bleat of a pneumatic impact wrench
Terror

I shield him with my arms and body, whispering calming words into his hair. 
His arms have the strength of flight, as his hands grip and clutch to fight
Eyes wild, body trembling yet frozen, incomprehensible babbling, both he and I.

A kind passerby approaches
Do you need some help?
My tears fall as my mind searches for an answer
I wouldn’t know what to ask for, what is this help of which you speak?

He’s having a panic attack, I say. And the kind stranger fades away.
I can’t move forward or back. I don’t know what to do besides wait for a break in the onslaught.

Another man approaches to inquire.
What can you do to help me? See that white car? It needs an oil change quickly or we will have to leave.
Would you like to come back at a better time?
There is no better time. There will never be a better time. Nothing will ever be better.

The distraction allows me to get Bruce back inside of the shop. 
I’m fighting tears. 
He looks at me. My kind and gentle Bruce looks at me,
And he scoffs.
He shakes his head and laughs at me.

Like a bully, he sees my pain and it fills him with derision. 
Is this what he really is? Or is this the disease.
Because if it is the disease, it is the devil.

I have a new medication to try. It is for just such an occasion.
I can’t get it under his tongue, so I just put it into his mouth.
He didn’t object, it dissolved instantly.
Now we wait.

The bones in my hands are aching from his grasp,
But slowly, gradually, his body releases the tension that has made his heart like stone.
I just want to go home. He just wants to go home. 

Oil change done, I apologize for the drama
No need to apologize, another kind person

I cry all the way home in the car, but Bruce has calmed and is looking disinterestedly out the window. 
Maybe this new medication is the answer I’ve been waiting for. Hope creeps in…

Home. He’s feeling dizzy. He acts a little drunk, but he’s happy and pleasant. 
I help him inside and up to bed. 
I bring food, he eats, and thankfully,
Sleeps

With the resiliance of an idiot, I bring him downstairs with me to make dinner.
He won’t stay alone. I must make food.

I get things going and he needs the toilet.
He is still tipsy and has no idea what to do, so I sit him down, 
I turn my back to shut off the air fryer, 
It was only a second…

A scream!
He’s falling backwards out of the bathroom.
The world slows down as I see his face hit the door frame,
His eye glasses burst apart and clatter to the floor
He lands on his butt and is yelling in pain and fright.

I drop by his side and see that the temple piece of his glasses 
has lodged into his flesh just above his right eye.
Macabre to see that thing bob as it sticks straight out from his face!

Automatically I grab it and yank. 
I feel a fleshy resistance as it come out and blood flows.
I am trapped there, holding a paper towel against his head to stop the blood.
My mind is split in two, one is hysterical, the other is the last vestiges of my brain working desperately to know what to do. 
It’s all a blur. 

I call his PCP, who is our neighbor, to see if he is at home. He is not. I hang up.
Siri, call Kim

OMG what do I do? We can not go back to that horrible ER.
I dump my first aid bag, gause and bandaids scatter 
Why can’t I find what I need? What do I need?

I see blood on the floor.
What else? His arm has a gouged flap that’s bleeding.
I paw through the rubble and find a bandage to slap on. 
I try to get a cushion beneath him but he yells when I try to move him. 
He keeps touching his back. I’m handling this all wrong.

I see the phone lying on the floor, with an open call to Kim
I had forgotten, I grab the phone and say something hysterical.
She’s calling the ambulance.
I give up.

I sit there beside him, a puddle really. 
I’m useless.
I’m incoherant.
My bones have melted
My brain is running out my nose.
All I can do is cry…

His doctor has come
I didn’t ask him to come.
He tells me that I took him away from scheduled minor surgical procedures…
WTAF
Yeah, that’s what I need.
You throw guilt on top of this dumpster fire. What a guy.
I did NOT ask you to come.

The ambulance is on the way.

He asks me questions. 
My mouth moved and sound came out.
Calm down, he says.
Fuck you, my mind responds.
I’m sorry for interrupting you, I didn’t mean for you to come.
It’s ok. 
It is not ok, it will never be ok

He tells the paramedics what I’ve told him (I guess)
They come in and look him over, then whisk him off into the ambulance.
I grab the hospital go bag and get in.

I cry and wail all the way to the ER. 
I don't want to go there.
The nurses are horrible.
They roll their eyes,
They don’t come when the machines need attention,
They don’t help
They are rough and dispassionate. 
Maybe a little lazy. 

Bruce now feels pretty good
He’s holding court there in the back of the ambulance
Entertaining the paramedic as he works
I’m frantic

Inside the ER, we wait.
I’m trying to act like an adult,
but I’m done with that really.
It gets me nowhere.

I tell them that we just want to go home,
We don’t want to BE here!
The nurses are rude, present company excepted (I say to the orderly/nurse standing in front of me)

He is kind.

I hover and flutter over Bruce, 
He gets cold so easily,
I have to keep him covered
I heave with emotion and he tells me that I look terrible.

In the nicest kind of way.

I mean, he said it as plain as day, 
as if he could speak at will.
His face was loving and compassionate
He rubbed my arm, petted my hair, hugged me
He told me that he was fine and that I didn’t need to worry.
He is the only person in this world who is allowed to tell me
TO CALM DOWN!

Why is MY Bruce only here when I’m distraught? 
Does it bring him to the surface?
Is there some part of him that is still able to come to my rescue?
How I wish he could stay…

Our reunion was interrupted by a very nice doctor. 
He listened.
He responded correctly.
He was agreeable
He was validating 
He was reassuring
I calmed

He probed Bruce’s laceration
I showed him the offending temple piece
He confirmed a hole of corresponding shape, and suggested stitches.
No foreign body, maybe we’ll glue it.

Kim arrived, and my hysterics dried up completely.
She showed up for me. Again. And it gave me a base to work from.
Steady

All this time, Bruce has needed to pee. 
The urine that began this little tableau was still reluctant to show.
They gave me a bottle and pulled the curtain. 
Bruce was shaky, impatient, growing angry
He began to spiral, oh no, here it comes!

I tried taking him to the toilet. He yelled and clenched his fists
He tried to hit me.
He would not use the toilet.

Back in the cubicle,
Struggling to get Bruce into the bed,
Our white knight arrived and lifted Bruce bodily and plunked him down on the bed.
So there!

Blood draw, 
Bruce is beginning to fade
CT of the head and abdomen
No problem lying still, he’s practically comatose now.
All of the fight has left him.

We wait
Bruce dozed
He was in and out, but no longer violent.
Kim listened as I poured it all out. 

We are not staying overnight.
I have no idea how much time has passed
The doctor arrives with the discharge papers,
I load Bruce onto the wheelchair and we get outta Dodge.

Home
We eat sandwiches
We go to bed. 
I just needed an oil change.