It is easy for me to get lost in my memories and past lives. I say past lives because many of those memories surround a person I am no more. When it comes right down to it though, I am truly thankful for where my life has led me today, despite my failures, despite my health, despite my shortcomings, and despite any other obstacle.
I am thankful that I wake up every morning.
I am thankful that I am alive.
I am thankful that I can function on a daily basis.
I am thankful that I have an amazing and supportive husband.
I am thankful that my husband is thankful for me. :)
I am thankful for my two cuddly pets.
I am thankful for my sense of humor.
I am thankful for my home, and the things in it.
I am thankful for my education.
I am thankful for my creativity and my ideas.
I am thankful for truth and enlightenment.
I am thankful for being humbled by Kienbock's disease - because without being thankful for everything else on this list, I might not have become the person I am today with Kienbock's disease.
Showing posts with label husband. Show all posts
Showing posts with label husband. Show all posts
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Things Must Change
DISCLAIMER: This is not meant to hurt anyone's feelings. It is not an attack. THIS IS HOW I FEEL. THESE ARE MY OPINIONS AND EXPERIENCES. You can't change that.
Since many people responded to my previous post in a way I half expected (dared to hope wouldn't), I would like to remind everyone who reads this that this is a blog about MY life, MY experiences, MY views, MY opinions. None of which is something that you can affect with words. So, I'd like to explain something about having depression and a borderline personality ... mothering them will not work. Telling them things aren't so, will not work. Giving them an "open door" will readily be ignored. And again, I am not saying this to hurt people's feelings. I'm stating the truth. It forces me to withdraw further.
I've spent my entire life reaching out, and floundering. This is something I struggle with daily. I've tried initiating friendship, I've tried carrying on friendship, I've tried being a good family member ....in all of these situations, I get walked upon. People lie, people flake, people don't want to be around me, people don't want to do the things I want to do - but when the tables are flipped, they expect me to respond. I'll give an example.
I was acquaintances with someone in college. I really wanted to be her friend; she was a really interesting person and someone I felt I could connect with over a weird interest in serial killers. (Since that is aside from my point, I'll leave you wondering.) One summer, she stayed at school. I called her and asked if she could come help me put together some furniture as my husband and I had just moved and he was working full-time and attending classes. She came over and helped me put together the dining table, the chairs, and a small coffee table. We got to talking about things, and she wanted to be a bone specialist. I explained I had a really interesting book on bones. It told this hilarious story about how Michael Jackson thought he could buy the Elephant man's skeleton - which is just wrong on so many levels. I ended up loaning her that book, and another one. On another occasion, we went together to Moscow to have her hair cut since she didn't want to go alone. I thought we were building a good rapport. That year in college, she wanted my support with a major decision she was making. I threw myself behind her because I really believed she could make change happen. Not long after this, she didn't get the position she wanted and I feel she blamed me and my husband for not being her champions. Shortly after this incident, she invited us to a costume party. My husband and I had spent most of the afternoon fighting, so neither of us was in a good mood and we couldn't put costumes together in time. We called and told her we wouldn't be able to make it, that neither of us was feeling very good and that we were fighting, maybe it was best we didn't make her party awkward. This was quite truthful. I think if we had gone, we would have been fighting a lot longer than we could have been. She stopped talking to us much after that unless it was out of convenience. We never received invitations again, when we'd ask her to do something she was always too busy to spend time with us, but not other people, she never returned the books I loaned her, and then a few months later, she moved to the other side of the country to attend graduate school. We've never heard from her again.
This is a pattern in my life. Like it or not, I can give someone every reason to believe me, to trust me, to be kind to me, I can reach out, and then suddenly it's gone. Often without explanation. This remands me to keep to myself. I stop asking anything, and thus I never get anything. I become infuriated when people think they know how to fix me too. I don't want to be fixed. I don't want to understand YOUR view. I don't live in YOUR world because my problems are mine. They stem from me and MY environment. Not yours.
I don't want people's pity. I don't want people's feeble attempts to open doors. (And I say feeble because in MY experiences they have all been feeble, never honest.) I hate to say it, but what I want is someone to just know and then act. Yes, I'm a woman and yes that means in some cases you are expected to be a mind reader. I'm sure everyone can relate to that, but what I am saying here is that I often don't have any idea what the hell it is I need. I don't get it from my family, and I don't get it from the people I know. Often, the only person in the world that can give me anything is my husband. And, he's got enough on his plate - I hate pressuring him to do more. He's been so wonderful that I can't just dump on him anytime I feel like. In fact, he is NOT a punching bag or a trash can. This is something I expect other people to automatically accept without explanation. He can't always be the one.
