8-3-19

The drawings on the last blog probably need some explaining. I looked back at them today and realised they are quite childlike. Those who know me well now might be puzzled. Or not. I was diagnosed as being Bipolar a few years after I had our girl. So about 23 years ago . . . .

For 10 years I was taking a very high dose of antidepressants and anti anxiety meds, which I later became horrendously addicted to and had to detox in a rehab centre over 6 weeks. I knew it was a high dosage as most chemists questioned it, some even rang my Psych to confirm it. Full on manic behaviour ensued at times, along with the suicidal ideation, clearly the meds were not working. Hence the manic childlike drawings.

Finally I was correctly diagnosed as dealing with Borderline Personality Disorder. Arduous to maintain, however after many years of intense Psychotherapy, numerous hospitalisations, Cognitive Behaviour Therapy, Dialectic Behaviour Therapy, Mindfulness training, different meds, Art Therapy and numerous Psychiatric assessments and sessions . . . I am glad to say I can now "manage" my disorder to a point. I am no longer on any meds, though I do self medicate with alcohol. Not ideal. I still have horrendous nightmares which wake me at times screaming. He is very good at calming me down. My mind is a bit damaged from all the manicness and darkness, however it actually helps me creatively. Usually when I least expect it.

This writing of mine is going off on a tangent . . . . though once you hear about today's appointment you will understand the relevance.

First though, Yesterday.
Hello Alfred oh how we have missed you. We have just had 2 free days to do as we pleased without having to go visit you. It was nice pretending that all this PC stuff wasn't happening. I must admit to not remembering how the day started yesterday. This is happening a lot. I think it is my survival skill kicking in. Only remember what I need to. Only think about what I have to. Only take notice of the most important stuff. Forget the insignificant. Once he was sitting in the big comfy blue chemo chair he was given a Lorazepam to put under his tongue. I think it was because of his panic anxiety during the PET scan . . . Atavan is another name for it. Grace & Frankie fans may have heard them talking about it. Grace usually has some in her handbag. It's a friend of Valium though much stronger. He was very relaxed once it kicked in. So much so that he breezed through the day into the evening and had a really good night's sleep.

I however could have seriously done with some of the same. Note to self: talk to my GP. The nurses told him to bite it in half and give some to me . . . he wouldn't damn it.

One hour of a hydration drip, one hour of chemo drip, one hour of hydration drip, off to the basement for radiation therapy, then home.

I was extremely emotional throughout the day, fighting back tears constantly. I found it hard to keep a smile, to have a sense of humour, to chit chat, be courteous, take notes, remember this, remember that . . . when all I wanted to do was run and scream and yell and punch and swear at a god I didn't believe in. Seeing my him hooked up to the dripping pole for 3 hours, seeing his blood in the tube, watching him lay down shirtless and vulnerable in front of the huge confrontational overpowering overwhelming rotating monster that is the Radiation Machine took it's toll. When they asked me to leave the room before they pushed the go button and my him would be blasted by radiation . . . .  I sobbed where no-one could see me.

I was so very proud of him. He seemed to take it all in his stride. This is very him. Those who know him well will understand. He was his usual, jovial, naughty self. I wish I knew how he really felt about all of this. He wont tell me, not really and truly. I wont ever know, he wont ever tell.  That's just him.

I drove home. He was happily chatting, repeating himself, sounding drunk, and nodding off. Lorazepam might be a friend of Valiums, but it wont be his friend. He hated feeling that way. No more Loraz.

I bought him this card last year. It's he and I. I wrote gushy stuff inside.