On the Downward Road

     I recently took a turn for the worse, seemingly sudden, difficult and disturbing. It was partly physical, largely emotional, a one-two punch that laid me low. My rose-colored glasses broke into pieces, left behind in Maine, New Hampshire, New York. My post-vacation euphoria burst like a bubble, dumping me deep into depression.
     Luckily, it was not a permanent deep depression, not even terribly long-lived. Bt while it lasted it was piercing, painful, and devastating, for both me and my husband. And the physical changes remain, taxing us both.
     It seems that I lost so much, so very quickly.  I lost so much strength. I lost so much dexterity. Things that I could do on vacation I can longer do.  Help I didn't need on vacation I now need – desperately and constantly.
     I can't wash my hair: Scott has to help every time. I can't dress myself at all: Scott has to do it. I can't pull up my blankets: Scott has to rouse himself from sleep to get me to bed. I can't control my hands well enough to eat more than a few bites: Scott has to feed me. I can no longer pour a glass of milk or get the crackers out of the cupboard or find a slice of cheese in the fridge: Scott has to get them for me. I am no longer steady on my feet: Scott has to help me into my brace every time we go out. And if we're going to cover any amount of ground I get winded and weak: Scott has to push me in a wheelchair.  I'm not driving: Scott has to do it all.
     So there's the problem, physical and emotional all together. I'm doing less, my husband is doing more, and though he handles everything with kindness, love and good grace, I know it wears on him. He has health and pain issues of his own.
     So sometimes I feel hopelessly guilty. I feel like a burden. I feel useless. And when Scott assures me I'm none of those things, I somehow feel even worse.  There lies depression.
    And here's another problem. Sometimes I try to pull myself up out of the pit by thinking of things I can do, things I would like to do. I can still observe. I can still enjoy fun things happening around me. I still like to go places and enjoy events.  But these are not things easy or enjoyable for Scott, because of his pain.
     Then I flip the emotional coin and get selfish.  Suck it up, I scream in my head – I'm the one dying here.  There lies anger.
    Then selfishness and guilt unite, and I'm left with depression again.
     But as I said earlier in this blog, the deep depression was not long-lasting.  We are not always trapped by my needs and my guilt – far from it .  We enjoy each other's company so much.  We laugh and joke and talk seriously and work as a team. But sometimes things just heat up and boil over into frustration, hopelessness, resentment, hurt.
    That's not us, though. That's this damned disease.
    Oh, how I hate it.