Memories We Share - Part 7
To the tune of “My Favorite Things”
Blood drops on pavement and slicing knives ready
Pale murdered corpses the smell is so heady
Body bags filling with life’s throw a-ways
These are the things my mind brings me these days
First slam your fist into anything handy
Watch as the blood flows
Now isn’t it dandy
Inside-out hate and fists curled in rage
All I have now is inside of this cage
When the snakes strike
When the hate fills
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel so MAD
They say, grief comes in stages and that when you are caring for someone who is either living with, or dying from, a terminal illness, it is possible you will also go through these stages of grief. Guess which one I’m in? First, let me say that my fury has to be released somewhere other then being directed at my husband, of course, and second, if my sick little song lyrics upset you … well don’t read them. HA!
I am not nice today. I don’t feel like playing nice or pretending there isn’t an explosion going on inside of my head. I am prone to mood swings to begin with but they normally just run from depressed to super depressed. Apparently this wonder drug anti-depressant I’m on does not account for your mate dying. Well, not on top of your regular symptoms, at least.
I keep waiting for reason to soak into my inflamed brain and calm me but so far today it hasn’t happened. I’m coming off two days of thinking my husband was at death’s door because he got his medication mixed up and ended up taking his regular Morphine, plus the new, double strength Morphine and the Dilaudid (Hydromorphone) he can take for break through pain. He wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t wear his oxygen, was pretty much unresponsive … well no wonder! He was in la la land, which I don’t begrudge him, but it also suppresses his respiratory system which is already shutting down from COPD. If I were in his place I think I’d stay heavily medicated all of the time.
Today he is much more alert and even went to have coffee at the local ice cream parlor/coffee shop and then stopped in for a couple of minutes to trades lies with the guys at the auto shop. He had some donuts with his coffee and his color is good. Given all of that I should be feeling grateful and I am grateful, it’s just buried under a whole pile of self-pity, doubts about my care taking abilities and emotional exhaustion. If I’m rattled this early in the game what will I be like when I have to give him sponge baths and feed him? How will I respond, listening to him gasp for air that will no longer come and how will I watch as his oxygen starved organs continue to shut down and as he becomes weaker and less responsive. Instead of lung cancer, or in addition to it, they should start showing end stage COPD patients to kids to keep them from starting to smoke in the first place. It is slow and ugly – well, actually it effects so much of the body it can result in heart failure and be swift and merciful.
Thus goes our ride on the COPD rollercoaster. How’s your day going for ya?