Finally, my speaking out about my views and my experiences isn't here for you to judge or change my mind about. Things have to change. I'm not some five year old that you can get to believe in Santa, I'm a 30 year old woman with a husband, a degree, a career, 2 home businesses and medical problems. Consolation does not come in the form of "wishing" things for me, or telling me "that's not the way it is." It makes the issue(s) worse. So what is my motivation for doing this?
My getting rid of the poison in my heart, I can be free. THAT, is worth the pain and heartache in the end because at the end of the day, I know who I am and that is all that I want to matter.
Since many people responded to my previous post in a way I half expected (dared to hope wouldn't), I would like to remind everyone who reads this that this is a blog about MY life, MY experiences, MY views, MY opinions. None of which is something that you can affect with words. So, I'd like to explain something about having depression and a borderline personality ... mothering them will not work. Telling them things aren't so, will not work. Giving them an "open door" will readily be ignored. And again, I am not saying this to hurt people's feelings. I'm stating the truth. It forces me to withdraw further.
I've spent my entire life reaching out, and floundering. This is something I struggle with daily. I've tried initiating friendship, I've tried carrying on friendship, I've tried being a good family member ....in all of these situations, I get walked upon. People lie, people flake, people don't want to be around me, people don't want to do the things I want to do - but when the tables are flipped, they expect me to respond. I'll give an example.
I was acquaintances with someone in college. I really wanted to be her friend; she was a really interesting person and someone I felt I could connect with over a weird interest in serial killers. (Since that is aside from my point, I'll leave you wondering.) One summer, she stayed at school. I called her and asked if she could come help me put together some furniture as my husband and I had just moved and he was working full-time and attending classes. She came over and helped me put together the dining table, the chairs, and a small coffee table. We got to talking about things, and she wanted to be a bone specialist. I explained I had a really interesting book on bones. It told this hilarious story about how Michael Jackson thought he could buy the Elephant man's skeleton - which is just wrong on so many levels. I ended up loaning her that book, and another one. On another occasion, we went together to Moscow to have her hair cut since she didn't want to go alone. I thought we were building a good rapport. That year in college, she wanted my support with a major decision she was making. I threw myself behind her because I really believed she could make change happen. Not long after this, she didn't get the position she wanted and I feel she blamed me and my husband for not being her champions. Shortly after this incident, she invited us to a costume party. My husband and I had spent most of the afternoon fighting, so neither of us was in a good mood and we couldn't put costumes together in time. We called and told her we wouldn't be able to make it, that neither of us was feeling very good and that we were fighting, maybe it was best we didn't make her party awkward. This was quite truthful. I think if we had gone, we would have been fighting a lot longer than we could have been. She stopped talking to us much after that unless it was out of convenience. We never received invitations again, when we'd ask her to do something she was always too busy to spend time with us, but not other people, she never returned the books I loaned her, and then a few months later, she moved to the other side of the country to attend graduate school. We've never heard from her again.
This is a pattern in my life. Like it or not, I can give someone every reason to believe me, to trust me, to be kind to me, I can reach out, and then suddenly it's gone. Often without explanation. This remands me to keep to myself. I stop asking anything, and thus I never get anything. I become infuriated when people think they know how to fix me too. I don't want to be fixed. I don't want to understand YOUR view. I don't live in YOUR world because my problems are mine. They stem from me and MY environment. Not yours.
I don't want people's pity. I don't want people's feeble attempts to open doors. (And I say feeble because in MY experiences they have all been feeble, never honest.) I hate to say it, but what I want is someone to just know and then act. Yes, I'm a woman and yes that means in some cases you are expected to be a mind reader. I'm sure everyone can relate to that, but what I am saying here is that I often don't have any idea what the hell it is I need. I don't get it from my family, and I don't get it from the people I know. Often, the only person in the world that can give me anything is my husband. And, he's got enough on his plate - I hate pressuring him to do more. He's been so wonderful that I can't just dump on him anytime I feel like. In fact, he is NOT a punching bag or a trash can. This is something I expect other people to automatically accept without explanation. He can't always be the one.
