Diary Entry: Arrrrrrrrrrr!!
Not that there was ever a time that I would imagine my husband ever being sick with more than a cold; but in this illness, Pulmonary Fibrosis, our personal process of dealing with this disease goes beyond what I could ever imagine.
In a strange way, it's kind of like how I imagined having my baby. It would be difficult, but at the same time there would be a sense of serenity and love along with a deep connection. Having my babies was a beautiful experience -but, let me tell you, if you were in the room at the time, you would have never have called it serene!
Oh, people warn you ahead of time that having a baby hurts, but I never really understood it until I was smack-dab in labor... I probably looked like the picture above :)
Going through this process with my husband is very similar. The hard part is that we are both "in labor" at the same time. He gets angry at the situation. Who can blame him?
It is very difficult to understand what it is like to struggle for every breath.
For my own sake, I am going to list the reasons that I think he is angry... He is angry that he has lost the body that he has always known. He is angry that he took his health for granted. He is angry about loss of freedom -that every, tiny, little movement must be thought out ahead of time.
The loss of a future that he anticipated.
The control of others in his life... nurses, doctors, pharmacists, and wife. He is angry that he is angry. Although to his defense, I believe that this can be a natural and understandable, but the steroids (prednisone) he is on, certainly doesn't seem to help in grumpyness!
I am angry, too. Strangely for many of the same reasons that he is. The loss of our freedom, dreams of our future, his body that I once knew, the control of others in my life...nurses, doctors, pharmacists, paper-work, health insurance and government agencies -helpful as they may be.
Sometimes, I am mad at him. There. I said it.
I am mad at him because there is no way he can know how much I love him and how much this hurts me, but maybe it is better that way.
This is not about me.
This is not about me.
Lastly, I get angry at myself that I feel this way in the first place.