Falling Down

Hello Dear Readers!

The last seven days have been amongst the hardest of my increasingly middle-aged life.

In fact, it's incredibly hard just writing these few sentences so I hope you'll forgive me if this week's offering falls ever so slightly short of my usual bright and breezy style.

Seven Days 
I say seven days but in reality the issues I'm talking about stem from way before then. Those poor unfortunates that have had the dubious honour of following this blog will know that my long suffering wife fell victim to a stroke twelve weeks ago.
 

This has naturally meant that Tina (for that is her name.) has needed extra support, both physically, mentally and emotionally.  Again it is nothing more than natural that as her husband, life partner and (hopefully) soulmate a large proportion of that care should come from myself and this has indeed been the way of things.

That’s not to say that we don't have a fantastic support network of wonderful people. Both family and friends have told us on more than one occasion that they would be more than happy to lend a hand, to take the hound for a walk, or even just to have a chat with either myself or Tina.

I Can And I Might

The issue is, at least for me anyway, that although you know the help is potentially there it's actually quite hard to ask for it. I'm not talking about some misplaced sense of pride, or perhaps, I don’t know, maybe I am. All I know Is that, personally, I've always had a stubborn sense of independence. I think a lot of that can be attributed to growing up disabled. There's nothing like being told that you can't do something to make you dig your heels in and say, as the British Paralympians so famously do, YES I CAN! 

Not that I ever got that from my parents mind you. I was brought up refreshingly normally and never made to feel inadequate, 'special', or in need of any kind of favourable treatment. If I misbehaved (who Miss? Me Miss? No Miss) then it was still up to my room and don't come down until you've thought about your actions Mr! That uneaten food was still at least threatened to be waiting for me at breakfast even if it never was.

However It came about, it seems that I have developed some kind of pathological need to do things myself and not even think about asking for help until there is absolutely, positively, one hundred and ten percent, no choice in the matter.

That was this week.

Slow Going

If I'm honest with myself things have been tough for a while. It has now been three months since the stroke and Tina has, in that time, had three physio appointments and a CBT assessment. The follow-up to the latter, we are assured will be within the next four to six weeks. 

As much as I love the NHS (see Rude Health), and will defend it to my last breath, the timescales just mentioned are certainly less than ideal and the ponderous pace of Tina's recovery has led to a lot of frustration. 

Sadly, this week, the frustration boiled over.

via GIPHY

We’re a passionate pair at the best of times, and both of us have the kind of temper which can ignite quickly. The flipside of this is that the fires tend to burn out pretty fast too. Unfortunately, the current situation has meant that the fires have been spreading more quickly than they can be fought. 

It was a row on Monday that kicked things off. We made up but I found it hard to let go of some of the emotions. Tuesday saw us have a lovely day out at the cricket with my parents (a birthday present that didn't get used last year, rain stopping play.) but I felt that I was still carrying things around with me. I laughed at the appropriate times and applauded the fall of wickets but. somehow I felt distant from things, as if an invisible forcefield had formed around me.

It Really Is Good To Talk

I tried to get in touch with a counselling service provided to me by work that night, whilst Tina was out, but was unable to get through. My next call was to The Samaritans. I know it should have been to my mum or a friend but I just wanted to speak to someone who didn’t know me. That was important for some reason.

The next day saw me break down somewhat, bursting into tears at work just because someone asked how I was. I spoke to the aforementioned counselling service, received some epically bad advice regarding asking Tina to spend a couple of nights at her mum's and ended up doing what I probably should have in the first place.

I called my mum.

The next day, fences having been mended over a very late night and very impromptu picnic, supplied courtesy of us having no food in and the garage being the only place open, I went to see the doctor. I was prescribed a course of anti-depressants and will take my fourth tablet tonight. They might be just taking the edge off and I do feel I'm coming back to myself, slowly but surely. Every now and then though I can still feel the shutters being down, can still feel a lack of... something, a deadening of everything around me, like someone has messed up the colour and contrast on reality. I guess I now have some small idea of what Tina may go through in her battle with depression (see Who Cares) 

Luckily we picked up the keys for the new house on Friday so there's plenty to distract and occupy the both of us. The most important thing for me though is that Tina and I are ok, and we are.

I think the storm broke out of necessity and we can now move on with a new understanding of each other and just how deep our relationship goes.

Until next time...