Finally, my speaking out about my views and my experiences isn't here for you to judge or change my mind about. Things have to change. I'm not some five year old that you can get to believe in Santa, I'm a 30 year old woman with a husband, a degree, a career, 2 home businesses and medical problems. Consolation does not come in the form of "wishing" things for me, or telling me "that's not the way it is." It makes the issue(s) worse. So what is my motivation for doing this?
My getting rid of the poison in my heart, I can be free. THAT, is worth the pain and heartache in the end because at the end of the day, I know who I am and that is all that I want to matter.
Friday, September 27, 2013
Hi. I'm Kienbock's Girl and I Suffer From Depression.
I remember being lonely from a very young age. I have a younger sister and a younger brother, hoards of cousins, a best friend I've known my entire life, yet I remember feeling lonely most of my life. I can't pinpoint exactly what it stems from, but I know there are many factors that contribute to my bouts of depression.
When I was 16 I contracted mono from sharing drinks with friends at school. Two friends who were dating each other had been sick for a couple of weeks, but didn't know that they had mono. I distinctly recall buying a Sprite one day for lunch, and they passed it between each other. We did this often in my circle of friends. If someone had a drink, you just shared. And, there were like 15 of us or so that this would happen with. That day, I shared it with the two of them, and then went to German class. A week later, my dad had to take me to the doctor because I couldn't stay awake, I wasn't eating much, and I felt like every day I had run a marathon. The clinic gave me that form they always give to patients to fill out asking what their symptoms are; what aches, what hurts, what stings, stabs, pokes, bleeds, etc. I checked a bunch of stuff on the list including headaches, itchy eyes, lethargy, trouble sleeping, trouble falling asleep, trouble waking up, exhaustion, wheezing, achy joints, and more.
When I went in with the doctor, they first gave me a blood test to see if I had diabetes. Then, she asked me why I checked everything off on the form. I told her (in what I am sure was my best 16 year old attitude) the form asked me to list everything I was feeling, so I did. They swabbed my mouth, took my temperature and then took 6 vials of blood from me. After this invasion, she sat down to "chat" with me. She basically told me that I was likely suffering from early forms of insomnia and depression - which are often linked. She told me she was going to prescribe medication to "regulate" my hormone levels.
Not long after this, we found out I was sick with mono. But, my dad starting taking me to a psychologist at the doctor's urging - over something completely unrelated which at some point I may be able to talk about more openly. After some time with the psychologist, she too believed I suffered from episodes of manic depression, but did not believe I was manic - that I just had a mild form that would peak at times. In addition to this, she also agreed that I was suffering from insomnia. I would literally stay up all hours of the night trying to keep my mind off of my life, my family, my problems, and my loneliness.
I was kept on drugs for depression for a few months. I only told 1 person other than my family that I was being medicated. Mostly, because when I was on the medication, I was not the same person. He thought I was acting extremely strangely. I would talk to complete strangers, I made dates with complete strangers, I would drive my car with one leg out the window (no, I'm not kidding), in social situations, I would be relaxed and indifferent, I would say things I normally would never have the gall to say, the list goes on. Ultimately, I hated the person I had become on drugs and so I quit taking them after a while.
In my view of my life, I have been a very inward person. I don't share the deepest parts of me with anyone. Or, if I do, it is a bit here and there and usually they're with my husband. I was brought up by a father who had no nonsense parents, and by a mother who was somewhat crazy but was someone you didn't dare cross. I did not fit either of these molds. I feel like my entire life, I've been nothing but a disappointment in the temperament and character they wanted in a daughter - though I'm sure neither of them could agree on what this would have been. Though I imagine it would be more like my sister for the most part. I have felt like an outsider in my family for as long as I can remember. My name doesn't help matters much. I have a completely unusual name, while everyone else has normal names. And, when I hear in my head my dad or mom saying my name, it accompanies a panic and feeling a tone of extreme disappointment
Not long after I was diagnosed with depression, I realized with my Psychologist that I have a Borderline Personality disorder. If you knew me at all during my middle, high and early college school years you will likely automatically agree. People who suffer from this almost always suffer from depression. They kind of go hand in hand.
My abandonment issues, my emotional state, my impulsivity, my history of intense and highly unstable relationships, my paranoia, my anger, my suicidal thoughts and behaviors.... these are all things that affect how I handle my bone disease. I feel like I have no friends who really understand me - and I am NOT meaning to hurt anyone's feelings with this statement. I feel that people don't make an effort to know me, to be close to me, to care about me ... so I withdraw, I hold back, I behave strangely. Ultimately, my mind says trust no one, but my heart desperately wants to. I cling to the only thing I know I have in the world, but fear that every moment with him is my last - no matter what he does or says to try and make me believe. I truly HAVE gotten better with this over time, I mean, 11 years later and we're still together has definitely taught me something. Every day I feel I can trust him more. But, it's not enough because I don't have an unromantic connection with someone that is like this. I don't have another person in my life that I feel would stand behind me no matter what, that would believe me, that would want me and care for me and love me in the way I need to be loved. My husband knows these feelings that I have all too well. He knows that every time I try to get close to someone or believe a relationship with them is going somewhere - it ultimately fails in every way because I couldn't get what I needed from it. And, I wish that having a husband were enough. Most days, it is. Other days, I can't take care of my home or my animals or myself.
All these issues and more are swirling in my head right now. I really feel like crying because I hold all this in. I don't know anyone other than my husband that knows all these things about me. In fact, I don't really know why I am sharing this with my audience here - the few people that do read this. I believe there is a reason, but I just don't know what. But, I am hoping that by cleansing myself of this fear, this sadness, this depressive behavior - that I can finally start feeling more whole as a person and start to heal in a way I need.
When I was 16 I contracted mono from sharing drinks with friends at school. Two friends who were dating each other had been sick for a couple of weeks, but didn't know that they had mono. I distinctly recall buying a Sprite one day for lunch, and they passed it between each other. We did this often in my circle of friends. If someone had a drink, you just shared. And, there were like 15 of us or so that this would happen with. That day, I shared it with the two of them, and then went to German class. A week later, my dad had to take me to the doctor because I couldn't stay awake, I wasn't eating much, and I felt like every day I had run a marathon. The clinic gave me that form they always give to patients to fill out asking what their symptoms are; what aches, what hurts, what stings, stabs, pokes, bleeds, etc. I checked a bunch of stuff on the list including headaches, itchy eyes, lethargy, trouble sleeping, trouble falling asleep, trouble waking up, exhaustion, wheezing, achy joints, and more.
When I went in with the doctor, they first gave me a blood test to see if I had diabetes. Then, she asked me why I checked everything off on the form. I told her (in what I am sure was my best 16 year old attitude) the form asked me to list everything I was feeling, so I did. They swabbed my mouth, took my temperature and then took 6 vials of blood from me. After this invasion, she sat down to "chat" with me. She basically told me that I was likely suffering from early forms of insomnia and depression - which are often linked. She told me she was going to prescribe medication to "regulate" my hormone levels.
Not long after this, we found out I was sick with mono. But, my dad starting taking me to a psychologist at the doctor's urging - over something completely unrelated which at some point I may be able to talk about more openly. After some time with the psychologist, she too believed I suffered from episodes of manic depression, but did not believe I was manic - that I just had a mild form that would peak at times. In addition to this, she also agreed that I was suffering from insomnia. I would literally stay up all hours of the night trying to keep my mind off of my life, my family, my problems, and my loneliness.
I was kept on drugs for depression for a few months. I only told 1 person other than my family that I was being medicated. Mostly, because when I was on the medication, I was not the same person. He thought I was acting extremely strangely. I would talk to complete strangers, I made dates with complete strangers, I would drive my car with one leg out the window (no, I'm not kidding), in social situations, I would be relaxed and indifferent, I would say things I normally would never have the gall to say, the list goes on. Ultimately, I hated the person I had become on drugs and so I quit taking them after a while.
In my view of my life, I have been a very inward person. I don't share the deepest parts of me with anyone. Or, if I do, it is a bit here and there and usually they're with my husband. I was brought up by a father who had no nonsense parents, and by a mother who was somewhat crazy but was someone you didn't dare cross. I did not fit either of these molds. I feel like my entire life, I've been nothing but a disappointment in the temperament and character they wanted in a daughter - though I'm sure neither of them could agree on what this would have been. Though I imagine it would be more like my sister for the most part. I have felt like an outsider in my family for as long as I can remember. My name doesn't help matters much. I have a completely unusual name, while everyone else has normal names. And, when I hear in my head my dad or mom saying my name, it accompanies a panic and feeling a tone of extreme disappointment
Not long after I was diagnosed with depression, I realized with my Psychologist that I have a Borderline Personality disorder. If you knew me at all during my middle, high and early college school years you will likely automatically agree. People who suffer from this almost always suffer from depression. They kind of go hand in hand.
My abandonment issues, my emotional state, my impulsivity, my history of intense and highly unstable relationships, my paranoia, my anger, my suicidal thoughts and behaviors.... these are all things that affect how I handle my bone disease. I feel like I have no friends who really understand me - and I am NOT meaning to hurt anyone's feelings with this statement. I feel that people don't make an effort to know me, to be close to me, to care about me ... so I withdraw, I hold back, I behave strangely. Ultimately, my mind says trust no one, but my heart desperately wants to. I cling to the only thing I know I have in the world, but fear that every moment with him is my last - no matter what he does or says to try and make me believe. I truly HAVE gotten better with this over time, I mean, 11 years later and we're still together has definitely taught me something. Every day I feel I can trust him more. But, it's not enough because I don't have an unromantic connection with someone that is like this. I don't have another person in my life that I feel would stand behind me no matter what, that would believe me, that would want me and care for me and love me in the way I need to be loved. My husband knows these feelings that I have all too well. He knows that every time I try to get close to someone or believe a relationship with them is going somewhere - it ultimately fails in every way because I couldn't get what I needed from it. And, I wish that having a husband were enough. Most days, it is. Other days, I can't take care of my home or my animals or myself.
All these issues and more are swirling in my head right now. I really feel like crying because I hold all this in. I don't know anyone other than my husband that knows all these things about me. In fact, I don't really know why I am sharing this with my audience here - the few people that do read this. I believe there is a reason, but I just don't know what. But, I am hoping that by cleansing myself of this fear, this sadness, this depressive behavior - that I can finally start feeling more whole as a person and start to heal in a way I need.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
I Can Do Nothing All My Myself
After leaving the hospital, things got difficult. My husband had to work all the time and we were expecting his parents to arrive in 3 weeks. I had class and I also taught music lessons to 6 kids during the week. Additionally, we lived in a 4 storey home, and have a dog. There just wasn't anyone who wasn't busy or exhausted who could do anything.
My husband had to take over all my normal duties around the house - which was no easy task. I practically laid in bed or on the couch all day unless I had to give lessons, or use the computer. Okay, I'll be honest. Using the computer was horrible, I didn't really use it ... I massacred it. I'd go check my email, check my facebook, check my bills, etc, and all of this would take so long because I couldn't type and I couldn't use the mouse with my right hand. I wasn't great with using the mouse backwards, and I often threw fits because I'd screw something up.
Take for example the day I was trying to do bills. See, I have this system where I check the bank balance online every day, input anything into a spreadsheet that we do our balance on, and then make sure bills are set up for payment on the 1st or 15th. Since we were in Germany, this was very important to do every day. And, to also check the daily exchange rates so we knew if we could get Euros or not. So, I'm doing this, and I have a difficult time keeping from clicking the wrong thing. So I'm clicking around on a site where I'm paying on our bills and because I'm trying to use the mouse left-handed, I hit the wrong button. I paid the bill twice because I accidentally left the payment page, went back in, pushed the paid button, and it said that I had two pending payments. Needless to say I get really frustrated.
Throwing fits became somewhat regular. The pain was intolerable, and I got hardly any sleep because of it. I had to constantly take baths and could only take them when my husband was home because I couldn't wash myself, I couldn't get in and out without his help, and I couldn't shave. That was awful. So, I'd have to wait until he came home at 7 in the morning, and then until he'd get up at 2 or 3 in the afternoon. I taught him how to wash my hair and face, and then he'd scrub the ever loving crap out of me. Since the surgery I'd been sweating a lot - partially because of the pain and partly because of persistent fevers. It's important to me to smell good - or at least clean. I hate feeling gross and since I'd never been sweaty like this in my life, it made me angry and self-conscious.
I'd also have to wait for my husband to cook, to clean, to do laundry, and to do my schoolwork. I took classes with a university that has a division specializing in military overseas. It's a nationally accredited university, founded in the 1800s, so it's all legit and they're famous for their courses abroad. Anyhow, I worked it out with my instructor that I would dictate my assignments to my husband so I could get them in on time. It made us bother really mad. I have a schedule when it comes to school, and he is always a distraction - a good one though. Anyhow, we'd pull two chairs up to the desk, He'd find the assignment in the classroom for me, and then I would dictate my answers. I think really really fast, and I type really really fast. My husband, on the other hand, takes information very slow. He'll think it over very carefully. Well, his careful mind and my speedy one did not mesh well. I would dictate to him, and he'd interrupt to ask a bunch of questions, and then he'd type slow and tell me I was talking too fast. Believe me, this is no way to write papers. I'd yell at him that I couldn't control the situation and that the least he could do was keep up, and he'd yell at me and tell me I was being mean .... We did this every assignment until the class was over. It was not conducive to my learning astronomy mind you, but we always made up afterwards and promised we'd try harder not to lose our tempers.
Things were rough for the next few months all together, but I think that whole winter was like living in hell. I'd be in pain, I'd scream and cry all the time because I had no pain killers, and then the nausea came. That was the worst. My family has allergies to anesthetics - remember my tooth drilling? Well, I knew that because of the block and the sleeper stuff that I'd had a lot of anesthetics pumped into me. I took to eating crackers and soda or water all day every day. Any time I tried to eat a regular meal, I'd get sick. I spent an entire two weeks in complete nausea before my husband had a day off and could take me in to see Dr. R. I was miserable, and I knew that she would help.
So, I go in to Dr. R. with my husband. I tell her that I haven't eaten a proper meal since before the hospital, that I've been puking every day and that I've had constant nausea that I can't get rid of. She tells me in her posh British accent that she'll fix me right up, and then says she'll throw in some pain meds. I'm only supposed to take the nausea pills when I feel nauseous, and only take the pain pills when I'm in pain.
Well, I can tell you honestly I took none of those pain pills. I'd gotten so used to nothing working that it wasn't worth it to pump more crap into my body and risk getting sicker. So, I took those anti-nausea pills when I needed to, and they worked. I'd get nauseous, pop the pill, and in about 2 hours, things would be better because it was just the pain then.
I was relegated to doing absolutely nothing all the time. It got boring really fast since I couldn't hold a book open or get comfortable enough to read, I couldn't play my Wii or PS3, I got much too frustrated to use the computer, so I spent most of my days napping and watching movies. It was pretty bad. If I wanted a drink, I had to get my husband. If I wanted a change of clothes, I had to get my husband. If I wanted to move something or I spilled something (which happened a LOT), I had to get my husband. I took to wearing exercise and pajama pants all the time so I didn't have to get him to take me to the bathroom and I only wore tops with bras built in so he never had to put them on and take them off - which would be too difficult with my arm. I think the only things I could really do were open and close doors, put on my house clothes, and carry small objects like my ice pack. It was horrible, demeaning, and just plain annoying.
My husband tried to be supportive and compassionate, but he was either at work, or sleeping. He did take good care of me the few hours he was awake. He wouldn't sleep in the same bed as me for fear of hurting me. When he came home from work in the mornings, he'd make sure I was up before he went to bed. If I wasn't, he'd wait until I was. I told him to stop being silly, but he didn't start sleeping in the same bed with me until I got my cast the day before his parents arrived. He spent 3 weeks like that. I loved him for it even though it was a little protective.
Doing nothing seems like it's not really a big deal, until you lose the use of your dominant arm completely. It was still swollen much too large, but the icing and exercising had helped me regain slight movement in fingers 3, 4, and 5. I couldn't move 1 or 2 still, they sort of twitched when I moved them, but progress was very, very slow and erratic at best.
My husband had to take over all my normal duties around the house - which was no easy task. I practically laid in bed or on the couch all day unless I had to give lessons, or use the computer. Okay, I'll be honest. Using the computer was horrible, I didn't really use it ... I massacred it. I'd go check my email, check my facebook, check my bills, etc, and all of this would take so long because I couldn't type and I couldn't use the mouse with my right hand. I wasn't great with using the mouse backwards, and I often threw fits because I'd screw something up.
Take for example the day I was trying to do bills. See, I have this system where I check the bank balance online every day, input anything into a spreadsheet that we do our balance on, and then make sure bills are set up for payment on the 1st or 15th. Since we were in Germany, this was very important to do every day. And, to also check the daily exchange rates so we knew if we could get Euros or not. So, I'm doing this, and I have a difficult time keeping from clicking the wrong thing. So I'm clicking around on a site where I'm paying on our bills and because I'm trying to use the mouse left-handed, I hit the wrong button. I paid the bill twice because I accidentally left the payment page, went back in, pushed the paid button, and it said that I had two pending payments. Needless to say I get really frustrated.
Throwing fits became somewhat regular. The pain was intolerable, and I got hardly any sleep because of it. I had to constantly take baths and could only take them when my husband was home because I couldn't wash myself, I couldn't get in and out without his help, and I couldn't shave. That was awful. So, I'd have to wait until he came home at 7 in the morning, and then until he'd get up at 2 or 3 in the afternoon. I taught him how to wash my hair and face, and then he'd scrub the ever loving crap out of me. Since the surgery I'd been sweating a lot - partially because of the pain and partly because of persistent fevers. It's important to me to smell good - or at least clean. I hate feeling gross and since I'd never been sweaty like this in my life, it made me angry and self-conscious.
I'd also have to wait for my husband to cook, to clean, to do laundry, and to do my schoolwork. I took classes with a university that has a division specializing in military overseas. It's a nationally accredited university, founded in the 1800s, so it's all legit and they're famous for their courses abroad. Anyhow, I worked it out with my instructor that I would dictate my assignments to my husband so I could get them in on time. It made us bother really mad. I have a schedule when it comes to school, and he is always a distraction - a good one though. Anyhow, we'd pull two chairs up to the desk, He'd find the assignment in the classroom for me, and then I would dictate my answers. I think really really fast, and I type really really fast. My husband, on the other hand, takes information very slow. He'll think it over very carefully. Well, his careful mind and my speedy one did not mesh well. I would dictate to him, and he'd interrupt to ask a bunch of questions, and then he'd type slow and tell me I was talking too fast. Believe me, this is no way to write papers. I'd yell at him that I couldn't control the situation and that the least he could do was keep up, and he'd yell at me and tell me I was being mean .... We did this every assignment until the class was over. It was not conducive to my learning astronomy mind you, but we always made up afterwards and promised we'd try harder not to lose our tempers.
Things were rough for the next few months all together, but I think that whole winter was like living in hell. I'd be in pain, I'd scream and cry all the time because I had no pain killers, and then the nausea came. That was the worst. My family has allergies to anesthetics - remember my tooth drilling? Well, I knew that because of the block and the sleeper stuff that I'd had a lot of anesthetics pumped into me. I took to eating crackers and soda or water all day every day. Any time I tried to eat a regular meal, I'd get sick. I spent an entire two weeks in complete nausea before my husband had a day off and could take me in to see Dr. R. I was miserable, and I knew that she would help.
So, I go in to Dr. R. with my husband. I tell her that I haven't eaten a proper meal since before the hospital, that I've been puking every day and that I've had constant nausea that I can't get rid of. She tells me in her posh British accent that she'll fix me right up, and then says she'll throw in some pain meds. I'm only supposed to take the nausea pills when I feel nauseous, and only take the pain pills when I'm in pain.
Well, I can tell you honestly I took none of those pain pills. I'd gotten so used to nothing working that it wasn't worth it to pump more crap into my body and risk getting sicker. So, I took those anti-nausea pills when I needed to, and they worked. I'd get nauseous, pop the pill, and in about 2 hours, things would be better because it was just the pain then.
I was relegated to doing absolutely nothing all the time. It got boring really fast since I couldn't hold a book open or get comfortable enough to read, I couldn't play my Wii or PS3, I got much too frustrated to use the computer, so I spent most of my days napping and watching movies. It was pretty bad. If I wanted a drink, I had to get my husband. If I wanted a change of clothes, I had to get my husband. If I wanted to move something or I spilled something (which happened a LOT), I had to get my husband. I took to wearing exercise and pajama pants all the time so I didn't have to get him to take me to the bathroom and I only wore tops with bras built in so he never had to put them on and take them off - which would be too difficult with my arm. I think the only things I could really do were open and close doors, put on my house clothes, and carry small objects like my ice pack. It was horrible, demeaning, and just plain annoying.
My husband tried to be supportive and compassionate, but he was either at work, or sleeping. He did take good care of me the few hours he was awake. He wouldn't sleep in the same bed as me for fear of hurting me. When he came home from work in the mornings, he'd make sure I was up before he went to bed. If I wasn't, he'd wait until I was. I told him to stop being silly, but he didn't start sleeping in the same bed with me until I got my cast the day before his parents arrived. He spent 3 weeks like that. I loved him for it even though it was a little protective.
Doing nothing seems like it's not really a big deal, until you lose the use of your dominant arm completely. It was still swollen much too large, but the icing and exercising had helped me regain slight movement in fingers 3, 4, and 5. I couldn't move 1 or 2 still, they sort of twitched when I moved them, but progress was very, very slow and erratic at best.
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